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sukibenders · 10 months

Note

Not only you need to shut the fuck up about Kate Sharma, you need to shut the fuck up about Anthony Bridgerton too. Imagine not wanting to be called out when you pollute their tags with posts and reblogs spewing hate on them. You're so fucking jealous Kate got to be a Viscountess and her sister ended up being a plot device even with the efforts by production to make her more important than Kate. Imagine being so fucking jealous to the point of hoping for an Edwina spin off when they should remake season two to give Kate the importance she deserves since you know, her sister got to be a bride, her sister got to have a centric episode about her, Kate didn't even have a fucking poster alone or alone with Anthony and people want to see a Edwina spin off even if season two was basically Edwina's show. Fucking shame on you.

Also readinng your hate posts about Kate, when the fuck did Mary ever show she cared about Kate? I can't fucking believe you said she was right when she didn't stop and listened to Kate after the dinner and that it was simply sad that Kate was alone in a closet and Mary had to stay with Edwina. How fucking hateful. Not surprising at all since you think caring for Kate is summarized by Mary brushing her arm a couple of times and giving her that gaslighting speech about forgivness as soon as she woke up from the coma. LEAVE KATE SHARMA OUT OF YOUR MOUTH. Also since you like to call people blind and liars, your tags about Edwina and Mary are, surprise surprise, devoid of any criticism. You don't fucking fool me.

Darn, you really made this whole essay in my inbox when you could have just blocked me and moved on, that's sad. Imagine saying you like Kate, but then acting like Anthony didn't deserve some smoke too for how he treated her. He constantly humiliated her in front of others, called her the bane of his existence, a thorn easily removed, blamed her for so many things (during moments where she was already highly emotional), and kept advancing her even when she wanted him to stop but just because he said some romantic lines you all go "oh, he'd perfect". Shut the fuck up. I enjoy Kathony, but there is a lot that Anthony needs to make up for, so maybe instead of coming to my inbox with your underwear in a twist, you can kindly mind your business. Not that hard. And what are you going to do? Considering you couldn't even recognize Anthony doing Kate dirty, not much. And it isn't even me "not wanting to be called out" as you said (not my fault you all blow things out of proportion and act like any criticism towards your fictional character is me coming after your family), it's about yall lack any decency whatsoever and it shows. To be honest, I could care less because it lets me see how some of y'all are, like yes, let those true colors show. Like even if I knew who you were, you know if you weren't using anonymous, I'd still be better than you and not come into your inbox the way you did to me. I'd simply block you, easy as that.

You being mad about Edwina having a wedding and putting that on me is lazy, especially when, if you read my post, you'd know that I wanted more scenes with Kate, her family, and Anthony and wished certain side plots had been scapped for it. You being mad at Edwina fans when you could've just put your anger towards the show itself, but I guess that took much effort. And even with Edwina getting all the things you said (why can't another woc also share happy moments?) they weren't even good for her, so yeah most Edwina fans aren't even happy about that. That seems more like a show issue for you to complain about instead of you bohooig about it in someone's inbox.

And you're so wrapped up in your Edwina hate that you forgot about the actual posters, because there were ones of not only Kathony, but Kate by herself so maybe look it up first, not that hard. From what it looks like, Edwina is the one who doesn't have a solo poster of her own nor with her and Anthony by themselves. But you don't see me complaining about it in your inbox, do you? You under the pretense of Edwina taking all the fame in the show (never mind the problems with putting two of the only few woc on the show against one another in this way) when, if she was, wouldn't she have the same amount of posters as Kate, or more? And I can want an Edwina spin off because the show itself hardly gave us anything with her character, and simply because I want too. I also want a Marina spin off too, but don't think that'll happen, shame really. The show hardly gave much of anything for any of the Sharmas, which I talked about but you're too pressed to see apparently, but gives more plot to their white counterparts. Not that hard to see the problem with that rather than coming into my inbox being ignorant as hell.

And Mary did show that she cared for Kate, you all are just busy with your heads up your butt and wanting to paint her as some evil stepmother. Like you and others like you always do the most whenever someone says they want the Sharmas to be a happy family, when you quite literally just have to block people and move on, like you all make this more tiring on yourselves. You'll villainize a brown woman showing a moment of an emotion other than joy or happiness, and run with it. And not you acting like you actually care about Kate in that moment but then go and pretend, a few words ago, that Anthony didn't do anything to her that needs to be addressed. You know damn well that if someone had courted Anthony's sisters the way he did Kate, he'd duel them at dawn. He literally has tried for something even less than what he's done. But sure, it's Mary who is the problem.

And of course you're going to stalk my account, with nothing better to do, and then act as if the criticism isn't there for other Bridgerton characters. Coming from someone who ignores Anthony's actions and paints Mary as the villain, I'm not all that surprised that you can't read any of the context on my post correctly because I have, not only, criticized Mary and Edwina but wasn't even that harsh about Kate as you believe, you all just can't help but blow things out proportion. Not my problem.

So, how about you go somewhere and get off your high horse thinking you get to tell me or anyone else what to do for that matter. Watch your fucking mouth and just block me, because you're turning yourself out given the fact that you can't read my post properly or are just so warranted on hating Mary and Edwina that anyone who likes them pisses you off (not my problem, still).

0 notes

yaku-soba · 3 years

Text

all roads lead home

༶•┈┈ general m.list

༶•┈┈ tsukishima kei x gn!reader | angst with a hopeful ending :”)

tags/warnings: language, childhood friends, they’re exes but it gets better i promise, almost all the karasuno boys stay on in miyagi

word count: 3.7k

a/n: the edited version of an old fic i wrote for a followers event on my old blog :”) the prompt was i’ll name this city after you :D i hope yall enjoy this!!

synopsis: You want (an apology, an explanation) to forget, and to get on the next train back to Tokyo, never mind that this is your first time visiting Miyagi in two years. Tsukishima wants to quit his shitty job as an overworked barista (at your favourite cafe, as if the night shifts weren’t tormenting enough). Tadashi just wants the three of you to have lunch together again.

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

The sun is setting when you step off the train and onto a platform that you haven’t laid your eyes on in nearly two years.

(It’s been a lifetime.)

The vending machine that you used to rap your knuckles against in the hopes of knocking free an extra drink is still in the corner, as dirty and forlorn as you remember. It’s oddly reassuring - in a liminal, jarring sort of way - like you’ve stepped off the train and into the past, like you’re eighteen again.

“Y/n!” Tadashi looks much the same as he had when you’d graduated high school - smile maybe a little brighter, hands a little larger. Heart still as huge as it had been when you’d left.

He holds his arms out and you jump, throwing yours around his neck. Tadashi wheezes at the sudden weight, and you laugh as his hands wrap around your waist to crush you to him by the small of your back, barely managing to keep the both of you upright.

“It’s nice to see you again, Y/n.” He smiles earnestly, and you let go of his shoulders to pull at his cheeks, cooing. “Hey, stop that,” he whines, and when you refuse, he eyes you warningly, “I’ll drop you!”

You stick your tongue out at him childishly, but relent. He sets you back on the ground gently, and you turn back to pick up the bag you’d dropped.

“Come on,” he says, “let’s go home.”

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

The peace doesn’t last.

You really should have known, with the way Tadashi has been sneaking glances at you on the way out of the station. You’ve known him long enough to know what that expression means - he looks at you like he has something to say, but isn’t sure if he should, and that’s perfectly fine with you.

You’re starting to think you just might make it all the way home when a corner of the night sky chips and falls away, cracking right down the middle as your best friend says softly, “You should go home.”

You freeze. You know, instantly, what - who - he’s talking about.

The betrayal stings the back of your throat like bile.

You look away, fixing your eyes angrily - you can’t help it, Tadashi knows that you hate talking about this, about him, but he’d asked anyway - on the dried leaf skittering across the abandoned playground, at the mercy of the wind.

“I am home,” you point out uncooperatively, feeling childish, “that’s why I’m back in this shithole.”

“That’s not what I meant,” your best friend says into the night air, still in that annoyingly gentle way of his that makes you want to scream into the empty streets of this empty town. You wait, an open heart raw in the world, but he says nothing more.

(Two years later, and Tadashi still reads you as easily as he had when the two of you were six and tracing the lines on your palms. Dancing on the edge of a cliff but stopping just short of falling over.)

“Y/n?” Shit, of course you’d wander into him on your first night back, the universe has a personal vendetta against you, how could you have forgotten.

Next to you, Tadashi has gone very, very silent. And still. A little like a mouse stuck between a cat and a snake; relieved to have been momentarily saved from the clutches of one, newly worried about both, and too afraid of drawing attention to run away.

You’d laugh, if it weren’t for the rage rising in the back of your throat like bile, jagged like a broken promise.

“Y/n,” the bastard behind you repeats, and the sound of your name leaving his tongue is nothing short of heartbreak, “I didn’t know you were back.”

Slowly, you turn. Tsukishima looks just as you remember - stupid glasses on a stupid face, his hair longer but no less beautiful. As aggravating as he is breathtaking.

(Something in your chest - no, not your heart - aches. You reach down and crush it between your fingers the way you used to crumple the torn pages of your notebook into little balls, to throw them at Tadashi, or-)

“Tsukishima,” your voice is even, good, “I don’t see why it’s any of your business.”

He flinches, a minute action you would have missed if you didn’t already know him better than the old callouses on your palm. Good, you think again more vindictively - except his eyes are widening just slightly in shock, two gold pools like shadowed streetlamps, and suddenly you’re eighteen again.

You’re eighteen, and in love, and you’re blind enough to say, I would do anything for you, I would scrape my knees on metaphorical sidewalks everyday for the rest of my life if I had to, just to make you smile.

You’re eighteen, and you’re foolish enough to think, I would give you the world if you asked, surely you’d let me have your heart; your tiny hometown, your little safehouse.

You're eighteen, and you’re in love - and then you realize he’s not, not the way you are, and you fall on your empty sidewalks because it hurts and it tears you apart, but most of all you hate that you still care.

You hated being eighteen.

“If that’s all you wanted to say,” you continue coldly, “I’m leaving.”

You turn on your heel, avoiding Tadashi’s eyes. You won’t make him choose - you can’t do that to him.

Tsukishima says nothing as you stalk away down the empty streets and towards the house you grew up in.

(Somehow, you’re disappointed.

You tell yourself it’s because it’s been a long day.)

“Y/n, wait!” Tadashi calls, and you lengthen your strides angrily even as you hear him puffing up the slight incline behind you. “Y/n!”

“What,” you hiss, stopping short. You don’t turn - you don’t want to check if Tsukishima’s still there.

(You’ve seen enough of his back to last you a lifetime.)

“Are you okay?” Your best friend asks, and you look at him in disbelief.

“I thought you were on his side,” you say dumbly, before realizing that that’s a road that leads to ugly places.

“I’m not on anyone’s side,” Tadashi says diplomatically before you can try to apologize, “I just want us - the three of us - to have lunch together again.”

You scoff, and start walking, adjusting your bag. “Sure, I’ll text Hinata, I’m sure he won’t mind as long as we agree to volleyball practice with him first.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Tadashi says for the second time tonight, this time with a hint of frustration, “and you know it.”

“I do,” you acknowledge, “the same way you know that I want nothing to do with the four-eyed bastard.”

“You liked his glasses,” he tells you indignantly, catching up with you easily, “you used to steal them-”

“Liked, used to,” you snarl as the taut string of your patience finally snaps, “as in past tense. Leave if you’re just going to torment me. We both know I’ll get enough of it once I’m back home.”

Tadashi falls silent at that. A small part of you feels guilty, till you remember that it’s not your fault that he’d chosen to drag up old, unpleasant memories from beyond the grave, where you’d buried them.

“Do you want me to stay for dinner?” He asks finally. An olive branch.

You throw him a tense smile. “If you’d like.”

“Okay,” he breathes, and it’s like you’re looking at six year-old Tadashi again - young, painfully innocent, apologetic. “Okay, I’d like to. It’s been two years, after all.”

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

(You still think of him.

You could be baking in your kitchen in your apartment in Tokyo and all you can see is the curling steam of buns he bought at Sakanoshita store after practice. You could be walking past an electronics store and you’d find yourself looking at the TV screens, half-wondering if they replay the matches from a no-name high school in a far-away part of Japan.

They never do.

It doesn’t stop you from seeing in your mind’s eye the surge of a block, the curve of taped fingers.)

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

Because the universe hates you, you run into Tsukishima again, just a day into your brief return to Miyagi.

Walking through the glass doors of what had once been your favourite cafe and not paying attention to anything beyond one feet of you as you text Hinata that you’re there early, you don’t immediately notice that the barista has frozen in place.

You look up.

Tsukishima is staring at you, a carton of milk in one hand, the other resting on the blender. Even against the battered machine, his fingers are painfully elegant.

(Bandaged fingers against red and green and white. Pale fingers entwined with your own. A flash of memory, too painful to be anything but a curse.)

“Y/n?” He says, and it’s too much, it sounds so much like the way he’d said your name when you were seventeen, when you were eighteen, that your heart stutters and does a few flips on its way up your throat. A bad habit you never quite managed to get rid of.

You turn around, and walk back the way you’d came.

The bell tinkles mockingly as the door swings shut behind you.

“Y/n?” You flinch, but it’s just Hinata. “I knew it! It really is you, Y/n!” Hinata, bless him, beams. Then, as his eyes fall to your white-knuckled grip on your phone, he asks, “Is something wrong?”

Nothing, you want to say, let’s go for brunch, shall we? Instead, what comes out is, “You didn’t tell me he worked here.” It ends up sounding a tad accusatory. You only regret it a little.

“Oh, Tsukishima?” He asks casually, and you barely resist the urge to flinch at the name, “Sorry, I forgot.” He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, and - it looks genuine. Hinata’s a terrible liar; you’d know if he was pulling a fast one on you.

You sigh. It’s not even eleven in the morning, and you want to go home. “It’s fine,” you reassure him, even though it’s very much not, “let’s just find somewhere else to eat.”

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

“Do you have to leave?” He’s leaning against the door to your room, but there’s no relaxation in his posture. With his arms crossed and his brows furrowed, his face shut like a window screen, all Tsukishima looks is aggressive.

Something about the way he says have to, like it’s something unreasonable and selfish that you can’t let go of, grates on your nerves.

(Sometimes, when Tsukishima gets like this, he makes you feel small. More childish than child-like.)

“It’s a good opportunity for me,” you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve said those six words, in that order, “and it’s a scholarship, too.” You can’t quite keep the irritation out of your voice.

This is good for you, why can’t he just see that?

“Oh, so you’re one of those,” your boyfriend says, and there’s something ugly in his sneer that has you recoiling, “just going to-to up and leave, aren’t you? Build a new life for yourself in the fancy city now that you’re too good for this nowhere town in a no-name prefecture?”

You frown, properly frustrated now. “I’m not severing ties,” you say, “I know being in different prefectures will be tough, but it’s something that we can work around.”

You hate that it almost sounds like you’re pleading. You shouldn’t have to.

“We’re still in the same country - it’ll be easier to visit and call each other, with no time-zone differences in the way.”

Tsukishima laughs. It’s as sharp as the broken glass of a shattered photo frame. “Yeah, like I don’t know how these stories go.”

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

Tsukishima sighs as eight p.m finally hits and he can turn the open sign on the door to closed.

He goes through the routine that comes with working the last shift mindlessly - wiping down the tables and counters, pushing the chairs back into their neat places.

(He wonders how long you’ll be in Miyagi.)

The trash bag crinkles as he ties it up, dragging it behind him to the back door.

He’s only just hefted it into the dumpster specifically for un-recyclables when someone punches him in the face. Hard.

His glasses go flying, his annoyance skyrockets, and he barks, “What the hell?”

“I should be saying that!” His assaulter yells right back at him, “What the heck, Tsukishima?”

At the familiar voice, he stops, a retort on his tongue.

Tsukishima squints, and the person who’d punched him shifts, hair glowing orange in the flickering light of a half-dead streetlamp.

Ah, it’s the annoying, tiny boy.

“What do you want,” Tsukishima says as flatly as he can muster, even as his stomach sinks and he knows, he knows what Hinata is here to talk about. “Hinata.”

Hinata only grows more upset. Then he squares his shoulders and says, cold and unforgiving, “You didn’t tell Y/n.”

Tsukishima’s blood freezes in his veins. Suddenly, it’s the last set and the last point against Shiratorizawa, and the air is so thick and the eyes so cutting that he can’t move.

“You didn’t apologize.” Hinata steps forward till they’re chest-to-chest, and Tsukishima doesn’t need his glasses to know that Hinata’s eyes are accusatory and angry. “Y/n came back and you still didn’t apologize.”

I know, he thinks, I know I fucked up. Tsukishima isn’t dumb; even if Hinata hadn’t said it, he knows he should have gone after you last night.

(He should have gone after you two years ago.)

He thinks Hinata already knows what he’s feeling. It’s not a pleasant thought.

Tsukishima deals with this the only way he knows how, even as a voice that sounds like yours, small and heartbroken, says, don’t do it, not again.

“It’s not your business,” he snaps, tone disdainful enough to cover his regret, and it reminds him of your words; it sinks into his flesh like a knife cutting into pliant bread, it tugs him apart like a million tiny hooks, “don’t stick your nose into things you don’t understand.”

“I understand enough,” Hinata hisses right back, “to know that you hurt Y/n and that you never bothered to apologize.”

He pauses before going in for the kill. “And I know that you know that Y/n knows that it was complete bullshit. All you’ve managed to do is hurt the both of you.” Cocking his head slightly, he adds, the edge to his voice mostly gone, “And Tadashi-kun. All of us, really.”

Tsukishima opens his mouth to argue, but - he doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know what he can say, because nothing Hinata has said is wrong.

It’s not surprising - Tsukishima has known all of this for a very long time. He’d been deliberately ignoring it in the hopes that it would gather dust and fade into some distant corner of his mind.

I’m just as much of a coward as I was two years ago, he thinks, and he still remembers the way your tears had caught the sun that terrible day in your bedroom, he remembers turning away so he didn’t have to look at the promise he’d broken.

Hinata sighs, and trudges in the direction Tsukishima’s glasses had flown in, bending to rummage about on the ground.

Tsukishima takes this brief moment of quiet to get his feelings under control before his body decides to do something uncooperative and ridiculous. Like leaking tears.

“Don’t break things you don’t intend to fix,” Hinata says into the silence as he hands Tsukishima his glasses. The barbed words he’d been trying to find die on his tongue. He slips his glasses on just to have something to do with his hands, and immediately wishes he’d just stayed half-blind instead.

Hinata’s eyes aren’t angry, or even disgusted. They’re disappointed, and that makes everything so much worse.

Tsukishima loses control of his body. He opens his mouth, closes it.

What could he even say? It’s not Hinata that he owes an apology to.

“Thanks,” he says instead. Hinata nods and smiles.

(“Y/n misses you,” Hinata says later, as they’re walking down the street. He offers no elaboration, but it’s enough.)

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

“I’m sorry,” Tadashi says as the last whistle for your train blows and Tsukishima still isn’t here, “you know how Tsukki is on the weekends, he might have slept in-”

“Till four in the afternoon?” You raise a brow. Tadashi’s mouth snaps shut, his face stuttering, and you sigh. He shouldn’t be apologizing.

“It’s fine,” you say, as you step onto the train. You take your heart into your hands and rip it apart like a party favour.

Tadashi, and the rest of the Karasuno team, waves at you long after the doors have shut and the train departed.

You watch them through the window till they fade into shadows into specks into sky, and you know that you won’t be coming back for a long time.

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

You’re only in Miyagi for the weekend.

It’s been nice, seeing everyone again. You’d even had dinner with the rest of the team.

(Tsukishima hadn’t been there.)

But the weekend has come to a close, and now it’s just you and Tadashi on the platform again. You experience a dizzying sense of deja vu.

“Will you visit again?” Your best friend asks, and you tear your gaze from the tracks to meet his eyes.

(You know what Tadashi is really asking.)

“Maybe,” you answer after a pause, “you’re my friend, after all. And I won’t put it past Hinata to get lost in Tokyo.”

Tadashi smiles in understanding.

You feel terrible. All you’ve been giving him is compromises.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally, glancing to the old vending machine on the opposite platform out of habit, “but I just-”

“He misses you,” Tadashi cuts in, “and I think he wants to apologize.”

His words take you aback. Then, “He wants to apologize,” you repeat, and it’s like you’re eighteen again, “but Tsukishima’s too proud for it, isn’t he?”

“Tsukki’s changed,” Tadashi mumbles, “maybe next time-”

“Y/n!” The both of you turn at the voice.

The breath rushes out of your lungs. A boy with hair like sunlight and eyes like gold coins catches his, bent over with his hands on his knees, a glowing figure in the middle of a dreary platform.

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

For you, Tsukishima has always been synonymous with Miyagi.

Miyagi with the pork buns, with the school full of crows. The prefecture with the hills and the mountains, the small stores and marts run by ex-volleyball players.

Miyagi, your hometown, where the sky above and the grass below and the people beside you had witnessed you asking a boy for the second button of his gakuran at graduation. Your little safehouse of dreams dreamt of flight.

Tsukishima was the boy with the gakuran whose second button you had wanted. He’d been the boy with the glasses you’d hated on anyone else but him, the boy who had dreamt of the endless blue with his feet still on the ground.

He’s the boy you see in every empty, half-lit street at midnight, and behind every fading sign. The lamps in every lit house become his eyes, golden like the light of a possibly-dead star, and every window reflects the shine of his glasses. Like a haunting - a boy becomes a town becomes a memory.

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

“What do you want?” You ask when it becomes clear that Tsukishima isn’t going to break the silence. “My train’s coming soon.”

(Tsukishima has always been Miyagi to you.

You don’t really want the train to come. Not when you’re finally about to get a goodbye two years overdue.)

“I’m sorry,” the boy with the glasses that you had liked, the boy with the gakuran whose second button you had held in your palm like he’d held your heart, says finally. “I was afraid.”

He doesn’t say what of. You already know, and for now, it’s enough that he’s here at all.

“You were too proud,” you tell him softly, “I was willing to be afraid together.”

This isn’t anything new either. Tsukishima isn’t dumb. He must have known.

“Did you regret it?” You ask as the train pulls into the station.

The boy who is Miyagi to you smiles. “I’m glad you got the scholarship.” His eyes are bright. His hair is a little longer, now.

You step forward as the last whistle blows in warning, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

You turn, getting onto the train with a backwards wave.

The doors close.

The boy who is pork buns and dimly lit streets holds up a hand even as he fades into the distance, joined by a shorter silhouette.

They get smaller and smaller until they’re shadows, then specks, then nothing but sky.

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

For you, Miyagi has always been a boy.

Maybe it shouldn’t have been - there’s Tadashi, after all, and your senpais.

You tear your safehouse down brick by brick. You hand one to everyone you’ve ever talked to in Miyagi, to everyone you’ve ever loved.

Tsukishima is joined by Tadashi, and the homeroom teacher who’d confiscated most of the balled-up notes passed between the three of you in class. You add Hinata, Tanaka, Nishinoya, Sugawara; you build a volleyball court and see crows in the sky.

Miyagi is Tsukishima is Karasuno is volleyballs is the sting of skinned knees on dimly-lit streets.

(Tsukishima’s contact is still saved in your phone. You had never been able to bring yourself to delete it.

You think about your next holiday break. You think about the extra shifts at your part-time job you’ll have to take in order to afford the train tickets.)

You miss Miyagi. You’re relieved that you’re allowed to admit to yourself that you miss Miyagi, now.

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

as always, likes and reblogs are appreciated!! :D

#haikyuu x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #haikyuucreations #tsukishima kei #haikyuu!!#kyouka writes #see it all in bloom

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flamediel · 3 years

Text

About me

ok, so I figure it was finally time for me to make one of these since i’ve been here for a bit and I hate how disorganized tumblr is. Hi, I’m Nadia, I’m 19, and this is my CNCO blog. I’m a mixed black muslim bisexual who uses they/them pronouns and I’m studying law. Other random facts about me are I box, make my own clothes, paddleboard, and love dogs. My aesthetic is all over the place and so is my brain so while typing this out i decided to make a moodboard that’s ✨my aesthetic✨ so here lol:

Was that necessary? no. did I do it anyway? yes. Moving on..

so what will you find on this blog?

Primarily, CNCO. This is a side blog so I tend to stay pretty on brand with the content I post. I tend to answer asks here, be it about fandom tea or random stuff relating to the boys, but when inspiration strikes I’ll write fics, make moodboards, or even pull together random uquizzes and zodiac interpretations no one asked for. I host a lot of events on here too like to celebrate their albums or band anniversaries, so stay tuned for that as well. As you can see we do a little bit of everything here, so feel free to stop by for a chat whenever.

Where can I find your writing?

All my fics can be found under the ‘#my writing’ tag on my blog, so check them out there! anything tagged minors dni (or cnco smut for older posts) is 18+

What writing do you have coming up?

Chris sex tape smut

Boxdiel smut

Sub!Richard Smut

Zabdiel + Power Play

The boys while you’re pregnant (Minus Chris since it’s already up)

Richard pampering you

a ton of songfics I have half finished

And if you want anything else, I am taking requests! Keep in mind they may take a while though, I tend to write when inspired and I haven’t had the time at all lately with work. Also, if you remember requesting something that isn’t here, it’s because I likely haven’t gotten to starting it. once I do, I’ll add it here.

Where can I find your moodboards?

These will be under the ‘#cnco moodboard’ tag on my blog! Requests for moodboards are open (and will probably be fulfilled MUCH more quickly).

UQuizzes?

Which CNCO member are you?

Which CNCO hookup are you?

Where are your CNCO Zodiac interpretations?

I’m only doing full chart readings for the boys once we get their birth times, since I don’t like how inaccurate readings can be without houses and such (ie, Chris’s Sagittarius energy doesn’t make sense until you realize it’s all in the fourth house). That means I’ll be analyzing Joel and then Chris’s birth charts in detail for now, and when we get the rest of the info I may do the others’. This is gonna take a while since these are long and take a ton of research, sorry about that

Joel: Part 1 (part 2 coming soon)

Chris: (TBD)

Management vs record label analysis

You've done some analyses of cncos team from a legal perspective, where are they?

Joel leaving the band timeline/contract renegotiation explanation

Who owns cncos trademark

Why are some of your posts tagged minors dni?

Why didn’t you answer my ask?

personally, I don’t feel comfortable with minors interacting with any explicit content on my blog. I tag it that way for people to be able to blacklist these posts (including adults who don’t want to see them). I know minors look at this content anyway, I’m not dumb, but this gives them the opportunity to be responsible without me having to make this whole blog nsfw, andit also provides a clear warning. Minors I find repeatedly interacting with my NSFW posts are getting blocked. You’re violating my consent and disrespecting the rules I put in place on my blog, and I don’t want you around if you cant understand that.

my inbox is almost always full and it takes me a while to get to stuff! I will though, i promise, and if it takes a while maybe resend it since tumblr doesn’t like to work sometimes.

Why do certain anons have symbols/emojis?

It’s like a signature so I can tell which anon it is. if you want one just ask!

can you tell me about X cnco thing?

usually, yes. but also, keep in mind I don’t know everything, and most of what I say is my opinion, as with everyone else here. don’t take it too seriously please. I will also sometimes answer asks sarcastically or jokingly and entertain dumb stuff, if you have a problem w that just send smth in about that instead of fighting, no need to get disrespectful over tumblr shit I swear it’s unnecessary.

Why wont you answer dms?

I am. so so bad at checking dms. so bad. it gives me anxiety and i WILL leave people on read. honestly if you’re not my mom you should not be expecting quick replies from me. if you want to talk more and we’re mutuals, message and ask for my snap. I tend to be more active on there

Why aren’t you following me/liking my posts/in my notes?

I probably am, this is a side blog, I interact from my main @imbrium-mare

Any other important notes?

A couple. First, something light. info about me is in my ‘#about me’ tag, and if you care what i look like check the ‘#my face’ tag, I tend to delete those every now and then so you might not find anything.

Secondly, more heavy. Like most active cnco blogs, I’ve dealt with my fair share of “anon” hate. Most of the time, I can figure out who you are pretty easily. Yall aint slick at allll, and I am more than happy to expose anyone who thinks online bullying is okay. casual reminder, using racial and homophobic slurs is not cute. I will not tolerate it, you’ll be blocked. the fact people think this is ok to do over a BOYBAND of all things? tragic.

And finally, since this will now be my permanent pinned post, any events I host or new things I write will be linked in a reblog of this post and pinned, rather than pinning the actual post with it. That way this information is all still accessible. That’s it! have fun, and I hope you enjoy your time here xx

#about me #pinned post

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random-mha-thoughts · 4 years

Text

Stranger (Todoroki x Reader)

Pairing: Todoroki x Reader

Genre: Fluff, College!AU

Summary: While at a party you were forced to attend, you meet a mysterious stranger having fun by himself in the corner.

Inspo: A Tiktok by Designer_eyebags that has suddenly disappeared, it was too cute for me not to write honestly.

Word count: 2,476

Tags: @yuki-osaki @liviitehe @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog @bunnythepipsqueak

a/n: When I tell you I'm a sucker for casual Todo esp Todo in a beanie?? Ded

College!AU for Todoroki finally! It was honestly about time! Though, I feel like I could’ve done better with it, I wasn’t really sure where I wanted to take it so I just let it take me I guess? But I think it's still pretty cute, so that's gotta count for something, right?

I've got another Baku scenario planned, and then a Midoriya one right after that (or I might reverse the order since I have the beginning of the Midoriya one written already). Also thanks again for 300 followers! Yall might be getting a surprise at 400, depends on when I finish these next few scenarios.

Buy me a coffee?

I don't want to be here at this party, but Ochaco told me I need to loosen up. And she's tired of me whining about how single I am. "Then do something about it!" she exclaimed, "Get out there and find someone! You won't meet anyone if you stay in the same rut!" She's lucky, she already has a boyfriend. At first glance, he's a complete pushover, but he seems to be a social person. At least, social enough to have friends who host dorm parties, apparently. So here I am, in a stranger's dorm with colored lights and obnoxiously loud music.

The funniest thing about this entire party, though, is this random person I've been watching. The music in the room is bumping to some EDM tracks, but this guy's having a blast in the corner of the room. He's off in his own world, headphones on, swaying and mouthing the lyrics to whatever's playing, which might be more melodious judging by how much slower his head nods are.

Honestly, relatable.

I would've thought he was just drunk or on some really good drugs, but his movements are structured enough to show he still has coordination. I'll admit, the way he's dancing around like no one's watching is pretty endearing. He seems like a pretty fun guy to be around, I should go talk to him. Ochaco abandoned me for her boyfriend, and this is my way of finding someone else, I guess.

I approach him slowly. It would be a stupid idea to tap on his shoulder and interrupt him, I don't really want to break his flow. I settle for standing by quietly, close enough for him to notice I'm staring right at him, but far enough so I don't break up his single-man party.

It takes him a while to notice me. The music bleeding from his white headphones even in this loud environment tells me he's really trying to drown everyone else out. His eyes are closed as his had bobs around, silently mouthing the lyrics to a familiar Top 40's song I've heard on the radio. His casual outfit consists of black jeans, a half-white-half-black hoodie over a black T-shirt, gray Converse, and a matching beanie. His hair on the side facing me is scarlet red, but from his movements, I can see the other side is snow white.

My lips quirk into a small smile as I continue to watch him entertain himself. I probably look like a creep, just watching some other weirdo doing their thing in the corner. I can't help it, he looks absolutely adorable, not to mention just a smidge familiar.

His eyes open for a brief moment just so he can blink and he double takes at me, freezing up and jolting backward. He slides the headphones down around his neck and looks around before scratching his head. "Hi... " he offers a slight wave. "Was I bothering you?"

Now that he fully faces me, I notice he has two different colored eyes, and his features are sharply handsome, contrasting the staple casual soft-boy aesthetic of his outfit and his awkward speech. "Not at all," I shrug, collecting my thoughts, "You seem like you're having the time of your life, so I thought I'd join you."

A slight blush coats his cheeks as he buries his hands in his jeans pockets. "I apologize. Perhaps what I was doing was distracting and inappropriate."

He's so prim and proper, it's adorable. "No worries, no one was staring other than me," I assure him, leaning against the wall. "So, why are you jamming all alone over here instead of being with your friends?"

"Ah, my roommate is spending time with his girlfriend right now, I don't really want to pry into their business." He scratches the back of his neck nervously.

I sigh. "Yeah, same here. Your roommate wouldn't happen to be a Midoriya, would it?"

He blinks. "As a matter of fact, he is."

"Wow, small world." That really is a coincidence. Can't say I was expecting to meet the roommate of my best friend's boyfriend, let alone find him alluring in some way.

The boy is silent for a moment. "Honestly, I'm sleepy, but I lost the key to my room, so I have to wait for Midoriya. I don't even have my wallet, unfortunately." He fingers one side of the headphones. "This is the only way to keep myself awake and occupied until he's ready to leave."

"I'd say you have guts to be listening to your own music at a party. You must have a pretty great playlist."

He tilts his head to the side. "I'm just not fond of this sort of music, it nauseates me."

"I feel that. This, in general," I motion to all the happenings around us, "Isn't really my scene. I'd rather be in my dorm alone."

He nods in agreement. "Me too. If it wasn't for me losing my dorm key, I would have already gone back."

Now that I've called attention to it, we really have drowned out the world around us, as if there was a bubble and I just popped it to return us to the present. There's this magnetism between us to keep to ourselves, despite the awkwardness of this being our first encounter.

I kick off from the wall and face him. "If you wanna hurry out of here, we can go somewhere else to talk. Or if you wanna go eat, I can pay for you, it's no big deal."

For the first time in our conversation, he turned to look at me head-on. "Really?" he cocks an eyebrow, "We've only just met, do trust me that much?"

I offer an amiable smile. "You seem like someone I'd like to get to know."

We walk into the darkness of campus at night, talking about nothing in particular. Whatever random question that popped into my mind was whatever I asked him. He's a quiet one, very hesitant about opening up and answering my questions more than what I've asked. I guess I like how mysteriously awkward he is, it's cute. Normally, I'm not one to talk either, but when it comes to someone who's even less of a talker than me, I take the lead just to make them comfortable.

His name is Shouto Todoroki, he's in the same year as me, a business major because his father wants him to take over the family company. He's the youngest of his siblings, his parents are separated, and he's a cat person.

Finally reaching a diner just a block off campus, I instinctively stroll up to the counter. At first he stands behind me, unsure what to do as he stares at the seat next to me. I eye him with another smile. "I guess you've never sat at the counter before?" At the shake of his head, I pat the stool to my right. "Come on up, it's not that different from sitting in a booth."

Slowly, he hoists himself up onto the seat and rotates over to face me. "Do you come here often?"

"Sort of, I'm alone most of the time. I don't usually come this late though. After my classes, I would come here because I love their burgers. I like sitting here to just do some homework."

The waitress gives us the menu and takes our drink orders. The diner is empty this time of night, save for a group of probably drunk students from our college and a truck driver at the other end of the counter across the room.

"What do you feel like eating?" I ask.

Todoroki's staring at the menu in great thought, holding his chin with one hand. "Maybe a sandwich. Or a pasta dish, I'm not sure yet."

"I think..." I scan over the menu. I'm not that hungry per se, I just wanted to get out of that party with this adorable stranger. "I'm gonna have a bowl of soup. It'll warm me up after being in the cold outside." I rub my cold hands together and tuck them inside the sleeves of my sweater.

The boy glances down at my hands before his cheeks blush slightly. He tries to hide it by rubbing the back of his neck. "Would you like me to...hold them for you? I've been told I have pretty warm hands..."

It's my turn to blush now. "Sure, thanks."

He stretches out his left hand onto the table, tentatively covering my clasped hands. Surprisingly, I find his hand is large, able to surround both of mine entirely. And they're pretty muscular, I'd say. "Your hands are pretty warm," I comment, almost dumbly.

He nods wordlessly in response.

Our shoulders almost brush because of how close I'm leaning to him. I'm close enough to smell his fresh scent coming off his jacket.

The waitress returns with our drinks and startles us into ripping our hands away from each other, bumping shoulders in the process. She takes our orders on her pad before smiling at us. "Aw, you two look so cute together," she coos and walks away before we can correct her.

Suddenly I don't know what I should say now.

"What made you come here one day?" Todoroki asks, his cheeks brushed pink. I appreciate his attempt at making things less awkward.

"I like having comfort food, I guess." I stir the straw in my water. "I get easily overwhelmed and homesick, so I like eating my feelings in a way."

His hands cup his warm mug of tea. "I can't say I agree with that. I wanted to get away from home. It was suffocating there."

"That must be difficult." Out of reflex, I raise my hand to pat his shoulder, stopping myself right before I can touch him. "I'm sorry-"

"I don't mind it," he blurts out quickly. "But only if you're comfortable."

I chuckle at his eagerness and rest my hand there. "We've become somewhat awkward again, huh?"

"Should I ask some questions, then? Since you were doing that earlier."

"Sure, go ahead."

Todoroki's questions were difficult to get out. He didn't ask as many as me since he thought very carefully before asking them. They weren't typical small talk questions you would ask someone you just met; they were thought-provoking, which I admit is something I appreciate way more. His last question was to discuss what would be the most important items to have you were stranded on a space mission with a group of people.

"Why wouldn't you want a flare gun? It could help the home base locate you from the light."

"Yes, normally, but it wouldn't work the same in anti-gravity space," Todoroki explains monotonously. "Though, the force of the shot would at least allow you to propel you in a certain direction if you're floating around aimlessly."

"You have a point. But we agree that rope, oxygen tank, and water are definitely essential for survival."

The waitress sets our food in front of us. Todoroki ended up getting a vegetarian panini just because he didn't really want any meat tonight.

"Will you be satisfied with just that soup?" he eyes my bowl carefully.

I start ripping at the toasted bread on the side and dip one into my tomato soup. "Yeah, I'm not terribly hungry, and I haven't had this soup in a long time."

We eat in a somewhat comfortable silence. I feel like we've gotten to know each other pretty well, but there's still the awkwardness surrounding us. Nothing really told me why he was so familiar to me at the party either. I don't really remember him at any of the previous outings I was forced to attend.

Todoroki puts down his mostly eaten sandwich. "I must...confess something. I-"

"Are you a creepy stalker?" I casually joke, dipping my spoon into the soup.

His face turns blank and the life drains from his eyes. "N-No! Not at-!"

I shove him lightly. "I'm just joking! You look like you've seen a ghost. What is it?"

Color returns to his face as he looks down at his unfinished burger and fries. "I've...been to a couple parties with Midoriya before, and I admit I've seen you already. To say you never caught my attention is a lie. Actually, I...hoped to see you every time he offered me to join him."

I'm frozen in place, my cheeks heating up at the implication. "Does that mean you've taken an interest in me?"

He inhales carefully. "Yes, I have."

"So...you'd like to see me outside of parties then?"

"Yes." He rubs his hands together. "We could even come back here, if you'd like."

"I wouldn't mind that." I avert my eyes away from him, ashamed to be shy like this. "But next time, you're trying a burger here."

His chuckle reminds me of the tinkle of wind chimes, except deeper. "It's a date."

I can't stop myself from smiling, my heart skipping a beat at the word. Wow, I actually found someone decent at a stupid college party.

We finish the rest of our meal in silence again, and I paid as I promised. It felt like we were holding back a secret from everyone else in the diner. We just started dating in the middle of our first meal together, how cute is that?

We leave and start heading back to the dorms, keeping a distance between us. Neither of us really know what to say after a sudden change in relationship status like that.

Todoroki coughs awkwardly. "If you don't mind, I'd like to warm your hands up again. Only if you're okay with it."

That's such a cute way of asking to hold hands, I gush inwardly. I close the distance between us, allowing him to gently grip one of my hands in his. He tucks our joined hands inside his hoodie pocket, pulling me closer to him. It feels like I'm walking on clouds.

He walks me to the front of my building. He'd gotten a text from Midoriya that he's back at their room and will open the door for him when he returns. "Thank you for the meal." His eyes express his gratitude clearly as he stands in front of me. "It was more enjoyable with your company."

"Don't mention it. It was great having someone to talk to." I realize I've unnaturally used my left hand to brush my hair behind my ear because my right hand is still in his pocket. Standing so close to him makes me nervous.

Todoroki lifts our joined hands to place a feather-light kiss on my knuckles. "I look forward to next time," his low voice resonates smooth as butter, eyes boring into mine.

I can't meet them for very long after, breaking eye contact with him sheepishly. "M-Me too."

#todoroki x reader #todoroki fluff #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #todoroki shouto #shouto todoroki #college!AU #todoroki imagine #todoroki scenario #gender neutral reader #mha todoroki #bnha todoroki #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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shewrites02 · 5 years

Text

An Oakland Summer | Erik Killmonger x Black Reader

AN: So I can’t find the post that inspired the story but as you read it many will know exactly which one I’m talking about. If anyone could link the post or tag the blog I would greatly appreciate it. Also this is super rough I just wanted to put something out to get the creative jucies flowing, please tell me what you think and if a pt.2 is in order

Summer always seemed hotter in the hood than in the suburbs. Like the heat every thug toated seemed to contribute to the tempature. Like every hot bullet put into a black child's chest warmed up the block just a little bit more. And lord knows with school out , and trouble so easily found on these streets, bodies dropped every day... At least thats what mama would tell me and my brothers every June.

But she wasn't home very much. Was always out working one of her three jobs so she left it up to my older brothers, Trell and Myles, to watch out for me. That usually consisted of dragging me to the basketball courts, so they could tell mama they were watching me when really they were arguing over fouls and jump balls.

"We got next!" Erik announced as he walked onto the court.

"Aye, E what's good nigga? We ain't seen you in a hot minitue." Myles shouted as he daped him up. Wide smiles graced their faces.

"You Know how it goes." Erik mumbled as he went to dap up the rest of the boys on the court.

Around here 'you know how it goes' was usually a euphemism for 'I've been selling on the corner'. but no one ever focuses too much on it. Here selling dope was a rite of passage, making boys into men. Word around here was Erik was saving up to go to M.I.T in the fall. A thug with a cause was the term used by most.

The boys played a couple games, before deciding the sunset meant it was time to go home. When the game wrapped up trell invited Erik over.

"There's a block party, my unc is hopping on the grill. Mommas first day off since school let out so you know she cooking. everyone supposed to be there."

It didn't take much to persuade him, especially after the mention of free food. The four of us, along with everyone else that lived on our street, headed toward our house. The sound of old school R&B and rap increased in volume the closer we got. You could smell the Bar-B-Que all the way at the basketball courts, givng us another reason to come home.

Once we reached the house everyone dispersed. Majority of the younger kids ran off to play in the broken hydrant that spewed water all down the streets and the slip n slides some had set up in their front yards, while the older kids headed straight to the grill to make their plates. Me, my brothers, and Erik went to greet my mom.

"Oh Erik, How are you?" My mom exclaimed as she embraced him into a tight hug.

I couldn't help the contorted and confused look on my face as she did so. I Barely knew this kid let alone my mother knowing him so where this affection came from, I had no idea. Maybe it had something to do with the three empty twisted teas that sat infront of her seat at the domino table.

"I'm Good Ms. Robin."

My mother ran her fingers through the loose tinderls of hair that escaped Erik's bun while he was playing basketball. A clear expression of dismay painted on her face as she pursed her lips.

"Oh Hunny, we gotta do something about this hair!"

"I know, I've been looking for someone to twist it Ms. Robin but don't nobody wanna do it for me!"

I chuckled. I may not know much about Erik, but I do know that any girl on this block would be dying at the opprotunity to touch that boy's hair, he was just very selective about who he chose to deal with.

"Oh CoCo will do it!" She oh so cheerfully exclaimed as she grabbed my hand to pull me in between the two of them.

"You twist?" He inquired

I shrugged.

He looked over me, his teeth biting his bottom lip ever so slightly. Sweat still glistened on his forehead although the sun wasn't shinning bright anymore. It was as if he were trying to determine if I were worthy enough to touch his precious hair.

"Ight."

Erik sat between your leg, his elbows rested lighlt on your thighs. He wrestled with sparking his blunt before finally the blue flame singed the end of the rolling paper. With one hit you could feel Erik's body relax into yours. He extended is arm above his head, now aligning the blunt perfect with your field of view.

"You smoke?"

You politely declined but told him to go ahead, and with no hestiation he took another hit. You freed his hair from the very sloppily thrown up ponytail it was in, allowing his dreads to fall where they may and move as the wind blew by. You rubbed his scapl astonished at not only how moisturized and soft his hair was, but how long he had allowed himself to go without a retwist. With a hesitant sigh, you dipped into your jane carter nourish & shine and begin to twist his hair.

For a while yall just sat in comfortable silence. Enjoying the blaring of old school R&B hits from a couple houses down. At some point you even caught Erik humming along to Bel Biv Devoe's Poison. Yall watched the neighboor hood kid's play in their front yards with water hoses and slip n slides and every couple of minutes or so you would hear the beakon of a mother calling her kids inside.

"You ever miss that... being that young?" You inquired totally enamerd at the pure joy that was so clearly painted on all these kids faces. truth be told it had been a while since you had really felt that. Something about it was all very nostalgic.

You could tell Erik had been caught off guard by your question. As he should be. Afterall isn't wasn't like yall were best friends or even friends at all. You were just who retwisted his hair for him.

"Nah." His voice only slightly above a whisper. It made it difficult to make out over the loud squeals and laughs of the children. His body had tensed a little, even despite being more than halfway through his blunt. "I ain't really had that."

He hit his blunt again, this time taking a longer swig than usual. You could tell by his shift in body languge and the dart of his eyes, his childhood wouldn't be a topic of discussion. You allowed the two of you to slip into yet another bit of comfortable silence as the song 'racks in the middle' filled the street.

You lightly rapped the words beneath your breath. Something about Nipsey Hussle always hit different with you. Like you felt his words deeper than just in your heart, you felt it in your bones.

"You a Nip fan?" Erik chuckled some, clearly astonished at your little prefromance.

"Ain't everybody in Californina?"

"You right. You Right."

You twisted the last of Erik's dreads and placed them back up in a neat bun. He let out a small grunt as he stood up then dropped his blunt to the ground stepping on it.

"Aye, nigga you killing the earth!" You protested. Demanding that he pick what was left of his blunt up and dispose of it properly.

Erik laughed, although he thought it was ridiculous he heard the passion and dared not to threaten it. He picked up the blunt and tossed it into the trash that was a few steps away.

"NIp got you feeling like you can save the world?" He teased.

"Naw you got that when you graduate M.I.T." You joked back.

Erik craked a slight smile, almost like it had been a while since he was able to freely speak with no one having certain expectations of him. He bent down a placed a small gentle kiss on your lips all while sliding a 50 in you back pocket.

"Stay up." He mumbled, giving you a wink as he wiped his bottom lip with the back of his hand, and walking away.

Taglist: @chaneajoyyy @lostennyc @https://lostennyc.tumblr.com/

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