#and it’s here and it’s like demolition lovers’ older sister

[vixensofsorrow]

Demolition Lovers - Ⅰ you touch me once again and somehow it stings cause i know it is the end

DISCLAIMER: This fic is a long slowburn with multiple chapters, still being updated. also on AO3 my masterlist (all the chapters are linked there) PAIRING: young!Carol Denning/fem!reader OVERALL SUMMARY: An exploration of your and Carol's relationship through the years. CHAPTER SUMMARY: You and Carol reunite after a long time apart. CHAPTER TAGS: angst, fluff, friendship, complicated feelings, reader plays soccer, high school, developing relationship A/N: no clue how to add footnotes on tumblr but Engie is a Nickname for Engine Room, which central midfielders are often described as. also english isn't my native language so mb for any mistakes. im just a desperate lesbian in a world with not enough carol x reader insert fanfiction

“Carol! Carol, slow down!” You panted, quickly trying to sneak in shallow breaths in between your pleadings.

“I told you already, we don’t have much time!” She spoke up ominously, not even turning her head around to look at you, just focusing on running straight ahead with slight twists and turns here and there, still holding your sweaty hand tightly. She guided the both of you through the humid, pine scented, and slightly foggy forest of a small, West Virginia mill town where somewhere, underneath all the trees’ crowns, your hiding spot was.

“I see it!” Carol exclaimed, using her lungs' full potential. She briefly turned her head to take a short glimpse at your breathless and distraught self, your only reply was a slight smile of relief.

The two of you finally reached your destination. You immediately slid down the huge pine tree with your and Carol’s initials, a bunch of silly stick men and other drawings messily carved into the trunk, finally able to take a proper, deep breath.

Carol was still pacing around, hands fidgeting, occasionally tapping her foot like she was in distress, or anticipating something bad — those weren’t the signs that particularly worried your 8-year-old self, though. Upon further reflection, you recognized the pacing around as something to be concerned about, because your older sister would do the same thing whenever something unpleasant happened. What was most noticeable was her sudden change in mood, from running maniacally, smiling, to shutting down. Maybe it could’ve been from exhaustion? Why didn’t she just sit down then? You pondered.

You looked up at her, at the same time as she was looking down and when your eyes met, you were sure that something was indeed wrong. The look Carol gave you was dull, like she was trying to detach herself from whatever was happening. As your eyes locked, Denning’s began glistening, and she was clearly trying to hold back weeping by plastering a fake grin, with no success. She pulled up her glasses to wipe the tears away with the sleeve of her sweater.

“Care, what’s wrong?” You stood up, not even brushing the dirt off of your corduroy overalls, then taking Carol’s hands in yours. There was no way you could stop her crying now, and some teardrops fell on the back of your palms.

“You can tell me.” You added softly, furrowing your brows in a confused, yet clearly worried manner. You spoke with the intent of reassuring Carol that in this exact moment, the both of you were safe and sound in each other's presence and no one would be able to hurt you.

You weren’t breaking eye contact for even a second.

“Mom… Well….” At this point, Carol’s tears transformed into a full on stream, her vision turning blurry. “Not mom… I mean probably but…” Carol stuttered. She attempted to collect herself before continuing, sniffling.

“Barb… she told me that we are going to Illinois…” She tightened her grip, almost digging her nails into your hands, fully breaking down.

She was being serious about this.

Carol couldn’t hide it anymore, and even if she tried you could see everything written all over her puffy, red face. You were startled, almost frozen in place, the only sensation you felt being the occasional gust of wind and Carol squeezing your palms more and more with every second that passed by. You weren’t sure why, but it was somehow pleasant, reminding you that both of you are still alive and breathing. In this moment of silence, only broken by you sniffling and Carol gasping for air, everything hit you all at once.

The Denning's were moving out. Carol was moving out. Your best friend was moving out.

You tried to keep your cool as best as you could, so as to not upset her even more — you knew she didn’t like pity. Your attempt was unsuccessful, and you could feel your lips quivering.

Care threw herself into your arms and hugged you so tightly like she never did before, laying her head down on your shoulder. You took this as a chance to bawl your eyes out, hugging her back.

“You’re my best friend… And this may be the last time I'm going to see you.” She stuttered through the tears. After a moment of silence, you slowly let go of Carol, the both of you looking like a mess. Her hair was stuck to her sweaty, wet face, eyes puffy as if she had an allergic reaction, meanwhile your runny nose and bloodshot eyes made you look like you were ill, and you certainly felt like it.

“I’ll wait for you.” Your voice cracked, and you were frantically digging through the pockets of your jacket, eventually pulling out a jawbreaker candy and handing it to Carol.

Both of you smiled through the tears as she took the candy and hugged you for the last time in years.

The gym, covered with school representative dark blue and yellow banners, or posters with cheesy motivational quotes plastered on the beige walls, echoed with the principal asking something along the lines of “Is everyone excited!?”. Shockingly, a few people actually were, and rather loudly too.

He went on to boast about the many achievements of the school, about how great we all are, almost starting an inspirational speech. Before he could go on further, the more empathetic vice principal cut him off. “Let’s welcome MHS Band!”

“God damn, why does this shit always take ages?” The defender complained, slamming her locker over the sound of trumpets and drums in the distance. Someone from the team chuckled at the question. Other girls were spraying their hair, fixing their makeup, changing into uniform and whatnot.

“It always takes this long. You oughta get used to it.” Veronica walked up to Jennifer, who was painting little scorpions on the team members’ cheeks, to get hers done.

Tonya narrowed her eyes. “Well, yeah, but it doesn’t make it less annoying.”

The band went quiet, and the cheerleaders took over to the sound of Voulez-Vous by ABBA. “I can’t believe people actually listen to this European disco shit.” Rachel scoffed, and Veronica started singing it off-key incoherently just to piss her off, dancing with her hands, swaying to the rhythm of the bass boosted by the schools’ speaker's song.

She forgot she was getting her face painted and swung her head around to elevate her performance, which caused Jennifer to slip her hand and draw a straight line across her face.

“Ronica! Take a chill pill!” The attacking-midfielder rolled her eyes and let Jennifer clean up the mess, sneaking in a quiet “Sorry.” The team captain reflected, “Also, it’s not that bad. At least they used a song that’s not, like, 50 years old.” The goalkeeper raised an eyebrow in approval after giving it some thought.

“Ronica’s singing is, though.” You cut in and the teammates that could hear you over the loud music laughed.

“You wouldn’t know good singing if it hit you in the face!” Your friend defended herself, continuing the back and forth teasing for a while.

The team's striker finished painting the midfielder’s face and peeked out of the locker room to see what was going on in the gym. The cheerleaders were packing up their routine with a round of applause, and the scorpion school mascot ran out of the boys’ locker room.

You and Rachel were on your way to the mirrors, as you passed by you had a look at the slightly dirty, grody, blue, fluffy mascot and a chill went down your spine.

“Fucking hell man, that thing gives me the creeps.” You turned your attention to Jennifer and the goalkeeper, the latter tilting her head to get a better look. “Yeah… yeah, I see where you’re coming from.” She raised her upper lip and wrinkled her nose.

As the three of you were staring at what was going down at the pep rally, the principal spoke up again.

“And now… For the team that needs no introduction…” The whole group had gathered now. “…Let’s make some noise for the Regionals Girls’ Soccer Team Champions, go Scorpions!” He stretched out the “go” until the A/V kid put on Call Me by Blondie.

Students were crammed into the wooden bleachers, showing all the varieties of enthusiasm you'd expect from a required school event. The other jocks' encouraging yells, the burnouts' eye rolls, and everything in between.

The first moments were always awkward, since, well, not many people were that excited about a girls’ soccer team. The girls’ boyfriends and friends would start chanting, pumping their fists for all they’re worth, which usually worked in hyping up the rest of the school. As the applause built up and feet rumbled against the bleachers, you all jogged onto the court, with the beat-up school mascot jumping around and high-fiving the front row.

The whole team stood in a straight line, Jennifer put on an act of excitement, smiling triumphantly and waving. You didn’t like pep rallies very much, but honestly, most of the school didn’t either. The principal began announcing a speech about your success at the Regionals, but you drowned him out with irrelevant thoughts. “At least this is better than going to Biology…”

Your eyes lingered around the gym, recalling a pep talk from your coach about how you should always hold your head up, so you don’t come off as uninterested or ignorant.

You turned your attention from the banners to the bleachers, looking out for some interesting action. Maybe a kid kicking someone in the back and then pretending that it wasn’t them, a couple making out, just anything to make time pass faster.

As your eyes wandered, you noticed a new face in the midst of the crowd, squinting to get a better look. She looked familiar, but you couldn’t exactly make out her features since she was focused on rummaging through her bag.

You looked away for a moment, continuing the search.

Who knows, possibly it was just your mind playing tricks on you, and it wasn’t anyone new but a classmate who just got a new haircut.

Something felt off, though. You felt a weird sensation, like someone was directly staring at you — normally, you would've just brushed it off, but this was prolonged staring, the kind that made you uncomfortable.

You searched for the culprit amongst the crowd, and you immediately locked eyes when you found her. You were right; there was a new addition to your high school, and you knew why she looked familiar. You’d recognize that gaze anywhere.

Your face went pale, eyes widened, and your whole body stiffened, unable to form a single thought. Everything went silent, and your ears were ringing. From what you could see, Carol was just as shocked, only moving her hand ever so slightly to pull up her glasses.

You could make out clapping in the background, muted by your shock, and out of the corner of your eye see teammates acting all buddy-buddy, like all of you would always do at the end of every pep rally to raise “team spirit”.

It didn’t register that it was time to pack up until Gina nudged you, and you snapped back to reality.

“Yo, it’s time to go L/N.” She reminded you, immediately running to catch up to the other girls, while you just stood there for one more second before also sprinting to the locker room.

You stormed in, squeezing through the crowd to get to the bathroom, and you slammed the cabin door. You sat down on the closed toilet lid and grabbed the roots of your hair in distress, glancing at your feet.

You were confused as to what you were feeling; you were happy because your childhood best friend is back, but also shocked and nervous because, what if Carol isn’t the same person anymore? It makes sense; it’s been, what, 7 years since you last saw each other? It’s only reasonable that she changed, but you were afraid of the possibility of Carol and you not getting along anymore. Fuck.

You missed her greatly. You used to call each other, but only for the first few years after she moved out, when you were still kids. You recalled that one time, on a random evening after not hearing from Carol after a while, you rang the phone, but no one answered. Then, you called again. Almost every day for a month, until a high-pitched, squeaky female voice answered one day to tell you that the previous tenants had moved out.

Back then, it hurt. It hurt a lot, but you got over it with time. Still, the thought of carving “Y/N and Carol BFFS 4 EVER” into a tree with a pocket knife that Denning snatched from her dad, just one last time, lingered around.

You were torn apart; should you come up to her in hopes of becoming close again, and risk the pain of losing her again, or just pretend she doesn’t exist? After giving it more thought, it would be impossible to avoid her without it being awkward after the staring contest that just happened. “Fuck this.” You gave up, and opened the cabin door, just to be greeted by Veronica with her arms crossed.

“So, what’s eating you, Engie? 1” You jumped, and your heart sped up for a second.

“Fuck off! You made me spazz out!” Your brows furrowed, and you let out an exasperated sigh, walking away without an answer to change out of your uniform.

‘Ronica just threw her hands up in the air in annoyance, “That’s what I get for trying to be a supportive friend.” she mumbled. In some moments, the girls’ locker room wasn’t the most pleasant environment to be in.

You didn’t mean to blow up at Veronica like that, thinking about it, you probably could've used a piece of advice, a shoulder to lean on.

You packed up your bag, shut your locker and went to the mirrors to wash off the little scorpion on your cheek.

The attacking midfielder was leaning on the sink, listening to Rachel, Jennifer, and Nicole talking about a get-together to celebrate your success.

“Can we be civilized now?” She turned to look at you and fixed her hair.

“Yeah, you bet…” you smiled, “… I didn’t mean to explode at you like that.”

“It’s whatever, now, onto other, more important manners.” Vee joined in on the conversation about the party, as you picked at your face. School was out for today, so you could linger around until the janitor would make you leave.

Jennifer announced the gathering before anyone could leave, so that none of you would have an excuse not to go. Most of the time, she didn't care about your team interacting, which isn’t the best trait for a captain, but you all got along rather quite well (for hormonal, teenage girls), so she didn’t really bother with it. She must’ve been really excited about going to the State Championships.

As you said your goodbye’s and were about to leave, the striker stopped you. “L/N, I very much expect to see you there, and remember, no excuses!” Jennie mimicked your coach and you both laughed.

Still, what went down earlier today wouldn’t leave your mind. Your duffle bag was hitting your hips as you passed by the front of the school. You saw Vee sitting down on the benches by herself, and decided that you do need to talk about Carol. She scooted, you took a seat, and lit up a cigarette.

You were afraid of starting the conversation, and Veronica sensed that. “So, what fucked your day up, then?”

You took a drag. “You remember how I talked about that childhood friend of mine?”

“I think so?” She gesticulated and you passed her the cigarette. “Her name starts with C, right?”

“Yeah, Carol…” You hear your friend whisper a quiet “Ohhh, yeah, yeah.”

You continued. “… She was at the pep rally today.” As Veronica was about to put the cancer stick to her lips, she dropped her jaw and raised her eyebrows. “You serious?”

“Deadly serious, fortunately or unfortunately. I’ve got no clue what to do, ‘Vee.” You bounced your leg and nibbled on the inside of your lip. “Should I come up to her or something? I can’t even ignore her after the fuckin’ staring contest we had.” Ronica, once again, handed the cigarette back to you and you took another drag.

“Well, I think only Mother Theresa could help you with that.” She tried to joke as an attempt of lighting up the mood, but only got a stern look of disapproval from you.

“Okay um, well. Maybe wait until she comes up to you…” Vee thought more about her answer. “…and then you’ll know that she also wants to talk or something, reconnect, whatever… And I guess if she doesn’t, and you still miss her, you could make the first move?” Her voice went up an octave in uncertainty.

“That’s actually some solid advice, thanks, ‘Ronica.” You smiled at her, and she threw an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into a hug. “No prob.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence, only broken by chatter of other students, Vee reminding you to put out the cig, and cars speeding by. A beige, 1978 Cougar honked with your friends’ dad in the driver's seat. You said your goodbyes, and after Veronica left, you picked up your duffle bag and walked off in the direction of the school bus stop.

You closed your eyes and leaned against a tree, massaging your temples, trying to reduce the tension and stress that built up over the course of the day. You heard someone flickering a lighter, and you slowly opened your eyes in curiosity.

“Who would’ve thought you’d end up as a fuckin’ jock?” She stopped playing with the lighter, which was clearly a ploy to get your attention. “I mean, you could barely run half a mile without getting outta breath back when we were kids.” A way too familiar voice teased with a big, genuine smile.

#oitnb #orange is the new black #carol denning #carol denning x reader #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #oitnb fanfic #carol denning fanfic #lesbian

[tomorrowillbeyou]

orchid and daffodil <3

orchid - what's a song you consider to be perfect?

ok well there's an easy route here which im not going to take not only bc it's the easy route but also i don't think tomorrow i'll be you is a perfect song and that's fine that isn't why i like it.. so i would say if we're defining perfect as "i wouldn't change anything about it" then demolition lovers by mcr because i literally would not change a single thing about it. its like a beautiful journey that i go on where every part of it is so gorgeous + well placed + interesting that i just never get tired of listening to it <3

daffodil - do you have siblings? if yes, in what ways do you think you’re similar to or different from them?

yesss this is going to be long bc im taking it as an excuse to go on abt how cool my sister is. i have a younger sister she is very cool <3 we r similar in appearance i guess? i don't really see it but people have mistaken us for twins even though im 2 years older and everyone always guesses that shes my sister.. she is paler than me and has darker hair and glasses and is also taller. also people always think she's the older brother and im the younger sister 😭😭 we also like similar music and are both autistic and lgbt 👍 and love maths computer science problem solving etc.. we are different in that she's a lot more introverted than me and has way less tolerance for the things that upset both of us.. like we both hate socialising, weird textures + sounds etc but ill put up with it while she just refuses and leaves which i honestly respect that she has the backbone to do that lmao. also she's way funnier than me and has more friends. one time she created an like.. mini twitter community for herself, there was like. her account a hater account a leaks account and an account that supported everything she did and she would like make them fight with each other it was honestly so funny😭😭 also she's a gamer which i simply am not. and we like to hit each other with sticks in the middle of the street. anyway i way overshared here but i love her a lot. i pray she never sees this lmfao

#hi jask i love u sorry for rambling <3

[shortkingvi]

foundations of decay is for mid 20s melancholic drifter emo babes with too many jackets in their closet and a preference for milk substitutes who have also greened out from having too many edibles at least once in their life,,,,,,,,,, i’m DROOLING 🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤

#ugh this fucking song i’m gonna shit #it’s so good hngggggg #i’m gonna vom i’m so excited #i never thought we’d get mcr again #and it’s here and it’s like demolition lovers’ older sister

[ohimtherebabey]

! all of the numbers of questions

first of all, i respect you so much. thank you. second of all, i have already answered 1, 5, 7, 11, 13, and 27 so i’m going to skip those here. 

2. Favourite band? my chemical fucking romance!!!! 

3. Any New Year's resolutions? ive been really trying to be like. outwardly emo and not be embarrassed by it. also, to go to more shows! which ive already achieved and its only march!

4. Favourite music video? helena or desolation row. king for a day is a contender.

6. Panic! At The Disco or Fall Out Boy? thats difficult. i would say fall out boy but they’re really close

8. Do you own a pair of fingerless gloves or skeleton gloves (or the combination)? no :(((( but i want some

9. Do you own any band merch? If so, from what bands? oh yea. ive got a metric fuckton of mcr merch. also concert shirts from panic! at the disco, bastille, the killers, and poppy

10. Got a jacket with pins? yes!!! 

12. Any hair dying or haircut plans for 2020? i’m shaving my head tomorrow!!!

14. Killjoy name? i dont have one. i don’t really like danger days and the whole universe kind of intimidates me

15. Are you into The Used? yes!!! bert mccracken has done more for me than the armed forces

16. Do you want any tattoos? Of what? YES!!!!! i have a lot of mcr designs (as of right now, i’ve got designs for our lady of sorrows, vampires will never hurt you, bullets in general, helena, mama, early sunsets, and welcome to the black parade). also i want a haunted house and some bats and a really stupid t-bone steak that says “tell your boyfriend” to commemorate DONTTRUSTME by 3OH!3

17. Can you play any instruments? Which? yes! but none of them are instruments that i want to play. i have 15 years of classical piano training and 6 years of saxophone from high school band/marching band

18. Favourite My Chemical Romance song? demolition lovers

19. Do you think Twenty One Pilots are emo? i dont think im educated enough to pass judgement. i dont listen to twenty one pilots and i havent heard a song of theirs in honestly 5 years. just from first impression, i would say theyre more generic alternative than specifically emo.

20. Are you into Taking Back Sunday? not really. i’ll listen if its on, but i won’t seek them out

21. Do you wear any make up? only the shittiest smudged eyeliner in the world

22. Do you have black painted nails? yes! i just painted them 2 hours ago (im not allowed to have painted nails at work but im on spring break this week so theres no work)

23. Have you got any band posters? Of what bands? i have a few mcr posters, a panic! at the disco poster, a fall out boy poster, and a pierce the veil poster

24. Do you want any piercings? yes!!!!!! i already have my septum and several ear piercings, but i want at least one lip piercing, a nostril piercing, more ear piercings, maybe an eyebrow, my nipples. i want to stretch my lobes, too.

25. What's your opinion on All Time Low? Sleeping With Sirens? Pierce The Veil? i FUCK with pierce the veil. my second favorite band of all time (im listening to a flair for the dramatic as i answer these questions). i dont like sleeping with sirens but i thank kellen quinn for his services on king for a day. i fuck with all time low (predictably my favorite atl song is a love like war because vic features)

26. Do you think it's just a phase or that you'll be emo/punk\scene forever? i take being emo too seriously for it not to be permanent. 

28. Are you into Black Veil Brides? not really, but i respect the fuck out of knives and pens

29. Do you like any newer emo/scene/punk bands? Which? i love love love destroy boys. also: currents.

30. What's your favourite music genre besides emo/punk\scene? either like. folksy alternative (hozier, florence + the machine) or old school country (johnny cash, dolly parton, marty robbins)

31. Are you into Mindless Self Indulgence? not really

32. Favourite Fall Out Boy song? golden

33. Are you mostly into the so-called "emo trinity" or "emo quartet" or do you listen to a lot of other bands too? most of my listening history is my chem + bands outside of the emo trinity/quartet. i dont really make a habit of listening to panic or fob, and never twenty one pilots. mostly its pierce the veil and bring me the horizon. a lot of evanescence, too.

34. What's your opinion on Waterparks? Palaye Royale? I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME? i only know one song by waterparks, so i dont really have an opinion on their music, but awsten annoys me so much. ive dont know anything by palaye royale, so i cant pass judgement. idkhow is pretty good. i dont know too much by them but i liked what i did know. i think dallon did a great job at bringing back the weird stuff that made panic! so good

35. Are you into Bring Me The Horizon? YES. ive been nonstop listening to count your blessings for two weeks now. 

36. Favourite solo project by a emo/scene\punk band member? i love all of frank’s solo projects (i go apeshit for leathermouth and death spells in particular). i love hesitant alien. also i’m really digging hayley william’s solo stuff so far

37. Are any of your friends IRL emo/scene\punk? no. and it makes me sad. 

38. Are you into drawing? If so, show some of your art! only kind of and none of it is good. this is something i did based on a fragment of sappho last summer.

and here’s a quick thing i did for its not a fashion statement, it’s a deathwish

39. Favourite colours and colour schemes? im too much of a revenge fucker to not say black/gray/dark red

40. What are some of your favourite lyrics? a LOT of them are from selfish machines, just a warning. “i’m wanna hold your hand so tight, im gonna break my wrist” “i’d steal you flowers from the cemetery” “there’s no room in this hell, there’s no room in the next” “another knife in my hands, another stain that wont come off the sheets, clean me off, im so dirty babe” “decapitate her and bring her head to athena, unlike her sisters she aint no deathless God” “holding on to cold hands and sunken eyes hasnt held the same charm as it once did”

41. The Black Parade or Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge? this is such a difficult question for me. the demo lovers are everything to me, but, as i have said in the past: the black parade is the best album ever written. that doesnt mean its my chemical romance’s best album though. i’m going to say three cheers (that answer will change a thousand times).

42. What's your opinion on Paramore? Green Day? Blink-182? LOVE paramore. the riot! cd is a permanent fixture in my car. i fuck with older green day. like american idiot and dookie green day. i dont really care for blink-182

thank you again for the questions

#answered #sav speaks #my art #long post

[pitviperofdoom]

Have you ever wondered what would've happened if All Might gave All for One to Todoroki or if Todoroki had Ghost Sense instead of Half-Cold, Half-Hot?

Do you think Todoroki would be even more traumatized if he’d been born with Ghost Sense instead of his original Quirk?

Okay so I just zeroed in on Shouto with Ghost Sense.

There’s a lot to unpack here, the first being that Shouto with Ghost Sense is not the perfect child that Endeavor wants. Now, quirkless Shouto with a younger sibling is a concept that is already being explored in @smoltododorki‘s fic “demolition lovers”, so here’s an idea: Endeavor tries for another child and repeatedly fails. His wife has simply been through too much emotional and physical stress and abuse that she can’t carry a child to term anymore. He keeps trying over the years, even resorting to extramarital affairs if he can chance it, but nothing works, and finally his wife has her breakdown anyway and he’s left with nothing. Now he can’t even try to sneak an illegitimate child into things because the public will wonder where it came from, and there’s no point if he can’t do it without nuking his own reputation like that.

Everything ends in failure, for him.

And while all this happens, Shouto grows. He’s far more well-adjusted in this; he hasn’t been kept from his siblings, and he has plenty of other friends that no one else knows about. Fuyumi knows; she remembers their mother telling her about their uncle, so when he tells her about “Hino,” she recognizes him. His older brothers leave as soon as they can, unwilling to stay with a bitter and broken father who hates the sight of his children for reminding him of his failure. He throws himself fully into his work, shutting out everything else. Provided they stay out of his direct path, his abuse is no longer harsh words and blows, but silence and neglect. They have access to his bank account and they don’t need to ask him for anything, which is good because he ignores their existence.

Okumura isn’t killed in crossfire, in this version of things. When his ghost appears before Shouto, twisted by anger and despair, his spectral form is covered in hideous burns. He screams and weeps with rage, keeping Shouto awake long into the night.

Shouto decides that morning, at ten years old, that he’s going to be a hero. A good one. The right kind of hero.

His father doesn’t stop him. By this point it’s just him and Fuyumi, who helps him find ways to train, places to learn how to defend himself. Officially he’s registered with a mild clairvoyance quirk, so he ducks the vicious bullying that Izuku suffers. He learns to fight, talks to no one but Fuyumi and the ghosts, and focuses on his goals. He avoids his father on the rare occasion that he comes home, because if Endeavor doesn’t hurt him then the maddened Okumura will.

He’s fifteen when he gets into UA. There’s no recommendation for him here, so he takes the exam, fights his way to a respectable spot in the top ten, hears rumors of another boy who knocked out a zero-pointer in one blow, and celebrates with his sister and their deceased uncle.

There are more ghosts when he walks into the classroom. His homeroom teacher has two of them, not bitter resentful things like Okumura but grateful and content and patient. He takes in the rest of his classmates, from children of prominent families like Iida Tenya and Yaoyorozu Momo to fresh faces like Uraraka Ochako and Kirishima Eijirou.

In the corner of his vision, the ghost of a little girl frisks eagerly around one of his classmates, a quiet boy with dark hair and shadowed, tired eyes. As Shouto watches, the boy turns and smiles at the ghost, like a fond brother indulging his sister’s antics.

The ghost girl looks less friendly later, when Shouto drags the boy to a quiet corner, but she stops baring her teeth and hissing when she sees that Shouto is looking straight at her. When he looks at his classmate again, the dull green eyes are lighting up with hope and disbelief. No one but Fuyumi has ever looked so happy to see him before.

“You see them, too,” Midoriya Izuku says, his voice hushed with wonder. “Don’t you?”

#deku sees dead people #yuts speculation #medium shouto #long post #wow this got away from me. #cartoons4ever77

[smoltododorki]

demolition lovers: beginnings (13) [sneak peak]

read previous chapters here

Confusion, Shouto finds, has become a familiar emotion.

He likes to think of himself as someone in relative control of his life. He is not his brother, whose life has been dictated and planned out as their father’s “masterpiece”, nor is he his sister, who has, inevitably, been considered an asset for remaining close with the Todoroki family (unlike his older brothers) and having a quirk, making her a perfect candidate for a possible quirk marriage.

Shouto is neither. He is not the masterpiece, nor does he have a quirk, so as much as his father would have liked him to produce heirs with strong hybrid quirks, chances of his father’s quirk being passed onto his children is highly unlikely, and, thus, not especially beneficial to many possible suitors.

Shouto is just a civilian.

Normal.

Given his status, Shouto can live his life as he pleases. He has no set expectations, no legacy to live up to, nor a parent constantly pressuring him to beat a man who has been dead for months already. He could have become a drug dealer, or even a stripper, and his dad wouldn’t have so much as batted a lash—so long as word didn’t get around, of course.  The public would be much more accepting of the prospect that Todoroki Shouto, the quirkless middle child of all the Number One Hero’s known children, were a nurse working at U.A. as the famous Recovery Girl’s apprentice.

Perhaps such is the reason why his father had actually looked vaguely satisfied upon hearing about his apprenticeship with Recovery Girl.

Vaguely.

Frankly, Shouto had never taken prospective romantic relationships into consideration while growing up. He’s always imagined a future where he would live a long, happy life alone in his (what he thought to be) apartment with a cat or two, maybe even a dog to complete the ensemble. He would visit his siblings every week (if they hadn’t already decided to visit him) and fuss over his brother’s health—babysit his sister’s prospective children too, maybe. He would manage small talk with Fuyumi’s husband, wince at the long, awkward silences that would procure, and sigh in relief when his little nieces and nephews, not even toddlers yet, babble to fill the space. They’d possibly even vomit a little, depending on the day and their mood. Kids are good for making noise.

Shouto would like to have kids one day.

But even with his considerable freedom, there are still things Shouto can’t control in his life. He’s still very much vulnerable; that being said, he’s glad Recovery Girl made the first blow. It hurts a little less, knowing (and he knows) that her intentions are good. The fact he’s already come to terms with the publicity of his and Izuku’s relationship (including its ramifications) add to Shouto’s relative calmness about the whole situation.

Still, a warning beforehand would have been nice.

#my fic #tododeku #:D

[nelipot]

My First Summer in Boone: A Love Letter

Perched in my favorite swing overlooking the mountains during the moon-rise tonight, my heart was tender with gratitude not only for the immaculate beauty before me, but for all the sweet faces and warm feelings shared from my waking moments of this stunner of a spring day. I'm reminded that it's easier to feel these happy feelings when everywhere the earth seems to be falling in love with herself all over again. That's the beauty of springtime.

I have long mistaken Asheville as my True North. I guess for the better part of 16 years “The Paris of the South” was mine and I was hers. But no longer. For this, I'm finally grateful. Maybe I've outgrown Asheville or, more likely, Asheville has outgrown me.

Little did I know four short months ago, resting just 99 miles to the north, Boone was calling me home. Perhaps the High Country was always my Northern Star, it just took a few years for me to reconcile this truth.

My birthplace of Southern Pines, North Carolina, never felt like home to me as I spent the better part of my childhood in Savannah, Georgia. And although I adore that “pretty lady with a dirty face,” as Lady Astor aptly called her once, Savannah, too, never satisfied my deep need to wander and explore. You can only go so far out into the Atlantic Ocean before you drown. But in these Blue Ridge Mountains you can get lost for days and still never have enough years of life left to uncover every secret cove, every mossy spring, every canopied forest. The mountains are endless and I knew they were my home the first time I laid my widened eyes upon them when I was a small child. It was like I was born anew. I could never get enough. I hope I never will.

The solitary week at camp in Asheville each summer of my childhood only made me long for the Blue Ridges more. My college summers spent in Brevard working at Camp Kahdalea didn't satiate my hunger for this stunning landscape and so Asheville quickly became my adult home. New York City, Los Angeles, and Virginia called me away for a time, but I always found my way back to the mountains of Western North Carolina. There has never been a place I've loved more or longed for more deeply. My brief love affairs with other cities and other countries never matched my ache for home.

It devastates me still that Asheville has succumbed to a capitalist culture that has all but defiled her beauty and exploited her native loves, but Boone somehow remains set apart in its simplicity and core wild beauty. I know I'm lucky that I first discovered this magical place for a time between 2010 and 2012, and though I left, how perfectly nourishing it feels that Boone has called me back in 2018.

I'll not soon forget the Craigslist ad I placed in late April 2010: “Writer Seeks Sublet for Summer in Boone.” Alex, who would become one of my favorite humans, answered within hours, and a week later, I was driving with all my earthly belongings jam packed into a rental car, for the wilds of Watauga County. That summer, Stephen, Jason, and I shared what we lovingly called, “The Creekshack,” on the banks of Winklers Creek.

The afternoon of my arrival was hysterically funny in retrospect. Here I was, newly 30-years-old, being thoroughly sussed out by a gaggle of college undergrads, who tested my music, travel, and foraging knowledge with innocent questions, but equally critical eyes.

Alex, who I was subletting from while I worked on my manuscript, had no skin in the game. I was taking over his rent for the summer as he traipsed out west with his geology crew. Stephen and Jason had more to lose: They were going to have to live with me all summer.

Alex gave me a tour of the house, replete with a 2-story A-frame living room from which a solitary rope swing hung from the highest beam. I noted a record player, the makeshift photography dark room in the upstairs bathroom tub, the screen printing materials for t-shirts and posters, the chalkboard filled with notes hanging from the wall of the back porch, a bookshelf lined with titles I adored and old cameras, and a chicken coop in progress next to the vegetable garden. “Perfect,” I thought.

Jason arrived home next, a mop of golden curls fell from his helmet as he dismounted his motorcycle. He was all bespectacled grins and schoolboy laughs and I felt instantly akin to him. He was older than the other guys, a true blue Virginian, an orphan of his family of origin, like me, we chatted about our travels and mutual love of Bill Withers for a good while. A large tattoo of a goddess snaked up his right calf. Jason was always full of surprises. He still is.

Stephen arrived home last. I can see him now, carving the steep road on his longboard and seemingly floating off it to the unkempt grass in the front yard. His piercing blue eyes cut me to the quick. Stephen was the most skeptical of me, that much was clear. But we delighted in the discovery that we shared the same hometown, Savannah, and he was soon fixing my bike. (And I quickly learned that keeping fresh flowers in the house – usually peonies “permanently borrowed” from the apartment complex nearby - would stave off his grumpiness.)

The guys wasted no time in acquainting me with Boone. In a matter of hours, we were off on our bikes, cutting the hills up to town for the monthly art crawl. We stopped by the beer store first, filling our backpacks with cans and chocolate and hunks of cheese. I followed them like the adopted older sister I'd quickly become, the guys proudly introducing me to their friends like we'd known each other for years.

We gazed at student paintings in one studio, modern art in another, a free live band was killing it in the coffee shop that would soon become my other living room. Later, Stephen and Alex stayed back to flirt with a few girls on Hippie Hill while Jason and I made our way back home early as he had work in the morning and I was tired from my journey earlier that day.

Eventually, we all found ourselves by the fire in the stone fireplace that night. Sharing hot tea, we mulled over our plans for the months ahead. One of the girls, and there were many who vied for these fine young cannibal's attention that summer, dropped by to meet “the only girl that ever lived at the Creekshack.” She marveled at the cleanliness of the bathroom. I honestly couldn't imagine what that scummy mess must've looked like before it was “clean,” but I was touched by their special effort.

I remember falling into a buzzed-happy sort of haze that night, sleeping on the lofted area outside the upstairs bedroom, with the creek just outside the window, lulling me into a dreamless sleep.

The next day, Alex and I awoke early to pick up our new chickens at the Watauga County Farmers Market, silly on the kerosene-strong cowboy coffee we brought in mason jars with us from home. I've been to many a market over the years, but this one was special. Everyone seemed to know one another, farmers were more likely to cut special deals for friends and neighbors, and a local baker gifted me a special cheddar cheese and ramp sourdough loaf as a welcome gift. I was in awe of their kindness and good humor. And driving home with a backseat full of crated chickens was hilarious. Though we'd known each other for less than 24 hours, Alex and I were suddenly parents. And, oh, were we proud!

The summer of 2010 would find us hosting couch surfers and Appalachian Trail Thru Hikers and folks biking the Blue Ridge Parkway from one end to the other.

We watched nearly every World Cup Match together, huddled in some bar at 11 a.m., drinking Guinness, and yelling at the screen.

When someone's bike tire busted a flat, one of us would run out late into the night, utilizing Stephen's car we all shared, to rescue a fallen comrade from the side of some darkened mountain road.

Co-parenting our chickens like proud first-time parents always do, we cooed over their nesting boxes filled with eggs and we wept together, too, when our favorite girl, Doc Watson, was killed in the night by a blood-thirsty mink.

Initially, Jason occupied the bedroom downstairs alone and Stephen and I slept in separate beds in the bedroom we shared upstairs. Before long, we were soon fashioning two bunk beds upstairs so Jason wouldn't miss out on the late night heart-to-heart chats and laughter. The empty downstairs bedroom became the study by day and the “love me tender room” at night, in case anyone wanted to bring a lover home... which, surprisingly, no one ever did.

One of my favorite days started out with us all in crusty moods as we'd been socked in by wall-to-wall rain for over a week. Stephen, being the eccentric creature we all loved, decided to dress in a ridiculous selection of clothes taken from our individual closets. Jason and I also put on silly outfits and we silently made our way to the front porch to indulge in hours of “Mexican Train,” a dominoes game that Stephen was always winning. Jason and I, the perma-losers, never minded.

We pooled our food to make a “trash skillet” for breakfast: Usually fresh eggs from the girls, russet and sweet potatoes, onions, garlic, bell peppers, turmeric, cumin, and curry. Deeeelicious.

The sun decided to reappear early that afternoon, so we soon set up shop in the creek. Putting lawn chairs in the shallow end of the water, we chilled our beers by tethering them to a string creekside and read books in contented quiet.

Jason, Stephen, and I raced our bikes to the Appalachian State University campus in the early evening to pick Juneberries for our pancake feast planned for later that night. We'd also packed broken plates and Mason jars to throw at the demolition site that would soon be replaced by new dormitories.

I guess our pent up aggression wasn't fully exorcised when we shattered glass and ceramic at the demo site. As Jason and I were preparing pancakes, Stephen whistled at us from his perch on the kitchen table. We both looked at him and immediately noticed that crazed gleam in his eyes, with which I’d soon grow familiar. Without a word, he walked over to the utility shelf and slowly pushed a tin full of nails onto the floor. Suppressing my laughter, I opened the freezer and pushed out 2 dozen bananas we'd “freeganed” from the local grocery store dumpster the night before. They fell with a dull thud to the floor. Jason, catching on to the fact that we aimed to make a huge mess, ambled over to the study and upended a jar of marbles, sending them spilling across the kitchen and into the living room.

It didn't take us long to trash the kitchen, sending us into fits of laughter, covered in flour with melting banana goop in everyone's ear holes. We laughed long and hard until we realized we had a massive mess on our hands. So, I put Simon and Garfunkel's “The Sound of Silence” album on the record player and we danced about our individual tasks of making the kitchen shine more than ever before with wide grins plastered on each of our faces.

It was a magical day.

There were many magical days at the Creekshack.

We broke. We healed. We broke again. We held each other.

Brett, Peter, and Garrett would soon become permanent fixtures at our house. They played guitar by the bonfire along Winklers Creek late into the evening, the spring peepers slowly abating their eve-light song.

After our friends left for the night, we'd often pull our mattresses down to the back porch and sleep outside under the stars, head-to-head, breathing in tandem. I often read aloud to the guys by candlelight until they drifted off to sleep. I remember marveling over their slumbering heads, a sisterly kind of pride and affection consumed me.

How many hours did I clock, coffee in hand, swinging from the kitchen beam listening to Bon Iver's “For Emma, Forever Ago” scratching out aching tomes from the record player that summer? There are too many to count.

I was Wendy for a summer, those precious men friends were the Lost Boys, and the Creekshack was our Neverland.

At the end of the summer, Alex returned from his adventures. My sublet was over, but I decided to stay in Boone, so I moved to a community house, Iris Lane, just above downtown. The guys and I grew closer. The Creekshack was my home, too. I’d spend the entire following summer there again before I moved to my solitary cabin off the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Those years would find us hosting dance parties, broadcasting movies on the outside wall of the Creekshack, a most memorable Thanksgiving shared in Baltimore with Alex’s family, making road trips to visit Jason when he moved to D.C, Stephen and his girlfriend giving birth to a baby boy in the yurt along Winklers Creek. Jason and his amazing Australian partner, Sophie, would visit me and my new baby in Asheville a few years later. Our bond remains strong.

That remarkable summer was eight years ago this May, and every time we talk, we still marvel at those precious few months we shared together. I can only hope the memories we made there will last lifetimes. 

The Summer of 2010 glued us together in a way that the innocence of youth tends to do. Sometimes I long for the way I felt that summer. Though, I'm always grateful that we had that time. We lived it. We shared it. Those dreamy early months of my first year in Boone were brief, but they sustain me even still. They remind me that magic still exists.

Of course, in the end, Wendy let the Lost Boys fly away. In the animated film, our last glimpse of Wendy shows her at the window, watching them recede into the night until they are as small as stars. And although I know that Alex now lives in California, Stephen returned to Savannah, and Jason calls Australia home, whenever these beautiful men cross my mind as I drift off to sleep, they are the Lost Boys and I am Wendy, back in Boone, blowing them kisses as they float into the distance, forever shining brightly among the stars.

[smoltododorki]

demolition lovers 06 [sneak peak]

read ALL chapters (INCLUDING THE NEW ONE) here

Izuku lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling blankly.

He had an excruciatingly long day. There were four attempted kidnappings, three attempted robberies, and two attempted murders—note the repeated use of “attempted”, as most of the offenders did not get that far due to Hero Deku’s interventions.

Because of the recent influx of villains, some more dangerous than the others, Izuku had not been able to see Shouto for the past few days. It wasn’t so bad—they both entered their relationship knowing damn well how their professions, particularly Izuku’s, will make it rather tough for them to meet up, much less every day.

But Izuku still missed him.

They had texted a bit in between their breaks, and had even snuck in a rather lengthy phone call—the better part of that conversation, however, was interrupted by distractions occurring over both sides of the phone, be it through another villain wrecking havoc or another patient stumbling into the infirmary.

He wanted to tell Shouto all about the villains he’d encountered, the somewhat eccentric heroes that he’d teamed up with during some of his fights, and even the litter of cats he’d passed by on the way home the day before. The ache to see Shouto’s tiny smile and the soft sheen in his eyes as he spoke was robust—but Izuku, of all people, understood the importance of patience.

The wait would be worth it.

Izuku turns to his side, forcing his eyelids shut. He should take a nap.

Sleep was important.

Sleep was good.

Sleep helps regulate the body and brain.

Sleep is healthy.

Buzz buzz.

Izuku sighs.

He could sleep when he’s dead.

He grabs his phone from the side table, fully expecting memes sent by Kaminari or other various forms of shitposting (Uraraka had gone through with updating his contacts, and since then he was bombarded with all kinds of messages, ranging from the compulsory ‘how are you’s and intel revolving around especially cunning villains), but was instead met with the icon of an unknown number.

From: *** *** ****

To: Izuku

Hi.

Is this Midoriya Izuku?

Izuku rubs his eyes tiredly. Was this another one of his classmates? He was sure that he had already gotten all their updated phone numbers already.

Might as well answer.

From: Izuku

To: *** *** ****

yes, this is him

Izuku wraps one of his arms around a pillow, pulling it close to his chest. The other arm remains raised over his face, fingers clutching the mobile, as he waits for a message to pop up from the sender.

From: *** *** ****

To: Izuku

This is Shouto’s older sister. I need your help. Please.

Izuku freezes. Fuyumi? He swiftly types out a reply—

From: Izuku

To: *** *** ****

Ofc. what do you need?

Five seconds, then—

From: *** *** ****

To: Izuku

Come to the park.

Shouto really needs you.

Izuku’s stomach drops. He sits upright on his bed, already grabbing a green hoodie to pull over his white shirt.

From: Izuku

To: *** *** ****

b right there. Hang on

After slipping on a pair of black sweatpants, he tumbles out the door, nearly forgetting to take his own shoes.

His heart is racing.

His heart is in his throat.

His heart is squeezing.

And there was this sense of unease which refused to go away.

Shouto.

Shouto.

Did something happen? Was Shouto okay?

He makes it to the ground floor in one piece, then brisk-walks towards the side-walk. He’s already roving through his mental map and trying to figure out which paths made way for the fastest shortcuts to the park.

Walking turns into a light jog.

Jogging turns into a sprint.

It takes nearly all his self control to not outright abuse One for All and bolt to the park in a matter of seconds.

Shouto was fine.

Izuku was just being stupid, just overthinking, overreacting, and thinking the worst of the worst.

But the gut feeling which Yagi used to always tell him to trust was screaming at him, telling him to gettoshoutogotohimnowgogogo.

Shouto was fine.

Shouto was fine.

Izuku shoots like a bullet, leaving a trail of dust behind him.

#tododeku #my fic #i decided to post a sneak peak segment cuz ik y'all are suffering #95% of the chapter is done #full chapter is out