#I have a feeling I know how this will end up but it's for science. I must see with my own eyes

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ big gym energy (is this my fantasy?) | fushiguro toji

wc: 2.0k

summary: who would have thought the rippest DILF in all of Japan would get you to go to the gym everyday?

contains: gn!reader, non-curse au, college au, appearance of itafushikugi (mostly nobara), reader has a huge and lowkey delusional crush on toji, age gap

a/n: the gym toji fic! tone in this is a bit different from what i write, and it's lowkey a crack fic but i hope it's still enjoyable! listened to: big energy - latto & area codes - kaliii

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: going to the gym for yourself (and totally not for that cute guy who sometimes says hi)

“You’re going to the gym?” Nobara halts smack in the middle of the busy hallway. Groans huff behind her, the rest of your class filing out of the lecture hall. You bow your head apologetically as you pull her to the side. 

“Yes.” 

She squints, skeptical, “You.” 

You nod.

“The gym.” she says it slower this time, tilting her head down. 

You nod again. 

Nobara blinks, shifting her weight as she reaches one hand inside the pocket of her overalls. There’s a long pause, rushed footsteps amplifying the suspense, then—

“Okay, what’s the bet? How much did Maki put out? I want in.” 

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you loop your arm around hers and continue walking. 

There’s good reason for her to doubt you; she knows you best after all. In your little quad, you are the least likely to be found doing any physical activity or sport whatsoever—and that’s saying a lot, considering the other fourth of your group is Megumi. But at least he walks his dogs regularly. 

“Rude,” you scoff jokingly, “there’s no bet, just testing it out because they have a free trial promo.”

It shouldn’t hurt to check it out, you think. One of your resolutions this year is to finally get started on your fitness journey, whatever form it may be. 

“You should come.” 

Nobara snorts, “Wrong person,” you both turn at a corner, “ask Itadori.”

The gym is just a few blocks away from your campus, a good 18-minute walk if you’re counting—which is also part of what makes it so appealing. The ad you’d seen for the free trial is an early bird promo to attract new customers for the gym’s new branch launch. 

And it does make the most sense to ask him; he is the sports science major after all—

“No way,” you step out on the sidewalk, “telling him is practically committing to a membership.” 

—but Yuuji is a bit too eager when it comes to things like this. No doubt he’ll be at your heel, wagging his figurative golden retriever tail at the prospect of being your certified gym buddy. It’s endearing and you know he means well, but that’s way too much pressure for someone who’s just starting out. 

She laughs, readjusting her bag, “He’d know how to use the machines though.” 

“I watched some videos…” you mumble, because Nobara has a point, but if you’re being honest, you feel just a teensy bit embarrassed at the idea of anyone else knowing about your attempts at fitness this early on, lest it fail in the end. “I can probably ask someone there…” 

“Try the most jacked up person in the gym.” 

You shove her jokingly, her laughter echoing down the road. 

. 

The first person you meet at the gym is the lady at the front desk. Her ponytail sways as she greets you, a chirpy smile welcoming you in as she holds an iPad to her chest while touring you around—at the center, the main floor plan is decked out with machines; towards the back sit the squat racks, and to your sides are the private cycling rooms and multifunctional spaces. According to her, they also offer yoga classes every 6:00 p.m. on Wednesdays. 

You’d expected a lot more people to be in here at 7:00 p.m., but you suppose it makes sense others would prefer to spend their Friday nights elsewhere. 

Looking around, you spot a middle-aged lady you swear is Megumi’s English professor; on the treadmills, a couple your age share a laugh as they try to match pace. There are some machines you’ve never even seen in your life, Youtube videos included.

You take a deep breath. You can ask for help. 

After all, the crowd feels friendly enough, not too intimidating—

—until your eyes land on him, on the benches; an absolute tank of a man doing chest presses with what you think are probably the heaviest dumbbells on the rack. 

You try not to stare, catching only a glimpse of the way his biceps flex against the tight sleeves of his black compression shirt. 

Don’t be a creep, you tell yourself, walking towards the leg press machine. You may be new here, but you’ve learned that gym etiquette isn’t so far off from acting like a civilized human being. 

Thank god you never take Nobara seriously, because you can’t even imagine the stuttering mess you’d be if you had to ask him how to work any of these god forsaken machines. 

.

It’s a good thing, then, that help comes to you without you having to say a word. 

This is number four out of five sessions in your free trial promo, and you have no idea how to get the goddamn plates out of the barbell. You pull some out from the other side and the whole barbell comes along with it. When you attempt the other side, it does the same. Then when you finally do manage to get off the plates on one side, the whole barbell drops, clanging loudly against the metal foot of the squat rack set-up. 

(Now that you think about it, maybe it isn’t such a good thing that you’ve been offered help instead of you asking. There must be a reason someone thinks you could need it.)

Someone, who is also the last person you could ever possibly want to embarrass yourself in front of.

Someone, who just so happens to be the jacked up tank of a man you’ve admittedly glanced at a few times in your past few visits here. 

“To make it easier,” he crouches beside you, laying down a smaller plate and rolling the larger ones on the barbell over it. 

He unloads them like they weigh nothing—and with his physique, it isn’t hard to believe that they probably do. His biceps look to be the size of your head, chest popping out in ways you’ve only seen on those Tiktok thirst edits; his one hand is larger than a 2.5 kilogram plate, and his forearms look like they could ch—

Mind out of the gutter, you blink away, focusing instead on the metal bar in front of you. 

God, you don’t even know this man’s name. 

“T-thanks.” you stutter, embarrassed. 

He gives you a half-smile, lips turned on one side, “Sure.” then he walks away, the tightness of his black compression shirt hugging the ridges of his back muscles. 

You gulp. 

So begins your year-long gym membership.

(And maybe, just maybe, the kind-of-meet-cute of a lifetime. Who knows, really?) 

.

“Who would have thought the rippest DILF in all of Japan would get you to go to the gym everyday,” she snorts, fingers grazing over the curved edges of the heart-shaped watermelons in the fruit aisle.

You hush her, scanning the area around you for anyone who might have overhead. 

It’s 11:00 p.m. on a Thursday, so you doubt it, but you can never be too sure.

“He’s nice, you know.” you pout. 

“Yeah, what’s his name?” Nobara gives you a look. 

You glare, touché. 

Maybe you don’t know his name. Yet. 

But he’s always offered to stack on the heavy plates for you, and will oftentimes help in unloading them too. There are times when you aren’t quite sure how to work the machines and he swoops in like the gym buff version of prince charming, teaching you proper form just so you don’t get injured. He’ll wipe down a mat for you to use some days, because—

“Stretching is important,” he never fails to mention.

He’s nice. 

And you have an insanely delusional crush on him, but you don’t care, because why else would he be giving you this much attention if he wasn’t interested in you too? 

.

You find out many things about your gym crush, most of them completely unexpected. 

One: his hair is unusually soft for someone who looks so rough. Or, well, you think it looks soft, you can’t tell for sure; you haven’t actually touched it to be able to tell. The black mop on his head falls flat over his eyes on the few days you assume are right before his next scheduled haircut. It surprises you even more when he walks in the gym with a small hair tie holding his bangs up. 

Two: he does a considerable amount of bodyweight exercises for someone his size—Calisthenics, specifically. 

You watch him pull himself up the bar, biceps and back straining against the movement. The muscles ripple across the fabric of his tee, and it’s impressive how smoothly he’s able to go up and down; as if he isn’t exerting any effort at all. Then, the push-ups and dips. He can do them all, in every variation you never even thought existed, and it’s always done with so much ease. 

It gives you reason to believe that he could be gentle, controlled. In what? Well. You know. 

Three: he likes fruity things. You expected his go-to to be straight black, maybe a chocolate protein shake on other days too. But he shows up one day with a smoothie in the shade of vibrant magenta. Dragonfruit, you assume, from all the black specks floating in it. 

This also happens to be the first time you initiate the conversation with him.  

“Your smoothie looks good,” you mumble, a little hesitant. 

God, so awkward. 

He looks up from adjusting the plate stoppers on your bar. 

A hum rumbles from his throat before he flashes you the same half-smile he always does, “Strawberry, banana, and dragonfruit.” 

You don’t really know what to say after that other than, “Cool.” 

And you mentally facepalm yourself. 

. 

In your fourth month at the gym, you learn a few more unexpected things that change everything. 

You’ve just finished freshening up and you’re on the way out when you bump into— 

“Megumi?” 

He looks up from his phone, dark strands hitting the tips of his eyelashes as he pushes back one side of his headphones. He raises an eyebrow, confused and surprised.  

“You gym?” 

“What’re you doing here?” 

Pink dusts his cheeks as he ducks his head, motioning for you to go first. 

“Sorry,” you chuckle, adjusting the strap of your duffel bag, “I started going here a few months ago. You?” 

He looks a little surprised by it, probably more so at the fact that you’ve kept it a secret from him for so long, but he nods, “That’s good. You did mention wanting to work on your fitness more this year.” then, he shifts, adjusting his weight before hanging his headphones by his neck. 

“I’m waiting for my dad.” 

In the past few years you’ve known Megumi, he’s never mentioned his dad. You never bothered to ask because you suspected there was a good reason he never talked about him in the first place. 

And so comes number four, and maybe the last unexpected thing you find out about your gym crush— 

“Megumi!” 

You both turn around to the voice of none other than Nobara’s proclaimed rippest DILF in Japan; the most jacked up tank of a man who also happens to be the man you’ve crushed hard on for the past four months.  

Everything is snapping into place, information forming bridges you would rather not cross right now. 

He walks up to Megumi, duffel bag slung across his chest as he reaches for your friend.

Megumi looks like he wants to wither away, embarrassed at you seeing him tucked under his dad’s arm. But all your brain can really comprehend is that Megumi, your good friend, is currently squished between the bicep and chest you’ve been staring at since your first day at the gym.

You hold your breath, the realization creeping to the forefront of your mind. There had been signs that your gym crush was a dad; apart from being built like one, he’d offhandedly mention ‘son’ a few times. You didn’t think it would be—

“Oh, you two know each other?” your gym crush tilts his head, turning to you, “you didn’t tell me your friend signed up for this gym, Megumi.” 

“I didn’t know,” Megumi grumbles, and the look on his face can rival yours, for sure. Tough competition on ‘who looks like they want to die the most right now?’. 

But he can’t win. 

Because when Megumi begrudgingly introduces your gym crush to you as his dad, you’re pretty sure you’ve buried yourself twelve feet underground. 

(It doesn’t ease the embarrassment when you learn unexpected thing number five: he’s been a trainer at the gym this entire time.)

thank you notes: to @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for encouraging me all the way!! ily ari

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk x reader #fushiguro itadori x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji x yn #toji fluff #toji x y/n #toji x you #fushiguro toji x you #toji fushiguro x you #jjk #toji #shotorus.writes #shotorus.events #in's and out's event

[lassify]

Behind Test Subject 007: The Science of Anya’s Telepathy

Okay guys… I’m gonna come clean. I’ve had some scientific hypotheses brewing for a while now (not least to use in my fanfic, lol), but since we might be getting close to getting an Anya arc in the SxF manga, I figured that now was as good a time as any to actually try to arrange those theories in something resembling coherent and share them with you all. 

Disclaimer: I am not trying to position myself as an expert. I have studied Psychology and Cognitive Neuroscience at university level, so just for fun I ended up doing a ton of research on this, and I’ve got a lot to cover, so… wish me luck 😅 References will be embedded in the text!

Heads up that this is on the long side and complex as hell and my head physically hurts, so I’ll tackle it in sections:

Part 1: Psychology

My actual subject, but I’ll only skim over a couple of theories…

Part 2: Cognitive Neuroscience (Structural basis)

In which I will look at the individual brain areas which could be relevant to telepathy

Part 3: Cognitive Neuroscience (Functional basis)

In which I talk about how those brain areas communicate to each other

Part 4: Physics

I’ll admit, not my strongest subject, but I’ll mention a couple of theories which could be relevant

If you're ready for your brain to melt, feel free to keep reading...

Part 1: Psychology

There are 2 main theories in Psychology which could offer some explanation for Anya’s psychic abilities. 

Theory 1: Theory of Mind

In short, this describes a person’s capacity to understand other people. It is similar to sympathy or empathy, but actually it is the ability to understand that another person is different to ourselves, that they have their own desires, motivations, and thoughts, and that this is reflected in their behaviour. Even more importantly, it’s about being able to decode other’s mental states, whilst still being able to differentiate it from our own.

Any parent will know that it is a real effort to teach children about trying to understand other people’s perspectives: this is because children typically have an undeveloped Theory of Mind, and it is something that continues to develop even into adulthood. In adults, having a developed Theory of Mind helps us to understand other people’s perspectives, predict other people’s behaviour, and use both empathy and deception. 

Anya has a really strong Theory of Mind, which is actually so impressive for her young age. She understands the complex web of all the secrets: that Twilight is a spy, Yor is an assassin, Yuri is in the Secret Service, and Bond is precognisant. She also understands who knows what about each other, and how she can use all of this information to her advantage - those are some crazy cognitive skills!!

In terms of how this is related to telepathy, you could argue that someone with a strong Theory of Mind (like Anya) may be more likely to:

Understand that people have hidden feelings that they don’t show 

Demonstrate empathy for emotions 

Collate information about their likes and dislikes and past behaviour to predict future behaviour. 

If she is highly sensitive to these things, then it could look like telepathy (even if it isn’t). 

Theory 2: Hyperesthesia.

Many people will have heard of synesthesia, which is a synthesis of the senses to the extent that the sensory information overlaps, but hyperesthesia is about being highly sensitive to external stimuli of the senses such as sight, sound, taste, smell, and touch. 

I can imagine an overlap with Anya’s hyperesthesia and her Theory of Mind to pick up on the nuances of other people’s behaviour, to the extent that reading behaviour could inform the sensation of “reading minds”. 

In a science-fictional world like SxF we could imagine that hyperesthesia could stretch into the sense of extra-sensory perception, by being sensitive to the electromagnetic signals in other people’s brains (or even geomagnetic - more on that in Part 4). From this, it is possible that Anya could “read” people’s minds through deciphering the electromagnetic waveforms that people’s brains might project (more on deciphering brainwaves in Part 3…). 

Part 2: Cognitive Neuroscience - Structural Basis

I think we can all agree that Anya’s telepathic powers would largely be supported by the specific structures of her brain, especially given that Endo has already dropped hints of neuroscience in the manga, and we know that he’s very much interested in accurately depicting psychology and neuropsychology in his story. 

The best way to encourage certain brain areas to develop is by doing exercises and tasks which would use that part of the brain repeatedly: for example, consistent gymnastics practice would enhance the cerebellum, the centre of balance and motor coordination. But, I can picture the experimenters in SxF trying something a lot less… humane.

Like, experimental neurosurgery. 

For example, theoretically, they could artificially enhance certain brain areas by using a neural growth factor serum (this doesn’t exist in real life, but let’s indulge the science fiction elements for a second), and, theoretically, if the experimenters used glycoproteins as the serum’s main content (like laminins and netrins), they could control the pace and direction of neurons growing in a brain, choosing to focus on cellular growth in certain areas. Then, they would be able to view the activity of the targeted areas using functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI), and measure it with electroencephalography (EEG, see Part 3 for more on this).

If Anya ever had experimental neurosurgeries during her childhood, they would have likely focused on the following areas: 

Corpus Callosum: The corpus callosum is the thick structure of white matter that connects the two hemispheres of the brain, allowing each hemisphere to send signals to the other. With an enlarged corpus callosum, Anya would be able to process neural signals at a much faster rate, and at an increased volume, helping her to process the additional load required for telepathy.

Wernicke’s Area: Named after German neurologist Carl Wernicke, this part of the superior temporal gyrus (usually of the left hemisphere) is a major part of being able to understand language. With an enhanced Wernicke’s area, Anya would be more sensitive to decoding the neural signals associated with linguistic thoughts, effectively enabling telepathic communication through language. (As an aside, this would also give Anya an advantage in understanding other languages… which could explain her natural talent with Classical Language!)

Superior Temporal Sulcus: This is another area that is important for processing human speech, and is critical for processing social cues, such as understanding others’ intentions (including Theory of Mind!). With experimentation in the STS, Anya would be better able to decode the subtle cues in others’ brains relating to thoughts and emotions.

Inferior parietal lobule: As well as assisting in the interpretation of language and sensory information, the IPL is also involved in tasks like perspective-taking and understanding others' mental states. By increasing connectivity in this area, Anya can "tune into" the thought processes of others. It’s also well-known for its’ role in visuospatial processing, which can help Anya see visual thoughts as well.

Anterior Cingulate Cortex: This system is composed of a number of different parts of the brain, all working together to be able to process things like attention, decision making, inhibition and emotions. Most interestingly, it is associated with detecting conflicts and errors. Increased sensitivity to the ACC would likely help Anya to detect cognitive dissonance and conflicting thoughts in others (the perfect formula to eventually understand tsundere tendencies…).

Amygdala: The amygdala is often known as the centre of fear, but actually it is hugely important in threat detection, emotional processing and emotional memory. If Anya’s amygdala was enhanced, this would aid her ability to detect threats quickly, as well as her empathy skills and help her to intuit others’ emotions and thoughts. (A negative side effect of an enlarged amygdala would be that Anya may be more vulnerable to the effects of toxic stress, possibly making her less resistant to the effects of psychological trauma.)

Mirror neurons: Mirror neurons specialise in helping us to carry out and understand other people’s actions and behaviours, playing a key role in empathy and Theory of Mind. These hold internal representations of thoughts or actions, and could potentially be the key for Anya to be able to translate another person’s thoughts or intentions, assuming that she has a particularly active mirror neuron system.

Precuneus: The precuneus is really difficult to research and is super complex, so I’ll do my best to keep this simple: Located in the medial parietal cortex, this part of the brain is essential for visuospatial imagining and processing, as well as episodic memory, self-reflection, and some aspects of consciousness. I suppose the main thing is that it has a big role in mental imagery, including being able to model other people’s views, therefore helping Anya to process the mental images in other people’s thoughts.

Broca’s area: This is very much non-canon, but I imagine that if Anya ever developed the ability to project her thoughts, the Broca’s area would be key for this. While Wernicke’s area helps with speech understanding, Broca’s area is key for speech production. In my fanfic (SSS), Anya’s Broca’s area probably functioned normally for most of her life, but in the recent experiments imposed on her, the ability to project her thoughts was ‘unlocked’ through the increased activation of the Broca’s area.

Part 3: Cognitive Neuroscience - Functional basis

The thing is, it’s not enough to just know which parts of the brain work for what - there is also the question of how they connect and work together to be able to fulfil their functions. 

Think of it as the wiring which connects the parts of a computer: a motherboard, mouse, keyboard, and graphics card (as examples) are built to fulfil their specific functions, but the real magic is in how they connect and send signals between each other so that everything works smoothly.

That’s where neural oscillations come in - otherwise known as brainwaves. These are generated by the action potentials of nerve cells, and their different speeds can be measured using electroencephalography, or EEG machines, which can measure the patterns of activity across a brain.

Let’s bear in mind that I’m really skimming the surface of this subject, so I won’t go into all the types of brainwaves in too much detail, but I will focus on the ones that I think could be more relevant to Anya’s telepathy:

Gamma waves

This is the pattern of neural oscillations which are correlated with large-scale brain network activity, and are largely predominant in learning, working memory, and processing new information. In other words: gamma waves help Anya to connect all the different parts of her brain which are relevant to her telepathy, so that all the areas can communicate to each other.

(Just as an aside: I found this hilarious study that looked at the effects of different types of nuts on brainwaves, which saw gamma wave responses being improved through pistachios, while peanuts aided in generating more delta waves. I wonder if the lab scientists of SxF caught on…) 

Theta waves

Theta waves are especially prominent in childhood (during sleep). I imagine that the lab may have recruited children partially for this reason (the other reason would be that brains have more plasticity at a younger age, and so can be altered easier than an adult’s brain). In adults, theta waves are also prominent in hypnotic or meditative states, mind wandering, and the early stages of sleep.

I think it is really interesting that theta waves occur during deep relaxation, as well as the early stages of sleep, making it the only brainwave that can activate both during sleep and during wakefulness. (From what I can tell, anyway.) This could make theta waves an important component of Anya’s telepathy - for example, if her telepathy was important to her survival, then it is critical for her to be able to detect thoughts during sleep, and her amygdala could alert her if the thoughts were at all threatening.

During wakefulness, I can imagine that Anya’s theta waves serve as the precursor for the activation of psi waves…

Psi waves

Just to confirm, Psi waves are definitely fictional, but my rationale is that historically, ‘Psi’ (ψ) has been used to denote the unknown factor which is linked with parapsychology and psychic phenomena. 

My theory is that psi waves would be the frequency required for telepathy, which would allow Anya to detect and interpret other people’s thoughts through their pattern of neural activation. In other words: she can probably read brainwaves. 

Modern science is already trying out methods to interpret people’s brainwaves (which is honestly both supremely cool and extremely terrifying), so it’s not too far out of the realm of possibility that Anya would be able to do the same thing just by unconsciously using her psi waves. The psi-waves would essentially mimic a brain-computer interface in being able to process and interpret neural activity (aka thoughts).

If you require a bit more concrete evidence to believe me, I’ve made a list below.

Right now, we can analyse brainwaves using EEG to:

Decode whether someone answers “yes” or “no” to conversational questions 

Control the movement of simple robots, including wheelchairs, which can be locked/unlocked using EEG (and EMG) as a biometric security system

Detect and interpret what emotion someone is feeling, as well as learn how strong that emotion is (at an accuracy rate of 80-94%)

Deconstruct the cognitive processes underlying social interaction in people who struggle to verbally express themselves

And this study analysed brain activation using fMRI to interpret and reconstruct visual images

Neuroscience is really crazy, guys.

Part 4: Physics

So… this is the part I am the least confident about. Please be patient with me and forgive me for any mistakes 🙏.  Also, this is the perfect time to remind you guys that I am really engaging with science fiction here. Emphasis on the fiction 😂. 

Basically, there are 2 main theories from Physics that I think could explain Anya’s telepathy, as well as her weakness(es):

Theory 1: Geomagnetic Field Sensitivity:

All brain waves are generated by electrical activity in the brain, and they also generate electrical activity of their own, which creates an electromagnetic field around the brain.

Anya’s abilities could be tied to the geomagnetic field of the earth, especially during the New Moon: when the moon is positioned between the earth and the sun, this could affect the field’s strength. The subtle alteration in the geomagnetic field could disrupt the electromagnetic field generated by Anya’s brain, thus disrupting the neural processing. 

In other words: the New Moon could interfere with Anya’s own electromagnetic field around her brain, via sensitivity to changes in the geomagnetic field, which could be why she can’t read minds during the New Moon. 

Theory 2: Resonance:

Resonance can be observed in physics, acoustics, musical, electrical, and mechanical systems - but now scientists are even looking at resonance in consciousness, and resonance in brain waves on a quantum level. 

Without going into too much detail (I am not qualified), I think Anya would generate a resonance frequency of her own that helps her to facilitate telepathic communication: through resonance, Anya could synchronise her Psi waves with the brain waves of another person, and it is this synchronicity that helps her to interpret the other person’s brainwaves. 

If Anya ever encountered another telepath (as she does in SSS), I imagine that they wouldn’t be able to read each other’s minds because their resonance frequencies would cancel each other out. 

In SSS, I also introduced the idea of a sub-auditory sound wave which would stop Anya from being able to use her telepathy. The idea behind this was to introduce another weakness for Anya: when this sound wave is emitted or detected, it interferes with the brain's natural telepathic frequency. This is because the sound wave oscillates at a frequency that masks the neural signals required for telepathy, and means that Anya can’t interpret those signals as easily. 

Thanks for reading!

I told you this was long. Sorry 😅

The above is really just a collective mishmash of stuff I’ve been slowly putting together for about the last 6 months, and I fully accept there will be parts that are more plausible than others. 😂 But it was fun, and more than anything I am really excited to see what we get to find out in Anya’s backstory arc (when it gets here…), and if I see any mentions of brains or neuroscience in SxF I will literally die of joy

#spy x family #sxf #sxf theory #spy x family analysis #non canon #so far #we'll see what Endo does #since he really like neuroscience and psychology #thanks im going to sleep for a thousand years #sxf theories #neuroscience #psychology #neuroscience of telepathy #science of telepathy #telepathy #telepathy isnt real but if it was this is how it would work #also im really sorry for how long this is #i had no idea it would get so out of hand #no spoilers #i think #dont come at me #test subject 007 #anya #anya forger #anya analysis

[gardenofnoah]

note: for my dearly beloved @bunnions now that it’s been read and we are Emotionally Processing. Bunny I LOVE you and I am so grateful that you wanted to read more of my silly little words. <3

wc: 8.2k tags: Bakugou x Bunny (bakubun supremacy), childhood friends to strangers to lovers, SOME angst (happy ending), minor injury (is just a little scrape on the playground, it’s okay), light smut, redemption/making amends

<3

-Today-

Bakugou Katuski was born to fight. Blessed with his mother’s quick tongue and quicker anger, it was never in his nature to shy away from what writhed, violent and hard, inside of him–to brandish it like a weapon, no matter the target. As an adult, Katuski finds he’s turned the weapon on himself and it’s different. This fight is one that does not seem to have an end, and while it’s not in his nature to quit–he’s sure as hell thought about it.

On the precipice of 30, just about everything is a fight if he’s honest with himself. But with that also comes some pride–he is a kicked dog reformed, and he hasn’t lost yet. That’s what he tells himself every morning, when the sunlight cuts through the window and pulls him from somewhere else–somewhere softer and a little kinder. When he opens his eyes despite the sting, it is another reminder of his own grit–of the ways he has fought to win another groggy morning.

There is a mechanical efficiency to this ritual that he’s gotten down to a science by now–the way he pulls himself from his sheets, the four minute shower that tells his brain it’s time to wake up, the coffee that he’s never liked (but now it’s either a bitter taste in his mouth or a splitting headache–the former feels like the easier route, and he feels he’s owed at least one of those), the 10 minutes of stretching before the 30 minute jog through familiar neighborhoods. Sometimes he’ll stall and make it an hour, doubling back to over the same sidewalks with a new perspective. Or at least he tries to–to him, it’s the same damn street any way you look at it.

He does all of these things with a commitment he’d expected to earn back by now–like there would be some karmic gift to taking care of himself that would magically fix him. And truthfully he has benefitted from consistency, but there is still an empty space somewhere inside him. To be meticulous in planning his days has not fulfilled him the way he wanted it to–he makes his breakfast and he pushes his body to its limit and he calls his mother as often as he can manage and he still thinks of you.

Katsuki has stability, and that is a new and welcome thing. Hard won and much deserved, he’s worked for it– and the people around him evidently agree, if Kirishima’s heavy arm around his shoulders and weepy compliments of how far he’s come anytime they’re out for drinks is an indication of that. Katsuki can see it, too–the fact that he only thinks about knocking Eijiro out a little bit when the big moron is yowling in his ear like that is progress in and of itself. That Katuski now has a whole horde of friends that regularly and willingly gather around with and for him is more than he ever imagined he’d have, and he’s grateful for it.

It was effort, of course–the years it took for him to make those long-overdue amends weigh heavily on him still, and it took even longer for that burden to feel anything but crushing. To let anyone near his underbelly was uncomfortable at best, but to be alone was worse, and Katsuki has never been a quitter. Except for when it comes to you.

Katsuki can’t admit to himself that he has given up, but he also can’t get himself to do anything about this silence that trails after him like a ghost. It’s infuriating because it’s just you, and he knows that that's exactly the reason he’s stuck in this constant game of will-he-or-won’t-he with himself, though he already knows the outcome. It’s just not one he can accept, so he tortures himself instead– he sees the concern on his friends’ faces over the way he tears himself apart and takes it as a personal failing, because it’s just you, and all he has to do is tell you he’s sorry.

Except he can’t do that. Because if he told you he was sorry, he’d have to tell you why–and then he’d have to tell you everything. Katsuki has never been a liar and knows that it might be the truth of it all that still holds him together (if there was ever a lamer excuse for holding out for something as silly as hope like this, he’s not aware of it). But his fingers bled with all of that stitching himself back together. It feels counterintuitive at best to unravel himself all over again for you.

You’d been the needle, and the thread. Another truth he could never bear to tell you.

-Six-

Katsuki doesn’t know what to do when he finds you curled in on yourself inside the fluorescent orange tunnel. The echoes of palms and knees moving through the plastic above his head reverberate through his body, but he can’t focus on any of it–his eyes are glued instead to the injury you’re crouched over–a scraped elbow, red and angry.

“Bunny?”

You sniff, and it raises goosebumps on his arms. “Pushed m–me.”

Your voice is tinny and distorted inside the tunnel. He’s suddenly filled with more anger than his six year old brain can wrap itself around. He puffs up his cheeks and turns from you, stomping his way out of the plastic that he’s not even tall enough to touch the top of.

He finds them easily enough–two of them, older than him by at least three years, targeting some other poor little kid. They’re circled around him like sharks. Katsuki only sees the shorter one step forward–arms extended, grinning as if his cruelty is a game–and then he blinks, and everything is different.

He blinks, and their target is gone–the two older ones are at his feet, the taller one barely holding back tears as he crouches over a bloody knee.

“Katsuki Bakugou–what the hell are you doing?”

He’s already fighting his mother before she has a full grip on his elbow, dragging him off the playground. He’s not listening–he just wants to go see if you’re okay.

“Oi–stop, you can’t just throw people down like that–”

“They pushed her!”

It’s nearly a screech and the first words he’s said since he parted from you. Startled, his mother lets him go–he doesn’t spare her a second glance, off like a shot toward your tunnel. He feels the heat of the sun-baked plastic, too hot on his palms, but it barely registers as he crawls in next to you.

“S’okay,” he says quietly, trying to coax you out of the pretzel you've contorted yourself into. He reaches the pocket of his superhero shorts and fishes out a singular bandaid, crinkled up and a little dirty and too small for the wound on your arm. He waits for you to peer up at him before he unwraps it, and presses it to your scrape. You wince.

“I’ll fix it,” he says, tongue poking out of the gap between his teeth as he smooths the bandage over your skin, “s’okay.”

-Today-

Katsuki isn’t necessarily a glutton for punishment–it just feels like the most effective form of conditioning.

His lungs burn–breath hitching with every stride he takes down the sidewalk. He pushes himself to go a little longer, to run a little faster, and the exhilaration that comes with the way his body listens to him thrills him enough to keep him moving.

Later his joints will be sore–when he stays at the gym far too long and strains himself to fatigue, his body will revolt in the ways that are familiar to him. A natural consequence to crossing a boundary. But for now it’ll hold out–it’ll hold up to the beating he forces it to take, all for his own improvement. For something else, too.

Physical strength is something he understands. He gets back what he puts into it–he lifts a heavy thing to lift something heavier. He feels the feverish drum of his heart as he pushes himself through another mile and knows that he will be stronger for it. There is the promise of longevity there–a clear reason to continue to work hard.

Emotional stuff is not in Katuski’s wheelhouse. He runs through every action he’s ever taken ad nauseam and nothing changes–he still feels as stagnant and frustrated as he ever did, and he’s no closer to reaching out to you than he was years ago. He can tell himself to just do it but there is no amount of repetition or discipline that will train his brain into allowing himself to pick up the phone and dial the number he still knows by heart. He doesn’t know what else to do, and he hates that, so he defaults to what he knows–to push his body further, with the hope that his brain may one day follow suit.

On autopilot, he rounds the corner across from the bodega with the Spanish rice that Sero won’t stop talking about, and nearly takes an elderly woman off her feet. He skids to a stop, out of breath as he asks nearly a hundred times if she’s alright.

“Oh, I’m fine,” she says with a chuckle, swatting him playfully with a gloved hand, “You just gave an old girl a fright, is all.”

“Y’sure?” he says, pointedly eyeing the cane that shakes under her fingers.

She tuts, rolling her eyes like he’s being ridiculous. “Yes, yes. Don’t let me keep you!”

Katuski nods, helping her back inside the shop she’d been walking toward. He knows her, he realizes. Not in any significant way, but he's certain he's blown past her cotton white mass of hair on his jogs down the sidewalk. “Sorry about that, granny.”

She waves him off and this time he lets her, thinking a little too hard about how easy it might be to take him off his feet when he reaches that age. He picks up the jog at an albeit slower pace. He gets a good five strides ahead before he’s stopped again in his tracks.

This time, by you.

He feels like he’s seeing a ghost, and probably looks like it too, stopped in the middle of the sidewalk like this. There’s no force on earth that could get him to move–not away from you, and certainly not toward you.

So he’s stuck where he is, watching you cross the street–the damn sun personified, smiling to every stranger that breezes past you–with a heavy moving box in your arms. Hair tied back at the nape of your neck, there’s nothing obstructing his view from the way each grin stretches into your cheeks and suddenly he feels a little sick. You pass in front of him, carrying too much and unaware of his lingering, 20 feet to your right. Then you’re inside and out of his view.

Someone brushes past him, startling the breath back into his lungs. It’s a gasping thing, and he can only focus on the expansion of his lungs in his chest to get him back on this plane of existence. He feels outside of himself–like seeing you has drop kicked him out of his body. He has no control of his feet that carry him toward the building you slipped into, despite all the screaming his mind subjects him to. There’s a war inside him and yet, he walks the half step to the door and pushes it open.

“Welcome in–oh.”

And then you’re looking at him with eyes that haven’t changed and he feels very sick–so much so that he can’t say anything. He just stands there, sweating and out of breath and damn terrified of the other half of his heart, staring back at him for the first time in years.

“Katsuki?”

And god, does he wish he’d turned around when he had the chance, because how unfair it is to have to hear you say his name like that. To see you look at him with only mild confusion and none of the disdain that he would’ve expected. Elbows propped on the counter in front of you, you show none of the tension he so palpably feels in every muscle of his body.

He swallows around the lump in his throat, and it’s painful. It’s all he can do to move his mouth around the words.

“Hey, Bunny.”

You give him the same splitting grin that you always did and it nearly knocks him on his ass. “What are you doing here?”

That’s a great question–he’s not looked around until now, and he has no idea where he is. There are framed art prints all over the dark walls, and dried flowers take up the spaces between them. There are some books, some knick knack looking things–his brain can’t process any of it.

“Uh–” trying to get his bearings, trying to come up with an answer that’s not I followed you in here after watching you on the street–

“You want a tour?” you ask him with a knowing smile, and he can only nod. You round the counter and then you’re next to him, and he feels your proximity like you hold a match to his skin. He has to fight to focus on your words–he wishes he would’ve clicked on any one of those “train your brain with this one trick” ads as he hears every third word and fights to connect the dots. Gallery, book vendors, display window. Something about a delivery schedule.

“These are all by a local artist,” you say, gesturing to a fourth of the wall in front of you, “I try to cycle them out as much as I can.”

He clings on to the last bit. “This is your place?”

Your eyes shift back to him, and you smile. It’s one of pride. “It is.”

He puts a pin in that–wholly interested in whatever could’ve led you here, but the latter part of that is a blinking neon sign in his brain.

“That mean you live around here?” He hates himself for sounding so hopeful–because what right does he have to that?

“Yeah, actually, I live down on our old street.” You say it like it doesn’t tilt his whole world on its axis. Like he can picture anything but running down a snow covered, lamp lit side street with your gloved hand in his. “You know that building next to the Thai place?”

He nods, and it’s all he can do. Of course he does. He remembers the old woman that lived in the first floor apartment–she’d yell down the street at the two of you to take some of the cookies she’d made to your mothers. He wonders if you keep plants in that front window, too.

You hum, choosing to move on–turning on your heel and pointing out the built-in shelves that curve over the arch of the front door.

He has the sudden and overwhelming urge to get the hell out of here.

“I, uh–” he says, clearing his throat a little too loud, “got something to do.”

“Oh,” you say, your smile faltering only a little. He wants to punch himself square in the face. “Of course. It was nice to see you, Katsuki.”

The nod is terse and automatic–all his brain power dedicated to timing his steps so that he doesn’t sprint out of your shop.

He walks–straight past the gym, where he meant to go–and doesn’t stop until his feet carry him through the threshold of his apartment. He ends up flat on his back in his tiny living room, staring at the ceiling and thinking of the way your canine tooth still pokes at your bottom lip the way it did when you were smaller and learning to ride a bike. He drags a hand down his face–some vain attempt of scrubbing the memory from his brain.

If nothing else, he knows what parts of the city to avoid now.

-Thirteen-

Katsuki feels weird. It’s not a new feeling–but it’s wholly unwelcome and an inconvenience at best. His body feels weird, too–he finds hair in places it wasn’t before and his voice does that god awful thing that embarrasses the hell out of him and he’s also been…having dreams.

You tend to be the star of them–which isn’t atypical, but usually in his dreams, he’s building a snow fort with you or reliving that time you accidentally swallowed a bug when you were 5. But now, his dreams make him acutely and uncomfortably aware of the changes in your body–the way your hips curve where they hadn’t before, the new swell of your chest, the way you smell a little different than you did before, how you’re often a full body, deep shade of red around him now–

He wakes up sticky and embarrassed more often than not.

It makes him want to avoid you–really, he'd do anything to stop the dreams and the feeling under his skin when you’re too close to him (or not close enough)–but he can’t. Not fully, anyway. He’s drawn to you like a magnet. He feels frustrated, and the only way he knows how to cope with that frustration right now is to get angry about it.

He takes out his anger on the younger and weaker–by now he’s forgotten the way those boys looked when they pushed you down at the park. The meaner he gets, the more revered he is by his peers, and that feels good. He doesn’t remember the way your tears beaded fat and fell down your cheeks in the way that the targets of his bullying shed them now. He slams a locker that someone has just opened and earns hoots and hollers from the boys around him, and to Katsuki, any praise is good praise.

He starts picking fights with his mother and antagonizing his teachers. He spends most afternoons in the principal’s office and he gets tired of the disapproval–of the disappointment that so palpably radiates from everyone around him. He does things he wouldn’t have considered before–skipping class and staying out past curfew (even if it’s just to loiter on the sidewalk of the next block over). He feeds off the energy of the group around him–someone makes a poor decision, and the rest follow. It feels good, to not feel any sense of inhibition. Everything else is fucked up and weird, but this is what he can control.

His one hang up is you.

Other students begin to avoid him in the halls-especially when he is flanked by one or two others. It feeds into his own sense of superiority–makes him puff out his chest and carry his head high on his shoulders. So high that he walks right past you.

“Hey!”

Your shout startles him out of his bravado. He turns and instantly deflates–one of his friends leers above you, holding your bookbag above your head, out of your reach.

He’s immediately filled with an anger that feels so familiar but he can’t place it. His vision dulls around the peripheral–focused in on you and the furrow of your eyebrows. Feeling, for the first time in a long while, some sense of injustice for what is happening around him.

Before he knows it, his fist connects with the soft remnant of baby fat that still exists under his friend’s ribcage. He drops, and so does your bookbag–Katsuki reaches over his writhing body to grab it and hand it back to you. He looks at you then–and is startled by what he sees on your face.

It’s a mix of shock and fear, and something else. Something like sadness, or what he'd later come to know as grief.

“Thanks, Katsuki.”

You sound quieter than he’s used to, and you don’t look at him when you take your bag from him. You sling it over your shoulder and turn on your heel, not bothering to say goodbye to him. He watches you go.

“Dude,” a cough from below him, “what the fuck–”

Katsuki looks down at the huddle of limbs below him with all of the disdain that he can muster. “Leave her alone,” he says. He walks away too, leaving his friend behind—not for the last time.

-Today-

Despite all of Katsuki’s attempts to avoid you, he sees you everywhere.

Except he can’t even really call them attempts. He supposes it’d be the opposite, because now he’s picked a new jogging route–which happens to be down the street you both grew up on. The one you’ve now made a home on.

He’s also managed to time it at exactly the time you head out to go to work. He nearly comes out of his skin the first time you call out to him. Like he wasn't expecting you to.

“Good morning,” you beam at him, having caught him right as he passed you on the sidewalk. He feels like you’ve trapped him there–which is odd, because he could just turn and continue his jog.

He doesn’t care to think too hard about why can’t physically get himself to do that.

“You want to come up?” you ask him, completely unaware of the agony inside him right now, “I just put on coffee–”

“No.” It’s gruff and too quick, and he sees you startle a bit. “I–uh. Have some shit to do this morning.”

You relax–and appear to be fighting off something like a grin, something a little too knowing for his comfort.

“Next time, then,” you tell him, pulling the door to your building shut behind you. “Have a good day, Katsuki.”

.

.

Next time comes very soon.

He did it to himself, really–there could only be so many times he meets you at your stoop at the exact moment you open the door before it stops being excused as a coincidence.

It's embarrassing at the very least and borderline obsessive behavior at its worst, but you don't bring it up–he's grateful for that, but also a little skeptical. You just invite him in again, and this time, he follows you through the door.

He's not sure what he was expecting. Really, it was silly to think that you'd have decorated your space according to your taste when you were seventeen, but he's surprised to find little bits of the person he knew you to be back then, scattered around your apartment. There's no mistaking the way your style has grown with you, though. It shouldn't be shocking to him that your home looks like a fully fleshed out, adult space, but it does. Weird.

"Offer's still there for coffee, if you want any."

You're watching him survey the place, hip leaned up against the entryway to the kitchen. The morning sun streams in through a window behind you, backlighting you in a warm glow.

Right. Why would it not?

Katsuki pulls himself together to nod at you, all the rigidity he'd tried to rid himself of still fully there. You smile and turn on your heel like you hadn't noticed.

Alone for the moment, he keeps looking. It feels a little invasive, but he can't stop. He needs to know about you, about the ways that you changed without him. He finds himself searching for the songs you like, the movies you watch, the hobbies you have. Who were you this whole time?

He walks slowly past a small, wooden shelf holding novels he's never heard of. The top cover is nondescript and gives him no hints as to what it could be about, but the spine is so worn that he knows you've read it more than once. He logs the title for...later. He's not actually sure why he's so fixated on it, but it freaks him out. He moves on.

There are frames all over the walls–art and dried flowers and a napkin with a note on it and in the middle of it all, a picture from a time he remembers. You and your kid sister in your matching pink overalls that used to embarrass you, but mostly because people mistook you for the younger sibling in them the most. Your face is painted like a tiger, and your front tooth is missing. He remembers this exact day, actually, because he's next to you in this picture.

"She never wants to match with me anymore."

He nearly jumps out of his skin. You pay him no mind, smiling softly at the picture. He tries to recover. "How is she–I, uh–"

"Doing? The same. Quiet still. My favorite person in the world."

He feels it in his chest and knows that it's true. He finds himself grateful that you've been loved this whole time. He also finds himself a little too aware of his own loneliness in a way that makes him want to leave. But you stand in his way now, coffee held out to him in your hands. He takes it and feels intensely grateful your fingers don't brush.

"You run every morning?"

The coffee burns his tongue and he fights the flinch, covering it with an affirming grunt.

"That's admirable. I think I'd have a hard time with a routine like that."

You don't mean anything by it. You couldn't mean anything by it, and yet he is reminded of the reason he has this routine. He is reminded of the person he was without this routine. And he needs to go right now.

He makes another excuse of having something he needs to do, and he doesn't look at your face when he leaves.

-Today-

You find yourself back in the old neighborhood bar on a Friday night, with none other than Kirishima Eijiro.

Eijiro has always been kind. When you ran into him on the sidewalk (literally, the wall of a man that he is), it was an easy yes when he'd asked you to catch up. You're not at all surprised to hear about his marriage, nor his baby on the way. It's fitting, you think. He'll be a great father, a great husband.

He asks about you, and you tell him about the gift shop. You tell him about moving away and it not feeling right–about the way it felt to be away from your sister. You tell him about your writing, and about the way your life is quiet and beautiful and your own.

There's just one thing that's bothering you.

“Tell me something,” you whisper lowly to the redhead, who leans in to listen. “What on earth is wrong with Katsuki?”

There’s a flash of something across his face, and then he’s back to feigning nonchalance. “Ah, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

You level him with a look. “Eijiro.”

He sighs, sitting back in his seat. “Alright, alright. I do know what you’re talking about, but it’s not my business to tell.”

You cross your arms across your chest, eyebrow raised. He only laughs.

“Jeez, you’re scary. All I can say is he feels guilty about how he left things between you.”

“Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack, lady. He’s been holding onto it for a while.”

“Why?”

He only shrugs, taking another sip from the drink in front of him. You think it might be yours, but you don’t have it in you to tell him–whatever gets you an answer. “He’s worked really hard. I’m proud of him. He just,” he gestures into the empty space with the glass like it holds the words he’s looking for, “didn’t know how to reach out, I think.”

“That’s stupid.”

The redhead laughs, warm and open like he always was. It feels nostalgic, in a way. You’d never had much opportunity to spend time with Eijiro, and you feel a little sad about that. He’s good. You were glad that, in the time you’d been absent from his life, Katsuki had been able to find a friend like him.

“As tough as he seems, I think it tears him up to know that someone he cares about is upset with him.”

You gape at him. “He thinks I’m mad at him?”

Eijiro grins at you over the rim of the glass. With the most emphasized discretion and a wink, he slides his phone to you, screen-side up. Katsuki's contact. “Yep. He’s a baby.”

-Seventeen-

At seventeen, Katsuki understands what it means to regret something for the first time. You sit in front of him in tears, and he feels that regret so deeply that he thinks he might be sick.

“You’re so mean, Katsuki.”

Your voice is so uncharacteristically quiet he almost has to strain to hear it. You don’t look at him–and he panics, because he’s never known you to be near him and not looking at him.

“You’re a crybaby,” he says, and he means it lightly–he expects you to laugh, and to make a jab at him back–but the crease between your eyebrows gets deeper and your chin wobbles and suddenly the walls are closing in around him.

“Bunny, I–”

“I have to go.” And then you’re gone.

Your footsteps ricochet off the walls and inside his head until his teeth ache with it. He doesn’t understand what the hell just happened–or why he can’t ever seem to stop his mouth from running out in front of him, just out of his reach.

There’s nothing else to do but go home. For the first time since he’d learned to drive, his passenger seat sits empty.

.

.

.

“Morning!”

You sound chipper when you sit down next to him, which confuses the hell out of him until he looks up at you and sees the way your smile is brief, and strained at best.

The shame crawls up his throat and clamps down on any attempt at reciprocation. It’s all he can do to force out a grunt of acknowledgement. You don’t say anything else.

Class ends, and he doesn’t wait for you. He is up and out of the room before you even stand from your seat.

.

.

.

There is something very cowardly that lives in Katsuki. He hadn’t known about it until now–and now he feels settled into it. Like it’s known him all his life.

He’s ignoring you. That’s what it is, no matter how many other ways his mind tries to spin it. It’s been 3 months since he made you cry and now it feels too late–like any attempt at speaking to you would just be inappropriate–so he doesn’t. He knows he’s a coward and he can see that it hurts you. Your texts start dwindling–where you used to chat with him throughout the day (often to his chagrin), your name comes across his phone once every few weeks, and then not at all. He reads every message, and he replies to none.

But then he gets busy–preparation for graduation and moving out and on and making something of himself–and a year passes. You still say hello to him when you see him. You’re still kind to him, which that in itself he cannot understand. There’s an obvious rift, though. You don’t seek him out anymore. And he can’t blame you.

He knows you’re alright, though, if your social media posts are anything to go by. You’ve made other friends, and every picture of the corners of your mouth drawn back in that familiar grin feels like a wound. He feels guilty about that, too–about the ways in which he grieves a spot in your life that he is no longer entitled to.

-Today-

He doesn’t touch a single step on the way up to your place–he’s not even sure he’s opened the door so much as kicked the fucking thing down just to get to you. You in danger–you hurt and needing him and–

Standing there. Whole and unharmed, fingers stained red only with the strawberry you have halfway to your mouth. Hip propped against the counter, you look relaxed–certainly not in any peril–

His exhale is sharp–forced, as the relief bleeds into irritation. “What the fuck, Bunny–”

“No, you, what the fuck,” you say, hands on your hips. His eyes have no choice but to follow them, and he realizes you have his sweatpants on. “What is wrong with you?”

They’d be floods on him now, but they fit you in a way that would make him believe they were yours if he didn’t know any better. Worn in, like you’d been wearing them this whole time. A relic from some sport he played way back when–where you wearing them felt inconsequential then, it feels monumental now, after how he treated you. He can’t wrap his mind around the way there could still be any possibility of a space carved out for himself in your life.

“Why did y’act like you were fuckin’ dying’?”

“Would you have come otherwise?”

That gives him pause–because he’s not sure what answer you’re looking for. “I–”

“You,” you cut him off with a step closer to him–he takes one back, toward the still open door. “Have been avoiding me. What did I do?”

“It’s not–you didn’t do anything–”

“So what is it?”

It’s quiet, then–and somehow the weight of his absence is more crushing than it’s ever been. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly–trying to slow the locomotive beat of his heart.

“M’sorry,” he mutters, looking down at a spot on the floor. He hates himself for not being able to look at you. He hates that after all of these years, this is the extent of his bravery.

“What are you sorry for?”

“Was shitty to you,” he drags a hand down his face and forces himself to look at you. Forces himself to keep your eyes for at least three seconds before the panic rears up and he has to look away again. “When we were kids.”

But now he’s frustrated–because that can’t be all he has to offer you. Years, and sorry I was an asshole is all he has to say? At this point in his life, after all of the work he has put in, it feels unacceptable to him.

He just can’t think of another thing to say.

But you’re patient. You always have been. You tilt your head and wait.

“I was…mean to you,” he hears your words to him so clearly he has to remind himself that you hadn’t just said them to him, standing here in front of him. “And then I left.”

“You did,” you murmur gently, but there’s no detectable bitterness in your tone. You look at him with all of the fondness you always did.

“Wasn’t right,” he gruffs, throat feeling tight, “‘n I should’ve apologized and then it was too late. And now…”

You hum, an almost sympathetic thing. You take a step closer to him, and he has to fight to stay where he is. A large part of him wants to bolt out the door–another smaller and seemingly insane part wants to be closer to you.

“I missed you, you know.”

His eyes snap to yours then–searching for the punchline. Waiting for you to tell him that you were only fucking with him. It doesn’t come. You seem to hear the question he can’t get himself to ask.

“I was never upset with you, Kat. I only ever missed you.”

“But I–” he can’t think of one good reason to try to argue with you right now, and yet he can’t stop his mouth from moving. “You cried–”

And that makes you laugh. “Katsuki, I was sixteen. Someone could have breathed the wrong way and I’d cry.”

He can’t get his brain to catch up. You take another step toward him–he feels your proximity buzz on his skin.

“I knew you,” you murmur, and it feels like a secret he does not deserve to hear, “and you’re different now. But I’d like to think I know you still.”

He feels your fingers wrap around the wrist that’s glued to his side. He eyes you, not completely confident that he’s not hallucinating right now. He lets the tension bleed from that particular spot of his body–lets you thread your fingers through his. It feels like you’ve set him on fire and he’s acutely aware in this moment that he will never let you go. Not ever again.

“I’m still here,” you tell him, speaking directly to his heart now. You take one more step and wrap your arms around his middle, ear to his heart. If he was anywhere close to his right mind, he’d be embarrassed by how it races in his chest. “I still need you like I did then.”

You’ve rendered him speechless and immobile. It’s another several, long seconds before you break the silence.

“Okay Kat this is going to be really embarrassing if you don’t hug me back–”

“Sorry,” he murmurs, thawed. He wraps both arms around your shoulders, a cage around your head that holds you to him. “Sorry.”

You laugh a little, muffled by his sweatshirt, and he feels warm. It’s quiet then, but not in a way that’s oppressive–not in a way that pins him to the floor or to his grief.

“Stay here tonight,” you tell him–you don’t ask.

He wants to say no–he has no change of clothes and he has his routine that keeps him afloat and he’s not sure what’ll happen if he strays from that–but to be with you like this feels good. It would be stupid to stave that off for even one more night.

.

.

.

Now that he's comfortable enough to really look, there are pieces of you around your apartment that he never thought he’d see again.

In the throw pillows you’ve picked, the way you arrange things (and not just the pictures and frames but other things that he didn't see before, ornate and odd and out of place if anywhere but here. He thinks they're weird and just like you to have) on your walls. He’s no idea when he got so damn sentimental, but he can’t help it (and would rather die than ask you about any of it, so he observes quietly when you’re not looking).

You ask him if he's hungry, and for the first time in a while, he's not nauseous around you and finds that he could eat. No sooner than you start cooking does he bat you away and take over completely. You put up what he knows is a weak attempt at a fight before you take a seat next to him on the counter to watch. It’s all he can do to pay attention to the downswing of his knife on the cutting board, rather than the way his sweatpants hug your hips from this angle.

God, is he fucking thirteen again?

He feels it–knows he’s red in the face the entire time you’re next to him. You seem oblivious–chatting with him about the shop and the book you’re reading and your sister, and everything else he’s missed in the last however long. It sobers him a bit–because there is so much that he has missed.

“Hey,” you swing your leg out to poke him in the gut with your toes. “I’m right here.”

He catches you by the foot and holds you there–fights to keep himself from brushing over the instep of it with his thumb. “Keep y'r gross feet to yourself.”

You hum. “You gonna let go of my gross foot then?”

He releases you immediately, red and grumbling about you being a damn brat when you chuckle. He busies himself with finishing dinner, pointedly choosing not to look at you to protect his own sanity.

He supposes it makes sense–he’d cut off his feelings for you years ago like he’d bent a hose in half. To be around you again has loosened his grip on the thing–and here they are again, flooding his system with far more pressure than before. It’s a heavy thing, the weight of his love and the burden of what he’d done. It doesn’t matter if you aren’t upset with him–he feels the need to atone all the same.

Over dinner, he feels bold enough to let you in, at least a little bit. He keeps his eyes on his plate as he details chronologically–graduating, the loneliness, the need to be connected and to make amends. In not so many words, he tells you about his regret. He wants to tell you of his deepest one–walking away from you–but he stops just short of it.

You’re thoughtful beside him, chewing on each piece of the puzzle as he shares it. After a moment, he starts to sweat.

“Never knew you could be so quiet.”

You huff, mouth pulling up at the corners. “And I never knew you could talk so much.”

Before he can get embarrassed, you reach for him again–fingers wrapping around his forearm. “You’re different now.”

It’s the second time you’ve said it and the wave of insecurity threatens to displace his dinner. The word comes out before he can stop it. “Bad?”

You shake your head, smile growing wider. “No. Not bad.”

He supposes he can live with that. You keep your grip on him, literal and otherwise.

“Don’t remember you bein’ so touchy.” It’s half-hearted at best–he curses himself for looking a gift horse in the mouth, but the confusion somehow beats out the unfettered need to have your attention on him.

He turns his arm over, palm up, and you smooth your thumb over the tendon in his wrist. You smile again, but it’s subdued this time. It doesn’t quite meet your eyes in the way he knows you meant it to. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

“M’ sorry, Bunny.”

You shake your head, eyes trained on each freckle on his arm as you smooth over it with your thumb. “You were a child. There’s nothing you need to be sorry for.”

He huffs, grabbing a hold of your hand. “Yeah, well, ’m a grown ass man now and I’m still sorry.”

You snort, weaving your fingers together again. Your smile comes easier.

“I love you,” you murmur, eyes never leaving where you are linked with him.

The silence turns deafening. Katsuki is certain he’s just had a fucking stroke.

“I–you–”

“Oh my god,” you breathe, looking mortified as you snatch your hand away from him–

He snatches it back just as quickly. “Fuckin’–hold on–”

You look like you’re ready to chew his arm off to get out of his grasp–and it makes him laugh. Really laugh, deep in his chest–you look at him like he’s lost his mind.

“I’ve been–fuckin’,” he says, still giggly, still giddy if he could ever be that, “dreamin’ of hearing you say that for nearly two damn decades and that’s how you do it?”

He’s still laughing as he watches the gears turn in your head–you relax a little in your seat and he releases you, only when he’s sure you won’t dart off. You suck in a breath, long and controlled.

“Oh,” you exhale, and he watches it click for you. “You–oh.”

He feels bolder than he ever has–every nerve ending in his body on fire and needing you. He's up and next to you before he knows it, and you look up at him with eyes that look right through him. For the first time, he hopes you see it all. He wants you to see everything.

Whatever you see has you up out of your seat, your hands reaching for him and settling on his chest like you'd known the feeling of him beneath your palms all of your life. You tilt your chin, and he follows you down.

.

.

.

Katsuki's got the whole world in his hands; he chooses to handle it–you–with fragility that he wasn’t sure he was capable of until now. He rushes nothing–the soft give of your hips under his hands is nearly dizzying and he can’t stop himself from pulling you closer, if you ever could be. You don’t seem to mind–reaching and grabbing and needing him like you are. To know that the unbridled want he feels is mutual burns him from the inside out–but it’s more than that, and he can feel it down to his bones–he loves you. So deeply and for so long that he hardly knows what to do with himself now that he has you in his lap. He only knows, as innately as breathing or the blood flowing through his veins, to pull you closer–fingertips touching at your spine and pulling you closer still, expanding with your ribcage at every breath that grows deeper against his lips.

“Katsuki,” and you whisper it but you may as well have shouted for the way it lights up every synapse in his brain, “want more of you–”

“Let me feel ya a little longer,” he presses a kiss to your jaw and he feels like he’s pleading. He’s not too proud to do it. “Just a little longer, yeah?”

You blink, processing what he’s asked, and a small, sweet smile splits your face as you lean your forehead to his temple, nodding softly. And god, does it feel like a prize, like a gift he’s surely never deserved but you are so good and you care little for how deserving he might be. He’s never known anything like you–never knew he could have something like this. Your body bows toward his like gravity or the universe or a god called you to do it, and there’s no force on earth or otherwise that could keep him from meeting you halfway.

His fingers follow the spaces between your ribs and trail up to the hollow of your throat–he feels the rapid flutter of your heart through the thin skin and the knowledge that you are as affected as he is proves to be too much for his own heart–

“Katsuki–”

You’re pleading now, and when he meets your hooded gaze he understands. His hands fall to your hips again, and press down gently–he can look nowhere but your face that goes slack as you shudder through the pleasure that he feels lick up his spine. He’s as intentional and methodical as he’s ever been, and he knows that if he’d ever been born for anything, it has to be this–to use his body for this–for you–

“Oh,” your arms loop around his neck and pull him back to you, and he chases the soft press of your lips to his–the feeling of your sweet sounds that fill his mouth, “it’s so good. You feel so good.”

Your praise gnaws at the edges of his skull and makes everything fuzzy. He’s mindless as he holds you there–rutting against you slowly, just as animal as anything but only with the goal of keeping you in his arms, kissing him like you are. Every plush glide of your mouth against his pulls him deeper into this thing–

He nearly comes out of his skin when your hand covers where he is hard and aching and squeezes. “I want to feel you,” you say, and he comes back to himself, if only a little bit, to pull your hand into his and bring it to his lips.

“Later”, he murmurs against your wrist, letting his words smear across your skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. He presses a kiss to the inside of your elbow and raises it over his head to join the other. “Need you t’feel good.”

It’s the most honest thing he’s ever said and the weight of it presses you back into your sheets, open and looking up at him like an angel. He knows to treat you gentler still–he resists the urge to bite down–to consume, to bring you into him–and replaces it with the press of his mouth to your jawline, and the wet drag of his tongue across the skin of your stomach.

“So beautiful,” he breathes against your skin, warm and soft between your hip bones, “Y’re so fucking beautiful–”

He knows he’s never tasted a thing like you when you flood his tongue, and that he will never again–knows that he’ll never hear anything like the cry you let out as you let him have this part of you. The way you say his name, the way you don't seem to know whether to pull him in or push him away–now that he has you, he knows he can never go without.

He loves you. He loves you.

You slip over that edge with the ease of water from a glass and he nearly follows you. He presses his temple into the soft give of your thigh and feels delighted at the feeling of the flutter of your heartbeat. He'd stay there forever if he could, but your grip on his hair pulls him back up to you, and he can't stop the laugh that leaves him.

You kiss him and the arousal knocks around his stomach so hard it makes him dizzy. He pulls away just to ground himself–he leans his temple to yours and relishes in the feeling of your fingertips up his arms, over his shoulders, into his hair.

"Katsuki," you whisper, pulling him closer. He knows it could never be closer enough.

"'m here, Bunny," he kisses every inch of skin he can reach, "I'm here."

#coms <3 #I would say coms are open but this took literal months so like. proceed at your own risk #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou fic #mha fic #bnha fic #bakugou fluff #bakugou hurt comfort #BAKUBUN <3

[vickyvicarious]

I had to tear down wrappings and ransack a number of boxes and drawers, but at last I managed to turn out what I sought; the box label called them lambswool pants, and lambswool vests. Then socks, a thick comforter, and then I went to the clothing place and got trousers, a lounge jacket, an overcoat and a slouch hat—a clerical sort of hat with the brim turned down. I began to feel a human being again, and my next thought was food.

I know this is like, a fairly common expression, but still... there's something to be said for the way Griffin doesn't feel human again till he is dressed.

His initial feeling of being a seeing man in a world of the blind, during his his invisible flight from his rooms, lasted only a few minutes. And then first he was struggling in the crowd, before he fairly quickly became prey on the run. The rest of his experience before he took shelter in the mall is pretty nightmarish.

He spends such a good chunk of the book described only as a stranger, and in a way that clearly reflects the testimonies of those who resented and didn't respect him. But also, for all that he is paranoid about being seen (being unseen) by them, he doesn't want to be identified or to socialize at all, so he never gives them a name. Mr. Marvel, of course, never knows him by any name either - he's the first person who (doesn't) see him for what he is right from the start of their acquaintance, and to him Griffin is only ever "the Voice" or "the Invisible Man."

We don't learn his name at all until chapter 17, when he identifies himself to Kemp. And even then, even after a whole back-and-forth repeating his name, he's still called either "the Voice" or "the Invisible Man", once "the Unseen", throughout the rest of that chapter. In chapter 18, he's described by name just once, when his reply to a final question of what else Kemp can get him indicates a surprising vulnerability/desire for comfort: "“Only bid me good-night,” said Griffin." Again, in chapter 19, Griffin is back to initially being only "the Invisible Man" when he's having his fit of temper. He gets his name back when sits down to eat and when he and Kemp are conversing about science. But when he begins describing his money trouble and how he robbed his father, he becomes "the Invisible Man" again at the close of the chapter. In chapter 20, it's mostly Griffin's story, but there's a little switch at the start of the chapter. Kemp takes "the Invisible Man's arm" to bring him away from the window when he's worried he'll see police approaching, and then puts himself "between Griffin and the nearest window" - when he feels more sure he's managing the situation, Griffin gets his name back. Again, at the end of chapter 21, he's back to his title while we see Kemp glancing out the window nervously and clearly distracted... his thoughts more on the help he sent for than on the story being confided to him.

With Kemp, the only person who knows his name, there is a clear pattern to call him by some title when he is afraid of his violence. At least so far. His name is only ever used when he is being more 'civilized'. Not even just whenever he is being open and vulnerable, because he does that a surprising amount throughout his story, but as Kemp's mind wanders, Griffin goes back to being titled once more.

When he's naked and totally invisible, Griffin himself feels like something outside of humanity. And while briefly freeing, this soon became a horrible feeling, something othering and scary. It's why his first instinct is to get clothes, before he even thinks about food. It's why he tries so hard to escape in the clothes he's stolen, before he's finally forced to abandon them. Sure, there's the practical reasons of not wanting to get sick and cold, and so on, but that's not the main drive. Except then he has to give that up in order to get away safely. And even when he does acquire clothes and money and his research and gets away somewhere safer (where the story begins), it's never enough. He's always othered to various degrees, which in general just keep increasing over time. By the time he gets to Kemp, his first request is no longer for clothes - something which again could just be put down to practicalities (he hasn't eaten in much longer this time, he's more used to running about naked and the weather is better) but also showcases much more of a willingness to leave them behind at the first sign of danger, in order to free himself to fight or flee. More certainty that he will need to. And he's right about that - after all, wearing clothes may make Griffin feel more human, but it's not the determining factor for Kemp here.

#the invisible mail #griffin #idk i'm not saying it well but. all the themes of being othered and dehumanized #and his reaction over time being to more and more act in ways that make the fear worse #except here with kemp. he's really pouring his heart out but it's mostly just not getting through at all #and griffin's hatred of vulnerability paired with how vulnerable he knows he is like this and #there's lots #just. a lot #and like. griffin introduced himself to kemp first as an invisible man. yes. #he's trying to assert his humanity is still there even if it's different just as he initially did with marvel #but it only sticks so much. because even if he's no ghost he's still not fully *human* to them. the Invisible Man is not just another Man #he's a threat

[ellesimsworld]

Medical School Student Mod | Sims 4

Expansion Packs: EP08: Discover University (REQUIRED) EP01: Get to Work (RECOMMENDED)

Have you ever wanted your Sims to go to medical school before entering the doctor career? Or perhaps your teen Sim just graduated? Or maybe your Sim just wants to go to medical school for the hell of it! Well in my pursuit of adding more gameplay mods to my save for better storytelling, I created this medical school student career track! I must stress that this is a mini rabbithole mod, so it doesn't come with too many bells and whistles. I do hope to expand this as time goes on. I made this career available for Teens-Adults (sorry, Elders. If you all want me to make it available for them too, feel free to let me know).

Companies:

Your Sim will be randomly placed at one of the following medical institutions:

-The Landgraab School of Medicine -University of Britchester School of Medicine -Foxbury Institute of Medicine and Health Sciences -Plumbob Center of Medicine -Newcrest Center for Medicinal Sciences -Komorebi Institute of Medicinal Studies -University of Willow Creek, Goth School of Medicine

Again, their placement will be randomized. If you want your Sim to work at a specific medical institute, you can quit and rejoin the career until you get your desired one lol.

Pay: Your Sims will be unpaid until they become an intern (Level 5). For the first four levels, it is up to you to decide how (or if) your Sims will make simoleons. I recommend the Unlimited Jobs mod by TURBODRIVER, which allows you to have multiple jobs at a time. You can check it out here if you like.

Career Track

This career track comes with 9 levels:

Preclinical Med Student I: (§0)

Starting your journey into the medical field, you're diving into basic sciences and learning the foundational concepts of medicine. It's a challenging start, but with hard work, you'll build the knowledge needed for your future career.

Preclinical Med Student II: (§0)

With the first year behind you, you're now diving deeper into complex medical subjects. Balancing intense coursework and initial patient interactions, you're beginning to see how your studies apply to real-world healthcare.

Preclinical Med Student III: (§0)

Transitioning from the classroom to clinical rotations, you're getting hands-on experience in various specialties. Your understanding of medicine is growing rapidly as you apply your knowledge to real patients under supervision.

Preclinical Med Student IV: (§0)

In the final phase of your medical school journey, you're solidifying your skills and preparing for the next step. As you complete your rotations and apply for residency programs, you're focused on becoming a competent and compassionate doctor.

Intern: (§10)

Welcome to the first year of residency! As an intern, you're now a doctor, responsible for patient care under the guidance of senior physicians. The hours are long, but each day brings invaluable learning experiences and growth. Junior Residence: (§15)

With a year of internship behind you, you're now taking on more responsibilities. Your confidence is building as you make more independent decisions and start to specialize in a particular field of medicine.

Senior Residence:(§20)

Nearing the end of your residency, you're a seasoned doctor with a wealth of clinical experience. You're mentoring interns and junior residents while honing your expertise and preparing for the final stages of your training. Chief Resident: (§25)

As the chief resident, you're a leader among your peers, coordinating the residency program and ensuring the smooth operation of the team. Your skills and leadership abilities are put to the test as you balance administrative duties with patient care.

Fellow: (§35)

Specializing further, you're now a fellow, focusing on a particular area of medicine. This stage is all about mastering your chosen field, conducting research, and becoming a true expert before transitioning to an attending physician role.

Hours:

The hours for this career track are LONG! Again, I wanted to add as much realism as I could. So, expect your Sim to be gone for practically the entire day! They most likely will come back home with a tense buff.

Skills and Objectives The major skills your Sim will be focusing on in this career are Logic, Writing, Handiness, and Research & Debate. Your Sims objectives are essentially to progress these skills to the required levels.

Lots and Lot Traits:

For those who want to take their gameplay up a notch, I created a Medical School Lot Trait. But because we don't have medical school lots in game, if you plan on building a medical school for your Sims, it will most likely have to be on a generic lot.

Buff Your Sim will also get an inspired buff when on Medical School lots.

Trait: I also created a CAS trait for your Sims who are/ or want to become medical students. This trait comes with basic wants such as wanting to go to the library or researching something on Simpedia. It should be in the Lifestyle category.

Also, Sims with this trait will have the following conversation topics available to them:

If you have anything you want to be added to this mod, feel free to let me know and I will see if I can do it (no promises lol). For even better gameplay, I recommend the following mods and custom content:

• Custom Degrees by Zero: If you want your Sim to be in college and doing med school at the same time, Zero has a custom Medical Science degree your Sim can get at university. I think it's cool!

•  Scrubs (GTW required): These are the scrubs I currently have in my game. Here are the female ones, as well as the male ones.

• Unlimited Jobs + by TURBODRIVER: Like I stated earlier, this mod allows your Sim to have multiple jobs at once.

I hope to create a part 2 that deals with interns/residency/fellowships. Enjoy, and happy simming! Download from my Patreon.

elle.

#sims 4 #ts4 #sims 4 cc #ts4 mods #sims4 medical school #medical school #sims 4 medical school

[butchbenrey]

listen to me. ive already talked about how ptsd haver gordie would struggle to be around the science team, but think about darnold. okay?

(this turned out longer than i thought it would so im sparing you the experience of scrolling past it. true darnold pepper heads will read on. i know this to be true)

think about her. she was like, one of the only people who ever really Helped rather than hindered gordie during canon, and she did it completely of her own goodwill. the bit of time where everyone met darnold was a distinct respite from the chaos of the rest of black mesa. at least, it was as calm as it could get with the whole crew there fucking around. and darnold, while eccentric and silly, is undeniably the most emotionally intelligent person gordie met that whole time. and she had some self-preservation instinct, causing her to stay behind, which i would say makes darnold way better for gordie to be around than any of the other characters. because darnold knows and understands to some extent what happened, she was there after all, but she's not so intimately connected to the events that it would make gordie uncomfortable.

i think darnolds narrative function as a respite in canon could carry over to post-canon stuff too... i think darnold is someone gordie could confide in and actually get some reasonable responses from. i know a lot of people put tommy in the role of like. designated gordie therapist post-canon but i really can't see that. tommy just does not share the same outwardly friendly and curious demeanor that darnold does, at least not to me. and i can't imagine him really giving a shit about anything gordie says 😭. sorry. but darnold is different to me! i can imagine a frazzled and traumatized gordie going through old work emails trying to find a way to contact darnold again, looking for closure she'll never get. i can imagine her contacting darnold, anxious out of her mind, but finding that, when they do eventually meet up for coffee and darnold does some wacky shit to her own drink for funsies, she can roll with this. this is nice, to her. i think she can be a lesbo about it to be quite honest with you.

i have this scene in my head of like. somebody— probably coomer— throwing some kind of party and of course gordie feels obligated to come despite knowing in her heart its a terrible idea. and of course, she ends up spending much of the party standing awkwardly in a corner trying not to freak the fuck out and jumping out of her skin when coomer gives her a friendly (hard as fuck) punch on the arm. darnold has been spending the whole party rummaging around the bar and making all kinds of beautiful and fucked up cocktails, and when she notices gordie shes like "dear god that poor thing." so she makes a special little drink just for her, approaches gordie, and offers it to her, saying: "you seem a little glum. this should cheer you up!" and gordie breaks down sobbing on the floor because its so nice and shes so overwhelmed and nobody has shown her that kind of kindness and generosity in so long.

darnold also internally freaks out a little bit, scared she fucked something up, but she reasons that regardless of why gordie's crying, it's probably a good idea to take her outside and away from all the lights and sounds. so she does; she helps gordie up, escorts her out to the porch, sits her down. and they talk. gordie apologizes profusely for ruining the party and being weird and whatever and darnold earnestly replies that she was only there for the drinks anyways, she doesn't quite care for parties in the first place. gordie chugs the cute lil drink darnold gave her, and its good, and she tells darnold as much. darnold is very thankful that its so dark out because she is so so so flustered and she hopes gordie can't tell. gordie leans on her, though darnold is well over a foot shorter than gordie, so really it's functionally gordie resting her head on top of darnold's.

gordie is very much a lightweight and she gets more drunk from that one little glass than someone whos like 6'2" should, so darnold offers to drive her home to her apartment. gordie agrees, and she's even more handsy with people when she's drunk, so she's all holding onto darnold for support and rubbing her thumbs into her shirt and getting distracted. it is not good for darnolds composure in the slightest but she is trying so very hard to be normal about it. they make it back to gordie's apartment.

as they make it inside, gordie, drunk on both alcohol and the overwhelming feeling of being cared for for the first time in ages, tries to kiss darnold. darnold is a hopeless romantic to me. she wants to accept so bad but she's responsible, so she laughs it off and tells gordie they should get her to bed. gordie agrees and within minutes she's out like a light.

darnold stays the night, hopeful for the morning.

#barking #welcome to my twisted mind. #hlvrai #freenold #hlvrai orange soda #gordie freewoman #gordon feetman #darnold pepper

[idontknowreallywhy]

A little Teeny Scott wip snippet because the little Scooter popped into my brain as he often does when I’m a bit overwhelmed.

Tis another snapshot of my OC Primary teacher POV (oh oops I have two! No, not THAT one the other one! The one who taught teeny Scott rather than the one who trolls adult Scott)

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

Like many a primary class store cupboard, the one in Felicity Miles’ domain was crammed full of everything under the sun that could plausibly be “useful for craft one day” alongside all the more formal stationery supplies, first aid items, cuddly toys with their own bandages (often deployed to greater effect than the official first aid items).

She also had a small shelf, high up, she kept for the special pieces of work, the ones which demonstrated where a child had suddenly Got Excited - technicolour art, poetry with unashamed overuse of newly discovered adverbs, science projects, Scott Tracy’s poster about Pi. She always smiled to remember how after his initial disappointment about what the little squiggly symbol DIDN’T mean, how Absolutely he had adopted his new “favourite number”. She had a few from each class and when teacher life all got a bit overwhelming she’d take half an hour at the end of the day and reflect on why she did this in the first place. Retaining the space meant her marking piles were rather more crammed together and higgledy piggledy than ideal - her more organised colleagues would certainly raise an eyebrow - but it was worth it.

There was also a space about half a metre wide and about the same high on the very bottom shelf which it was important she kept empty. Again, the independent observer might have queries as to why, when space was at such a premium, this was necessary. She would probably just smile enigmatically and point at the tiny masking tape sign in wobbly 7-year old handwriting that said “The Octopus House” and leave them with more questions than they were ever going to get answers to.

The Octopus House wasn’t a secret but she didn’t advertise its existence. The few kids who knew about it found it because they needed it. The ones who needed to hide away for a moment, but not be too far away from the safety of their peers or the ones who needed to squeeze up small to process the big feelings without their limbs causing trouble.

It had received its name three years ago on that memorable day when she Lost a Student. He was just gone for at least 20 minutes which must have cost her at least a year of her life. Between the three adults in the class that day they’d subtly searched the corridors, the toilets, the lunch hall, the library and what could be seen of the playground but it was like the child had evaporated. Trying not to panic she’d sent the rest of the class out with the experienced TA and the very-green-but-compensating-with-extreme-enthusiasm NQT to do Olympic relay races on the playground (thank you Ancient Greek class project).

She leant on the back of the door for thirty seconds to catch her breath and psych herself up for the inevitable crisis meeting with the head and the moment at which that would turn in to needing to break the news to his Father.

The silence crowded in on her and she felt herself beginning to properly panic.

She didn’t even know exactly when he’d disappeared. He was there at the start of the lesson, seemed happy, seemed engaged. He’d been very excited about the task they had been given to recreate the Parthenon out of craft paper and had taken charge of his small group so naturally… they’d all been given their part of the mission and they were actually DOING it! Very effectively it seemed! She’d made a mental note to add “leadership skills” to the list of positive things she was going to put on his school report (because the previous few she’d read had made her nauseous with anger) and turned to assist a wailing child with no less than three glue sticks embedded in her hair. And that was… half an hour before? Oh hell that was a long time.

She and the other adults had been so busy mediating the minor battles breaking out in other groups that when a little voice piped up “where’s Scotty? He was sposed to make the lintels!” and her blood had suddenly run cold.

If he was hurt or in danger because she took her eye off him…

She blinked back tears and had just composed herself to pick up the phone to the head teacher’s office when she heard a tiny sniff and spun around to identify the source. Nobody was there.

Hardly daring to breathe, she tiptoed through the room checking under desks already checked three times.

Just as she was concluding she’d imagined it, there it was again - the tiniest noise but definitely a sniff and seemingly from the direction of the cupboard he couldn’t be in because the thumb turn bolt was still in the locked position.

Feeling like she was going crazy she unlocked the door and looked inside anyway.

Obviously it was empty. Her wishful thinking was wasting time. They needed to get a proper search party organised.

She turned to leave and heard it for a third time.

And it was that day, in her 5th year of teaching, she discovered just how small a ball a tall child could make themselves into. Seriously, the octopus had nothing on this kid.

The space was much smaller then, barely 30cm wide and only there at all because she’d taken out the long, thin box of baton-shaped sticks that had been wedged tightly in between stacks of who knew what. All she could see was a tangle of uniformed limbs and a mass of sweaty chestnut hair.

He obviously knew she was there and was holding his breath, clearly hoping not to be seen. Expecting to be in trouble.

Felicity picked up her phone and sent a quick “crisis averted” message to her TA and then, after ensuring the door was wedged wide open, she slowly lowered herself to the floor. Tucking her knees up to her chin to mirror his posture she rested her back on some boxes a few inches to the left of where he’d tucked himself away.

And she waited.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #tiny Scott #adhd!scott #thunderbirds oc #wee!tracys #WIP whenever

[radioisntdead]

inevitable

Vox x Sex repulsed! Ace Reader

Warnings:

This is short, OOC, Valentino is mentioned here unfortunately, I deleted the majority of my projecting but it's there if you squint, not my best work, I don't know what I wrote this was supposed to be something else and then it pinwheeled, reader is very much a "delay it until it bites you in the butt" person.

Song

You're growing tired of me

You loved Vox, you truly did.

You love me so hard and I still can't sleep

You loved his weird TV shaped head, the way he'd try to be all threatening but in all reality was a cowardly dork.

You're growing tired of me

Maybe it was because of the era you lived in, sexuality wasn't talked or discussed much so you didn't know exactly what you were.

You didn't look at people the same way your friends did, sure you found them beautiful, each person was unique in their own way, like how that one lady you passed by had the most beautiful eyes or how that guy's freckles reminded you of the starry night sky?

But you didn't want to undress them.

And all the things I don't talk about

You always avoided the topic of intercourse or anything beyond the more holy acts of affection like snuggling or handholding with Vox, If he brought it up you were quick to change the subject in a semi-awkward way.

Sorry, I don't want your touch

You'd move away from his hand if it traveled below your waist, you'd get up and speed walk away if needed.

It's not that I don't want you

Vox was confused because you returned his feelings, you'd engage in other acts of affection so why wouldn't you sleep with him? Was he that repulsive? Was it the TV head? The weird charger hole nipples?

Sorry, I can't take your touch

You avoided anything with erotica like the plague, Investing in a comically large can of bug spray so Valentino wouldn't come near you.

In the words of Carmilla Carmine it wasn't rocket science to figure out that you weren't into the whole sex thing.

However Vox just didn't clock that for some reason.

It's just that I fell in love with a war

You wanted to talk about it with Vox, that while you enjoyed spending time and doing things almost every other couple does, you didn't want to do certain activities.

Nobody told me it ended

But you just couldn't, everytime you wanted to bring it up you had a feeling of pure dread fill you.

And it left a pearl in my head

What if Vox didn't understand? What if everything crumbled away? What if something worse happened? There were too many liabilities.

And I roll it around every night

You knew that the longer you delayed the conversation, the worse the confrontation would be but that was a problem for future you.

You didn't like to think about it.

Just to watch it glow

For now you'd prolong it for as long as you could.

Every night, baby, that's where I go

You would watch as many trashy movies, eat at however many restaurants, and spend as much time with Vox until the inevitable happened.

Sorry, I don't want your touch

And the inevitable did happen.

It's not that I don't want you

It was after a date night, the two of you went to some new restaurant, drank wine and chatted,

Then you went home, you were ready to change into your coziest pajamas and snuggle with Vox.

However he had much different plans.

Sorry, I can't take your touch

And now you were here with Vox, with him exasperated.

"Why? Is it me? Do you not like the way I look?"

"No! I think you're very aesthetically pleasing!"

"The fuck is that supposed to mean??" He took a deep breath "Fuck, okay I don't understand, I thought that you loved me?"

"I do! Vox I do, I just don't want to do-" you made a certain motion with your hands "That."

"Okay so you don't want to-"

"Have intercourse? No I don't,"

"Why?"

"I don't know, I'm just like this, I can't change it, sometimes I'd like to just be normal for once, but I can't, I'm sorry?"

There's a hole that you fill

The silence was suffocating, the room was freezing cold.

You fill, you fill

you kept your eyes on the ground, not daring to look Vox in the eyes.

But it's just that I fell in love with a war

You heard him shuffle around before finally saying something.

And nobody told me it ended

It was inevitable, the two of you, while in other aspects were great! This was a deal breaker, and that wasn't either of your faults.

The two of you were just incompatible.

And it left a pearl in my head

Well, it was nice while it lasted.

And I roll it around every night

You sighed as you walked out of the Vee's tower, belongings in hand.

Just to watch it glow

Vox watched you leave through one of the many cameras he had around the place.

Every night, baby, that's where I go

It was time for you to move on and hopefully find someone who's on the same or similar page as you.

Just to watch it glow

Maybe a certain deer.

Good evening folks! I posted Wednesday angst on Wednesday for once! This was supposed to be posted an hour ago but a certain someone who shall not be named [Barnaby] kept smacking my face with his paw, knocking my glasses off and leaving me blind. I'm tired.

Anyways thank you for tuning in!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #vox x reader #hazbin vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox x reader

[martianbugsbunny]

Hey Star Trek folks!! I got a poll for u:

#u must pick one. so if u ship multiples pick the one u ship the hardest and drop the others in the tags #I have a feeling I know how this will end up but it's for science. I must see with my own eyes #only using the shows I'm familiar with sorry bout that #Star Trek #Benjamin sisko #kira nerys #Jonathan archer #t'pol #Gabriel lorca #saru #jean-luc picard #William riker #James kirk #spock #Kathryn janeway #chakotay #tumblr polls

[girlscience]

I finished Nona the Ninth and.... I was going to make a whole post outlining everything that confused and frustrated me about the book (because there is A Lot) but actually I think I can sum it up much faster. This is a story mostly focused on characters and people, and I often do not care about characters and people. I far prefer worldbuilding to nearly everything else and I think the worldbuilding is there, but it is not really being explained. There is a war happening, and I understand absolutely none of it. I don't understand the sides/factions, I don't understand the politicking happening, I don't understand the goals, I don't know who is leading what or why or where they are etc etc etc. And I don't know if that's a fault on my part as a reader or that it's simply not being explained well. In relation to that, everything is unreliable narrators. And I think I am coming to the conclusion I don't like that. It means I don't know what's actually happening ever and it is beginning to really frustrate me.

#tlt #I like the characters! I do! But I am really only attached to Gideon #I liked all the characters in Nona... but they arent very important to me #I like the making of Paul and thought that was very interesting and well written and moving #but that was pretty much the only character based piece of this story I really loved #Idk. I am going to finish the series.... but I don't understand anything #I think I will have to reread everything but even then idk if I'll pick up all the pieces #I also have opinions about the fact all of it feels like it's happening on post apocalyptic earth.... #but it's supposed to be on alien planets and 10000 years in the future. I feel like it should feel far more alien #I did like getting John's backstory and explaination. but I also think he may be an unreliable narrator so I don't trust what he said #and I don't get why everything that happened in his story happened... and like I guess that piece doesn't matter so much cause 10000 years #but it bothers me #AND AGAIN MY GIRL GIDEON WAS BARELY IN THE BOOK #idk. I just want to know who is fighting. why are the fighting. what do they all want. WHERE are they fighting. how are they fighting. #what all science is there. what space travel is there. how does the space travel work. #better explainations of the magic. and the river. what was the tower in the river. (i think some of that will be addressed later) #(or at least i fucking hope so) #idk. I feel like some of this is explained and I just missed it... but I think some of it is absolutely glossed over #and I don't hate open ended worldbuilding entirely but I want better scaffolding #I DONT KNOW. I feel like I'm being mean and so I feel bad #like it's a good book and so many people like them #and I liked them at the beginning!!! but now I'm just confused and frustrated #and I don't know if it's my fault and I'm just too stupid to pick on things and context and hints and stuff #or if it actually was all that poorly explained

[mothocean]

i am, really just fucking hoping theres gonna be more safety regulations around this kind of stuff now. and that the greek coast guard gets fucking sued. also that the submersible company gets sued. and nothing like any of these things happens ever again

#ik thats not gonna be the case but god this whole situation has not been good for my irrational-ish fear #of being told something is safe and then it turns out it really really isnt but its too late and horrible death happens #i feel no sympathy for the billionaires obvs but. can we acknowledge how fucking lucky it is that the horrble submersible #only ended up killing 5 ppl. thats still 5 ppl but it couldve been way more #like idc if a billionaire wants to die horribly they should not be allowed to drag other people down w them #they should not be allowed to have their METAL TUBE DEATH TRAP talked about POSITIVELY on a fucking SCIENCE WEBSITE THAT SHOULD KNOW BETTER #AND THEY DEFINITELY SHOULDNT BE ALLOWED TO USE IT TO TURN A GRAVESITE INTO THE WORLDS LEAST SAFE TOURIST TRAP #EVEN IF ONLY STUPID RICH PPL WILL GET ON IT #like you realize this is just the most extreme example of the kind of lack of regulation these guys get away with. like im glad the guy tha #made the thing met his horrible end with it but too many ppl don't get graced with this kind of dramatic irony #and besides maybe it should not be fucking legal to construct literal death machines even for dramatic irony #idk im tired of focusing on whether the guys had it coming for them or not its endless hell discourse #lets fucking talk abt how this whole thing should not have fucking happened in the first place #and i hope nothing like it ever happens again #if the billionaires want a horrible death i will give it to them myself and then outlaw their entire fucking existence (as billionaires) #im sorry im just fucking tired #roseflower.txt

[005mins]

/ those of u guys who write s.ervants or have f.ate s.ervant verses, would u let d.aybit be ur muses' m.aster-

#;ooc #ooc #asking for-- science-- #LISTEN; i think compared to a lot of v trashy magus; he is pretty reasonable m.aster #once i get on da computer ill try to find the screenshots of some interactions he has with t.ezcatlipoca #and yes in part there's the thing that;; logically he doesnt really want to anger t.ezca bc he is a very powerful servant #but at the same time; i feel like their dynamic has always been pretty even; they understand each other in a similar wavelength #to the point that d.aybit can poke t.ezca a little and it ends up being a light-hearted situation for both #the thing i like about d.aybit as a master is that he holds a high level of respect tl t.ezca; which magus sometimes kind of shrug that off #like; im thinking of d.iar and his master k.ayneth and his wife that now i forgot her name #and how they treated diar and his morals and how all of that went down in f.ate z.ero #it always surprises me how every m.aster that has appeared in any f.ate rendition deals with their own s.ervants #we know that generally magus are kinda sussy but there are cases where its diff like h.akuno and their servant or r.itsuka in f.go #how the bond they forged with eaxh servant is so powerful that they wod all come to help them were they to be in trouble #taking the example lf r.itsuka; they have a higher compatibility for making those deep connections which #d.aybit's case could fit a more 'mutual transaction' sort of deal; unless he were to connect with the s.ervant in question like with t.ez #but if not; it would be something like;; #Here is my goal. What do you want to do? #always thinking about how d.aybit asked t.ezca if it was ok that they were continuing with their plot #like; if t.ezca had gone instead like;; 'nah man. i think this whole plan is going to shit let's call it a day' #d.aybit would have gone like; ok. and that's it? #which yes it should be the regular but some m.asters really just see their s.ervants as disposable weapons; bc some magus are lit shaped #like that #am i making sense? #/g.oogled it and k.ayneth's wife's name was sola-ui omg- #its been aaageeeees #which hey im not saying d.aybit is the best master but at least there's honest respect which is key

[vamptastic]

while i am also put off by the insistence to at all times use the most inflammatory, insulting, and condescending language towards anybody who disagrees with their fringe beliefs, the primary reason i just cannot engage with T/ERF bullshit even for the sake of trying to break down why they believe the things they do is the utter and complete lack of unbiased sources. seriously, every single time its like, transwomenareevil.com and every article is talking about a crime some random trans woman committed using the most libelous language possible. they legitimately read like a list of crimes read out before a mob before someone is shot in the head. no statistics, not even unbiased analysis of anecdotal examples, the vast majority of scientific articles they do attempt to cite, usually regarding medical transition, are meta analysis that do not actually support their claims if you, yknow, fucking read them (as always its 'more data needed'). it's all based on kneejerk disgust reactions or fear stemming from personal trauma. not the kind of thing im inclined to humor as a basis for how i want to conduct my life or what laws i want passed. and the entire time they're all convinced they're the only real feminists and the rest of us are idiots who have never heard of systematic oppression before.

#like where is the harm reduction where is the utilitarianism... #its all like one hypothetical person could be hypothetically hurt #lets go hurt a lot of very real people over it instead #i will humor a lot of opinions i think are genuinely stupid. antivax prolife antisemitic bullshit etc etc #kinda have to living where i do #and without fail people are usually just misinformed. #with t/erf stuff though? its like they're deliberately choosing to ignore actual science #i don't know how to engage w these people #its always the most bad faith reading of whatever you say followed by a bunch of bad sources you have to individually pick apart #i think its kinda the result of them thinking their beliefs are about intellectual superiority vs moral #which is what i usually deal with #bc people concerned with moral superiority will generally listen to facts and arguments presented #ppl who wanna feel super smart will not #and theres also a false dichotomy of like #be a r/dfem or be an MRA that i dislike #like nah im just an intersectional feminist #bc im trans and jewish and any other form of feminism usually ends up hurting me or my people #even Marxist feminism even tho i generally like it has some flaws in how it tends to handle religious women

[arthur-r]

emily wilson out here translating the iliad and i am once again wishing i knew how to read and translate ancient greek

#listen where there’s a will there’s a way but i just finished my degree audit and looks like i will only be able to manage a classics minor #with latin emphasis (unless i abandon latin for greek which i’m not going to do even though it pains me) #but i really want to make my own iliad someday…. #at this rate i’ll only ever end up making a queer prose adaptation and be criticized for projecting modern notions of sexuality onto a #completely different set of values and social understandings of homosexuality…. #(which. if anything there should be more gay people in the song of achilles. don’t be mean to me i promise i understand ancients) #anyway i might just have to make a book of poetry or a novel adaptation or whatever whatever but what if i want to learn the script #and painstakingly translate every single word through years and years of dedication. while also being a librarian as my main thing #shdhdhdf i’m never gonna be classics scholar enough to professionally translate. and if i were it would be latin. but i can dream…. #anyway i’m no longer failing my french class (have a 70% that should only be going up) but i’m still failing historical linguistics #my latin grade is great i’m acing it but my library science class is a D (which should be fixed in two days though — just needs more data) #so i am giving myself permission to sleep early tonight and go into class well rested for once. i’m not feeling well but that’s a constant #anyways if anyone reads the wilson iliad let me know!! i’m a fake fan of her work and haven’t read her odyssey (something about the iliad…. #there’s a brutality and a raw humanity to it that puts the odyssey at a lower priority to me) but im so freaking excited to read her iliad #i have to prioritize schoolwork but soon. i’ll have to ask my latin teacher about it tomorrow though she’s an iliad enjoyer #anyway good news i think i’ll be able to get a history major with certificates in digital studies and classical studies (the two genders….) #and graduate comfortably in four years with honors in the major. this is ignoring how i’m failing my classes. i promise i won’t be forever #anyways the point is: wilson’s iliad — i will read it as soon as possible and i’m very excited #also i checked out a book from the library called the lexicographers dilemma: the evolution of proper english from shakespeare to south park #but i haven’t had the chance to read it and soon it will be due…. college is evil i’m too busy learning things to learn other things!!!! #anyway if i do honors in the major then i’m excited to eventually earn credit from a capstone thesis which i would do on lexicography #throughout history with an emphasis on classification systems and basically peter mark roget #ok anyway. wandering all over the place but the point is. wilson’s iliad. very exciting. can’t wait to find the time #and eventually i will write an iliad adaptation of my own i will. just not a full translation shdhdf that’s an unrealistic goal #especially when again. my capstone project is going to be about taxonomy of ideas. ancient epics are secondary…. #anyway i hope everybody is doing well!! i am going to bed soon-ish but other than that i am around so lmk if you need anything #me. my post. mine. #college talk #delete later

[sciencegeniusgirlshowdown]

Can we submit Genderfluid Science Geniuses?

I'd say my stance is that, if a character wouldn't mind being referred to as a girl at least part of the time, they're definitely permitted! Speaking from the perspective of a nonbinary person (though not specifically a genderfluid person) I know I wouldn't be the most comfortable if I myself was submitted to an explicitly gendered poll like this, but I know that that take won't be the same for everyone! So if a character is generally comfortable with being lumped in with women then I wouldn't have an issue with it at all! If their preference when it comes to how they're acknowledged is vague, I may open up a preliminary asking for voters familiar with them their thoughts on whether it'd be respectful to the character for them to be included.

I will add that, with the current number of unique submissions already nearing the 128 limit with the submission period still having a ways to go, there's a chance that they may be one of the characters that doesn't make the cut in the end. If they don't, please know that it's not because of any phobic sentiments on mod's part! While I'd love to include every character sent to me, at the end of the day some will be facing the chopping block. If I do decide to run another SGGShowdown bracket sometime after this one ends, I'm like, 99% sure that I'll make it so characters that were solely rejected from the first bracket due to being at capacity would take up the first however many slots of the second bracket.

With all that being said, I'd definitely submit them if you think they wouldn't mind being a part of something like this! I'm worried it may sound like I'm already planning on rejecting them, but I promise that's not the case! I haven't decided exactly how I'll be picking which valid submissions get to be in the limited number of slots and which don't yet, so I just wanted to get that little disclaimer out of the way!

#SGGShowdown Speaks #SGGShowdown Announcements #The current plan is to have the format of every poll mention Science Genius Girl somewhere within the post. #Not exactly sure how yet but like #I wouldn't feel great about having the post say smth like “Who should be Tumblr's Science Genius Girl?” #only for one of the characters to not be comfortable with being called a girl you know? #Also for a certain set of characters (I am thinking about one in particular here but I won't say a name to avoid showing bias) #where there's like different possibilities for them but they're still distinctly the same character #and in one or more possibilities they're not a woman #I personally will be avoiding using images of them from the possibility where they're not a woman #and I'd generally recommend not propagandizing using information from the possibilities where they're not a woman #but they're still totally fine to be submitted! #If it's a case like a character starting the series off as a woman but later on transitions to a man or something like that #with absolutely no substantial (canon) examples of alternate timelines where that's not the case #the character will be rejected. #I know some media has situations like multiple endings where no one ending is considered the “canon” one where this can get messy #but just generally I'd like for winning SGGShowdown to be something fans of a character can be proud of instead of smth to feel awkward abt #Tags ended up running a bit long but the words just kept tumbling out lmao. #I hope this all makes sense! I just don't want to end up offending anyone accidentally or anything like that.

[july-19th-club]

one thing i really dont like in tv shows is when a scene carrying important or emotional dialogue gets a musical score with lyrics that are noticeable, because then i get too distracted by the song and it undercuts the drama too much for me to really appreciate it like i’d like to

#it's corny idk #like put your little song choice at the end credits if you have to but for me. for me? songs dont go in high drama scenes UNLESS #a) it is a musical b) it is an instrumental piece c) it is the kind of genre that permits songs with lyrics in high drama scenes #like a mixed-genre or comedy piece that can work #in a straight-up-and-down science fiction drama it's just distracting and makes the work feel less polished idk how to explain it #like. like if the characters are having emotional reunions or departures or being ripped from one another by Circumstances . #and it's NOT like......a romance (another genre which supports that device) or something. it just comes off different and it's distracting #i shouldnt have to hear a lady breathily saying words while you guys are sobbing into each other's arms or whatever #songs in drama shows are for: establishing setting . character intros or montages or dialogue-less action scenes. UNLESS you really want to #like highlight the action's impact then once again it's good to go no lyrics or even no score. and like....diegetic stuff #idk i make hugelong character playlists but i know i wouldn't put like. #heartache of goodbye by jayne trimble over a scene with emotional dialogue about saying goodbye it's too much! too on the nose #we dont need it spelled out for us. i'd put crow river waltz on at a volume SO low that it's only noticeable when they're not talking #and then later viewers would go 'what was that incredibly plaintive sound i heard then?' and look it up and find good old leo kottke