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joviepog · 4 months

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Okay, I’m finally (kinda) back! I wrote a little siren x reader story based on a song! Hope you enjoy!

-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ

People I don’t like

Warnings: Cursing, Arson, mention of people checking each other out, fire, mentions of screams, alcohol

Who: Siren x Reader

Pronouns: She / they

Word count: 1,137

Tag list: @gaytoadwithapopsicle @corner-of-void @danny-yagami @loversj0y @ax-y10 @lanaxoxoxoxoxox @haunted-headset @phxntomsdusk

Anything else: It’s been a while since I’ve written! Please excuse any errors and bad spelling! I will try to write as much as possible during this Christmas Break! :D

This story is NOT proofread.

Listen to this as you read!

“Hello. It’s so good to see you!”

You hear a cheery yet smug voice behind you as you smoke a cigarette. Great. You get partnered with him out of all people? Like seriously, siren out of all people?

“We’ve met before but nice to meet you.”

You say with a fake smile as he walks in front of you. He’s wearing his masquerade mask which is a dark blue. Similar to his regular villain costume. He wears a black suit and his hair is slick back, a new look.

“Yeah, i dont really wanna be here.”He says with a sigh

You nodded and suddenly launch at him to knock him out. If you can, you can get all the money. But as soon as you got close you him, he grabbed your hand and pinned you to the wall.

He smirks as he looks down at you which only made you roll your eyes. “What’s my name? Do you remember?”

You scoff and give him an innocent smile, “I’m pretty sure you have my number.”

He backs off, “So let’s pretend we like each other.”

The two of you walk in to a big room made of what seems like gold. There are big windows that open to multiple balconies, there is one large door that opens to an outside area. The roof is high and there are chandeliers everywhere you look. People with fancy dresses and suits fill the area.

“This room is so suffocating.” You whisper to Siren. He tightens his tight on his suit and shrugs. “Walking on ice, but nobody breaks it.” He winks at you before walking off to talk to people. You follow suit and walk uncomfortably with your big dress to the bar area. This oldish man comes up to you, complimenting your body and outfit. You hated it but kept your cool. You were stuck in this one way conversation.

‘Guess i’ll be here for a while.’ You thought.

He starts talking about his paycheck, blowing smoke in your face.

You take a shot with a fake smile as you look at him, excusing yourself before taking another round.

You talk to a couple more people, making friendly banter. The only goal you had was to get everyone on your side and to distract people from the vault. Your coworkers are working to steal as much money as possible. You let out a sigh as you tune out the lady’s words.

‘Everybody in the party’s fucking fake. I really wish i could say it to this lady’s face. But i wont. So…’ you think before talking to someone new.

“Hello it’s so good to see you!” You say to a man

“It’s nice to meet you!” You say to another man only 10 minutes later.

“What’s my name? Do you remember?” You say with a smile to the first guy you talked to at the bar.

“I’m pretty sure you have my number.” You say with a wink to a random man.

‘Let’s pretend we like each other.’ You think at almost the people you’ve talked to.

You wonder if Sireb is doing well with the lady’s . You stole a couple things from the men you had talked to for yourself to sell.

You come up to a woman and compliment her shoes. Then only a minute later you ask to know more about another lady.

Your job was hard, but you loved to act like you cared when really you dont give any shits.

As you talk to another man you see Siren flirt with a girl, having her pinned up to a wall. You scoff in disgust before looking away. Why did it make your heart pound? The lady your talking to is going in and on about herself. You keep on a smile but you scoff at her.

‘Can’t you bother someone else?’ You think.

Only 2 hours in and you’ve made a large amount of progress. You now have a group of people around you. They were interested in you.

You make a quick toast, “Raise a glads if you like me!” They all cheer and raise their glasses. You smile and take a sip of your drink, everyone joins in. Siren comes up behind you and you smirk, you could smell the alcohol off him from a mile away. “You’re getting trashed ‘cause you can’t leave?” You look at him in your seat, he’s standing behind you. You felt like a queen

“Guess we’re in this together.” He says as he looks down at you.

“Makes my head hurt.”

You get up and excuse yourself from the crowd, now walking with him. He might be drunk but he still looks composed and he’s still doing his job. He just randomly blurts things out..

“Everybody in this party’s fucking fake.”

You smirk, “And so am i, but we just go here so we gotta show some face.” You give him a laugh and he laughs along. You both walk away from each other before finding someone else to talk to.

“Hello it’s so good to see you.”

“We’ve met before but nice to meet you.”

“What’s my name? do you remember?”

“I’m pretty sure you have my number.”

“Let’s pretend we like each other.”

Suddenly you and Siren get a message from your ear piece that they got everything. You excuse yourself in last time before running away with Siren.

“Finally, We’re done.” He says with an exhausted sigh. “Not me.” You shrug

His eyes widen and he looks at you. “Wait, what?”

You wink at him before running away. It only takes you about 5 minutes to set gasoline around some of the building. Suddenly your coworkers show up.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!?”

“YOU’RE GONNA RUIN THE PLAN!”

You shrug and give them a smirk. “Oh well.”

You grab the lighter from my pocket and set the place on fire.

“Cya.” You run off, taking off the fancy dress and wearing your costume from underneath. As you run you see smoke and fire in the distance. Screams filling your ears. You smirk as you run away. Hopefully that gives the villains a distraction so that you could escape.

That doesn’t matter though.

You know they’re weak.

Once you get to an alley way you open your pocket to see that everything you stole was gone.

“Wait. What the heck?” You start to look all around you before you hear a voice.

“Looking for these?” Siren. He dangled the watched, necklaces, and bracelets that you had stolen.

He walks up to you, grabs your hand, and opens it. He places the stolen items in your hand before walking away.

“Next time Darling, be more careful with the things you steal.” He looks you up and down. “Also, be more mindful of the chance that people can follow you.”

He smiles at you before running off.

And you’re left there, furious.

And yet you’re blushing.

Why were you blushing?!?

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todayisawthewhxlewxrld · 6 months

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"well at least let me Love You The Same"

"baby, I thought that we had something. compared to him I'm next to nothing."

synopsis// izuku knows he has no chance, but that doesn't stop him from falling hopelessly head over heels for you… or where izuku is an idiot and doesn't know proper communication since he was seven.

pairing// izuku midoriya x gn!reader

word count// 5.2k

contents// no quirks au, fluff? maybe like a hint of angst? college au, pro heros are now famous musicians, mutual unknown pining, childhood friends to lovers?, izuku has NO game. one singular kys joke.

notes// im trying to get rid of my oldish mha drafts so heres this. anyway i kinda tried something new with the povs in the story so uhm let me know if it worked or if it made everything unnecessarily confusing. anyways todays oneshot was inspired by uneasy hearts weigh the most by dance gavin dance ! (so good im trembling )

April 10th, 20XX | 7 years old

Izuku, you, and Kacchan were on another one of your little adventures. The three of you sat atop some rocks you had to climb to get up in the first place, all of you attempting to catch your breaths as the fresh spring breeze felt heavenly against your sweaty bodies from playing all day long. Izuku loved days like this, where all of you would hang out together. Most days, it was just him and Kacchan because you’d have a babysitter who wouldn’t let you out of their sight, but your parents were home today, and when they’re home, anything is on the table. You want to leave to go to the river with the boys? Go right ahead! You want to chase down an ice cream truck? Sure, why not? Izuku loved when they were around because that meant you were around. and Izuku loved you.

Even as young as he is, he knows, and maybe he doesn’t know in what way he loves you, but he very quickly finds out when he turns toward you. The sun is just barely starting to set, and the orange hue reflects off your eyes as you gaze out into the horizon, like little gold specks of glitter, and Izuku finds himself completely enamored by them. He wants you to look at him, to stare at him as peacefully as you are staring out into nothing, and suddenly you turn toward him as if you had somehow read his thoughts. You grin childishly at him, your smile so big that your eyes shut and your nose crinkles, and Izuku finds his heart skipping a beat. that’s... That’s not normal, is it? Kacchan doesn’t make his heart skip a beat even though Izuku loves him, so why do you? It hits Izuku like a train. Oh, right. Because he loves you. as more than a friend. Lost in thought, Izuku doesn't realize that you're calling his name until you grab him by the shoulders and shake him a little.

“Zuku!”

“S-Sorry!”

You laugh a bit and shake your head as you return your hands back to your sides. “It’s fine; you were mumbling. You okay?”

He nods, an endearing smile paints his face, and his wide green eyes are filled with nothing but pure adoration for you. “Yeah. Yeah, I'm more than okay.”

You return the smile before turning your head back toward the sky, and Izuku has to muster up an inhumane amount of strength not to beg you to keep staring at him, to keep smiling at him, to focus on him and him alone.

Izuku’s life-altering moment is quickly ruined by a grunt.

“Let’s go, extras,” Kacchan says.

Kacchan jumps off the rocks the three of you are sitting on, but instead of landing, he eats shit and lands with a loud thud on the pavement. His knees and palms, and nearly every other part of him, were scraped in the process. Though apparently that's just a normal occurrence for him because he gets up like nothing's happened and stares up at Izuku and you.

“Let’s go; what are you guys waiting for?”

Izuku and you glance at each other in complete amazement. Though Izuku’s awe for Kacchan is quickly replaced by amazement for you, and with the way your eyes glimmer, he almost feels like they’re beckoning him to tell you he loves you. But the next words out of your mouth shut him right up and completely shattered his seven-year-old heart:

“Bakugo is amazing!”

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

Present day | 19 years old

Izuku lies flat on his bed, staring up at his hands as they stretch out toward the ceiling. He opens and closes them, half-heartedly imagining what it would feel like to hold your hand. He sighs and lets his hands fall back to his sides. Twelve years later and Izuku is still, if not even more, hopelessly in love with you. Actually, at this point, he doesn’t think the word love is large or strong enough to convey how he feels about you. How could such a meek word ever begin to truly explain the depth of his feelings for you? They could never, but it’s the closest attempt. Though Izuku is losing hope in himself and in you, he’s tried to confess; he really has, but every time he thinks the moment is just right, something always happens.

Whether he freezes up, someone walks in, one of you gets a call, or Kacchan somehow gets brought up, whether it's from you talking about him or physically showing up, without a doubt, something goes wrong every time he tries, and at this point, he’s ninety-nine point nine percent sure this is the universe telling him to stop while he’s ahead, and maybe he should listen to it. Not maybe; he should. He knows he should. He’s known since he was seven; you like Kacchan, not him. And maybe the fact that he doesn’t understand why you like Kacchan doesn’t make this any easier. Yes, he agrees that Kacchan is amazing, but there are also so many things that Izuku excels at compared to him, like, for example, romance! But he understands.

He understands that, in your eyes, he's nothing compared to Kacchan; Kacchan is everything he's not. So he'll listen to the universe, or at the very least, he’ll try. He can’t one hundred percent guarantee this will work because Izuku lives off his emotions and thinks with his heart, but he’ll try. He swears he will. He’ll push these feelings so far down, like an anchor cast into the middle of the ocean, he’ll make sure they never reach the surface again. He mumbles to himself about how he should make a plan. That could make things a lot easier, that could make this actually work. Izuku determinedly nods to himself and sits upright, leaning over to grab his pen and notebook from his bedside table. As he writes, he mumbles to himself.

10 STEPS TO GETTING OVER Y/N

1. Desensitize yourself to them!

2-9. ????

10. You’re over them! Congrats!

Izuku sighs. Okay, so maybe he doesn’t have that much of a plan going, but two steps is better than nothing, right? At least he has an idea of how to start! But how is he supposed to do that? With exposure therapy, of course! There’s no better way to desensitize yourself to something than by constantly subjecting yourself to it, so that’s exactly what he’ll do. He’ll just spend more time with you! ... well, even more than he already does! Speaking of which, he should go do that now, not because he actually wants to, of course. This is all just part of his plan to get over you; there's no way in hell this is because he’s so in love with you and feels physically drawn to you like a magnet. Pft. Definitely not.

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

Bakugo lays on your bed with his head dangling upside down off the end, watching you, who’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at your wall, a small frown flitting across your face.

Bakugo grumbles, “Fuck's wrong with you?”

“I’m gonna do it,” you respond candidly, not bothering to look at him.

He sits up on his elbow, turns slightly to look at you, and quietly asks, “….This isn’t about me telling you to kill yourself the other day, right? Cause I was just joking.”

This finally breaks your gaze away from the wall and toward him, your face scrunched up in confusion. “What? No.”

“Oh ok. Good.” Bakugo goes back to hanging upside down before continuing, “Do what then?”

“Confess.”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Be so fucking serious.”

“I am!!”

“Y/N, you say this every fucking week and never do it.”

“I really mean it this time!” You say adamantly before trailing off, “I just..."

He raises his eyebrow at you. “You just?”

“I need your help.”

“Nuh uh,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t do that romantic bullshit.”

“Kirishima would say otherwise,” you mumble, “but it’s just... you’re his best friend.”

“Y/N, we're all best friends, idiot, and if anything, you’re closer to him than I am,” he says, either ignoring or not having heard your first statement, and either way, you’re not complaining.

“Can you just help me?”

“What do you even need help with?”

“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging. “I need a plan to confess.”

Bakugo narrows his eyes at you in question. “a plan?”

“Yeah! like, I don’t know,” you say hastily, shaking your hands around you in vague gestures. “Maybe I should get him All Might merch and be like, I like you!” You end your sentence with a thumbs-up.

He looks at you blankly, and he’s not sure if it’s your shit ideas that are making his head hurt or the fact that he’s been hanging upside down for too long. “That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Your face is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“My face?”

“Yeah.”

“Heard?”

“Seen.”

Bakugo rolls his eyes at you and reluctantly asks, “Got any other shitty ideas?”

“No,” you say meekly.

"God, you're fucking hopeless,” he grumbles, rubbing his temples. He should probably stop hanging upside down, but he also doesn’t really care that much.

You cross your arms and glare at him.

Bakugo tuts. “What if you just confess like a normal person?”

“That just doesn’t feel big enough!” you exclaim, slightly miffed.

He can't help but let out a snort that's so loud it almost sounds painful. “That’s what she said.”

You huff in exasperation. “Can you be serious?!”

“God fuck fine,” he says, finally sitting up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve been in love with him since we were kids, Bakugo,” you say, frowning. “I don't want to just be like, Lol, I like you; I want to do something for him!”

“Gross.” Bakugo stands up from your bed and points at you as he commands, “Get a piece of paper.”

You get up and grab a piece like he says regardless, yet you can’t help but still ask, “For what?”

“So we can brainstorm, idiot,” he replies pointedly, now sitting down on the floor where you were just moments ago.

“Oh! Thank you, Bakugo; I knew you loved me!”

He stifles a laugh. “Yeah, don’t go around saying that.”

You take a seat next to Bakugo, both of you sitting cross-legged, and place the paper down in front of the two of you. The two of you lean in to have a better view of the paper, your shoulders and legs touching at this point. You both take turns writing down a plan and either agreeing with it or, more often than not, scribbling it out because one of you finds it stupid. You two go at this for what feels like hours when really it’s probably only been about twenty minutes, give or take. Suddenly, he claps his hands together, and you jump at the noise.

“Jesus christ.” You exhale heavily, your hand on your chest, feeling how your heart races from being startled. “What the fuck was that for?”

“I got it,” he mumbles as he fervently writes something down on the paper, triumphantly slamming the pen down when he’s done.

You stare at him curiously, and he merely smirks at you while pointing down at what he wrote, silently urging you to read it. You roll your eyes at him before quickly scanning what he wrote, and you can see why he got so excited because now you’re feeling the exact same way.

“Bakugo, you’re a genius!” you cry, returning your focus to him.

Bakugo leans in toward you, his gaze zeroing in on yours, and nods. “Fuck yeah, I am!”

With how close you two were sitting together already, the two of you staring at each other like this, leaned in with your noses about to touch, makes it look like the two of you are about to kiss. So if anyone walked in right now, without a doubt, they would think something was up. And it’s just your luck—or lack thereof—when Izuku walks in. The three of you were close enough that, at any given moment, one of you would always end up in the other's dorm without warning. Izuku stops in his tracks when he sees the two of you, and he has to actively will his legs not to give out from underneath him right then and there as you both turn toward him, smiles on your faces.

You swiftly grab the piece of paper and hide it behind your back, smiling up at the boy who holds all of your affection. “Hi Zuku, what’s up?”

Bakugo hums and leans back on his palms. “Sup nerd.”

“Sorry for interrupting!” He stammers nervously; fuck, he hates when he does that. He’s been good about not doing that, but it’s easy to fall back into it when he thinks he’s just witnessed the two of you about to kiss.

“What?” You let out a small laugh. “Zuku, you didn’t interrupt anything.”

“I should have knocked! or given you guys a warning! Sorry, I really didn’t mean to interrupt the two of you!” Izuku avoids all eye contact with either of you as he slowly starts to back out of the room, like If he did it slowly enough, you wouldn’t have even noticed he was there in the first place.

You frown, noticing how his wide eyes are growing glossy. “Zuku, are you okay?”

Even Bakugo is taken aback by how he’s acting as he grumbles, “The fuck are you talking bout, nerd?”

“I’m fine,” he says with a small smile, but the way his bottom lip trembles betrays him. “I-I should go!”

The minute Izuku bolts out of where he came from, you turn to Bakugo in confusion.

“What the fuck was that?”

Bakugo isn’t looking at you; rather, he’s looking down at how your knees are touching; he’s looking at how close together you two are currently sitting. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“We are all up in each other's personal space,” he says while slowly lifting his head up to look at you.

When he looks at you, all you can say is “Oh,” because you immediately realize just how close the two of you are, your noses about to touch.

He rolls his eyes as he pushes your face away from him. “Yeah oh.”

“Oh fuck,” you exclaim panickedly now that everything’s clicked, “What do I do?!”

“Go after him!”

“And do what?”

Bakugo stares at you in utter disbelief before his face scrunches up into a scowl and barks, “Confess dumbass!”

You blink a few times and frown. “But our plan—“

“Fuck our plan,” Bakugo interrupts you impatiently. “Now you have to improvise and go tell that dumbass that you’re in love with him and that there’s nothing between us.”

You shake your head, staring at Bakugo in fear. “I don't think I can do this—“

“Oh no,” he says sternly, shaking his head. “You’re gonna fucking do this. I’ll drag you outside if I fucking have to.”

“Bakugo,” you plead.

He glares at you, speaking through clenched teeth, “Go. Run. After. Him. Now. Or. I. Will. Make. Your. Life. A. Living. Hell.”

“Again?” You tease him in hopes that it’ll distract him from forcing you to confess, because although you want to, you didn’t want it to happen like this. Though your efforts are futile because Bakugo does not budge.

“Y/N. I swear to fucking god.”

“Fuck fine!” You groan as you stand up, pointing down at Bakugo as you mumble, “But if this goes terrible, I’m blaming you.”

Bakugo slaps your finger away. “Get the fuck out of my face and go serenade the nerd.”

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

December 10th, 20XX | 12 years old

You and Izuku are sitting on a random bench, huddling for warmth as you wait for the train to arrive. Truthfully, this wouldn’t have been so bad if the two of you were still friends with Bakugo; his body temperature was always the highest out of the three of you, making it extremely easy to use him to warm up in the cold, but once middle school hit, something changed in Bakugo. Popularity and his ego got to him, and now the boy you two once considered a friend was nothing more than a bully on most days, and today was one of those days. You and Izuku side-eye each other and sigh the minute you hear a familiar scoff behind you.

“Fucking extras, hogging the bench.”

Izuku looks like he wants to say something, but you shake your head and place your hand on top of his. Izuku smiles softly at you, and it makes your cheeks warm—wait, what? That doesn’t happen. It’s probably just Bakugo’s body heat radiating off of him, that’s all.

“Oh, look, the nerd needs someone to calm him down, as if. The fuck are you gonna do?” Bakugo sneers.

You know he’s trying to egg Izuku on, but before you can try to say anything to calm Izuku down, he’s already pulling himself away from you and turning to face Bakugo. You quickly copy his actions.

“What’s your problem?” Izuku asks as flatly as he can, trying to show Bakugo that he’s not afraid of him, and he’s not. Not when you’re here, at least.

Bakugo takes a step closer toward Izuku, and you're on high alert, ready to step in between them if need be.

“You’re my fucking problem,” he says, poking a finger harshly into Izuku’s chest. “And that fucking extra too,” he quickly adds on, briefly glaring at you before looking back to Izuku.

You barely have time to respond, blink, or comprehend what’s happening when suddenly Izuku swings and strikes Bakugo. Bakugo's hand quickly touches his cheek where Izuku just hit, his mouth slightly agape, and you're afraid he’s going to retaliate, but he doesn’t. Time seems to come to a lull. Bakugo is staring at Izuku in shock, his hand still on his cheek. It's like he’s frozen under Izuku’s gaze. Izuku is glaring at Bakugo, his chest heaving with every deep breath he takes, and you can't take your eyes off him.

Something swirling deep in your gut makes it feel like someone's in there trying to make balloon animals out of your insides, and it's a horrible feeling—maybe not the feeling itself, but why you feel that way. You aren't sure if it's fear, amazement, or love—maybe a combination of all three, actually. All you know for sure is that watching Izuku punch Bakugo and stand up to him awoke something in you, and whatever it is, you want it to go back to sleep. Your reverie is interrupted by Bakugo spitting out some blood, barely missing you and Izuku, before scowling at the two of you and walking away.

“Holy shit, Zuku-“ you begin but quickly stop when you notice him trembling. You quickly grab him by the shoulders and practically manhandle him into looking at you. “Hey- Zuku?”

“I-I didn't mean to do that,” he confesses, his wide, wet eyes locked on yours.

“Hey, it's fine,” you say softly, cupping his cheek into one of your hands.

Izuku shakes his head softly while leaning into your touch at the same time. “I didn't even care that he said I was his problem—but he brought you into it, and I don't know—I don't know what happened—I just... I didn't want him talking like that to you.”

Oh.

You know now.

Know that whatever just woke up inside you will not go back to sleep anytime soon.

It won't go back to sleep ever, actually.

That feeling in your gut was love. and the other two, sure, but mostly love.

You love Izuku.

You’re in love with Izuku.

You love Izuku so much that you can't help but tear up at the realization as you bring your other hand up to his cheek, fully engulfing his face.

Izuku panics at the sight of your now glossy eyes, which are perfectly matching his.

“y-y/n! Why are you crying? Are you okay? Did-did I do something wrong?”

“No!—“ you can’t help but let out a shaky laugh while tears freely run down your face—"No, Zuku, you didn't do anything wrong at all.”

He wipes away your tears and frowns skeptically. “Then why are you crying?”

“I just—I just really love you, Izuku.”

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

Present day | 19 years old

You run outside of the dorm buildings, met with an open campus, people walking around here and there as you turn your head every which way, hoping for just a speck, a hint, an image of curly green hair, but you can't find it, can't find him, and it makes your heart clench painfully. You groan loudly, ignoring how people side-eye you in confusion.

“Shit—if I were Zuku, where would I go? Where the fuck would I go?”

You stand there for a few moments, dragging your hand down your face in utter defeat, just trying to figure it out. It shouldn’t take you this long; it really shouldn't. Had you asked yourself this on any other day in any other instance, you would have been able to answer it immediately, but your head is hazy, it's smoky, and it's suffocating. like if you don't tell Izuku and put out the forest fire that are the words “I love you,” you'll suffocate to death in its smoke. Suddenly you feel a tap on your shoulder, quickly turning on your heels to face whoever it is.

“Hey dude, you ok?”

“Kiri! Yeah- yeah, I'm good. Um, what's up?”

Kirishima narrows his eyes at you, confused at your reaction, but doesn't bother saying anything about it. “Oh! I just got done with music lessons and was actually about to go get Bakugo from your dorm.”

“Oh my god,” you say in shock, like you've just had a life-changing epiphany, and technically you have, or at least it feels like it. “Music lessons... The music room! Kirishima, you're a genius! I love you so much, if Bakugo ever does anything to you, I'll kill him. I owe you!”

“What?” Kirishima chuckles nervously, but you’ve already started running toward your destination, and Kirishima is forced to call out an awkward, “Oh, um, okay, bye!”

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

You're running to the music room like your life depends on it, and you’re sure if your high school PE teacher could see you right now, they would be impressed beyond belief. You get to the building in record time, borderline panting as you enter, but your steps don't slow; no, they won't; they refuse to until Izuku is right in front of you. You swing open the door, and Izuku jolts at the noise. Standing in the doorway, you can't help but notice how he frantically wipes at his face, trying to erase any evidence of him crying just mere seconds before. The sight makes your heart break, and you take a step toward him only for your legs to give out on you completely—fuck, you should probably run more if just this turned your legs into jelly. Izuku is now the one who rushes to your side as you fall to your knees.

“y/n!” He kneels down in front of you, his hands moving around frantically, like he wants to put them somewhere on you but isn’t sure if he should. “Are you okay?”

“Me? Are you?” You ask through heavy breaths, trying to still your racing heart, though you know that won't happen. Once your heart stops racing from the running, it will race for Izuku; it always races for Izuku. like he’s the very blood that keeps your heart beating.

His voice trembles as he asks, “Me?”

You take a deep breath to prepare for the shout you give when exclaiming, “Yes, you!”

“What did I do?”

“You ran out, Izuku!”

he frowns. “I said I was sorry!”

“No,“ you shake your head, “you said you were sorry for interrupting!”

“Exactly!” Izuku lets his head drop back and stares up at the ceiling as he groans in slight frustration.

You scowl at the fact that he’s no longer looking at you, and before you can stop yourself, you grab his face, your fingers squishing his cheeks as you force his head back down to stare at you. “You weren't interrupting anything.”

“But—“ he mumbles, his voice slightly muffled by the way you're squeezing his cheeks so hard that his lips pucker.

“Why?”

Izuku stares at you in confusion as he takes your hand off his face so he can actually speak properly. “What?”

You swallow harshly, trying to ignore how his hand is lingering on yours. “Why did you run out?”

He sighs and retracts his hand from yours, placing it back down in his lap, and you almost feel like you’ve made a mistake somewhere, like you’ve said or done the wrong thing. “Why did you run after me, y/n?”

“Izuku.”

“y/n.”

“Please tell me why you ran out,” you plead softly, slowly inching your hand back to his face. “What do you think you saw?”

His gaze flits down to your hand before he grabs it and brings it up to his cheek, too impatient to wait for you to get it there yourself, leaning into your touch as he sighs. “I know what I saw.”

You rub your thumb against his cheek soothingly as you softly demand, “Then tell me what you saw.”

Izuku looks away, and he cranes his head to the opposite side of your hand, as if he’s now trying to get away from your touch. You don’t try to fight it, although it hurts a lot. You accept it, letting your hand drop back down to your side, and pretend like you don’t feel like whatever he’s about to say will hurt you beyond belief.

“You—you and Kacchan were about to kiss, or did kiss—one or the other.”

You blink at him. Oh, that didn’t hurt. At all, actually. In fact, you find yourself clamping your hands over your mouth, trying to stifle a laugh, but to no avail; you're laughing like Izuku just told you the world's greatest joke, but he obviously does not find this as funny as you do, and your laughing has Izuku staring at you wide-eyed, absolutely mortified.

“Why are you laughing?!”

You collect yourself with a deep breath before smiling at him as you mumble, “Oh my god, Izuku, you are such an idiot, it's almost endearing.”

“What?” His eyebrows knit together and his nose scrunches up as he frowns, but his scrunched-up face trembles, like he’s trying really hard to seem mad or like he’s truly scowling. "Y/N, that's mean! I mean, I knew you two had something going on, but just because I finally walked in on something happening doesn't mean you get to-“

You know better than anyone that once Izuku starts rambling, it's near impossible to get him to stop verbally. You've always had to flick him or something along those lines to get him to stop, and suddenly you realize this has given you the perfect opportunity to do something you've only dreamed about doing each and every time this has happened before. You can't help the smile that's on your face as you quickly lean in and grab Izuku’s face, kissing him, which immediately and effectively shuts him up like you had hoped. Much to your dismay, Izuku is the first one to break the kiss, and he pulls back just enough for you to see the flush on his face, and his eyes are the size of saucer plates as he looks at you in complete disbelief.

“What?” His voice cracks as he asks again, this time louder in complete shock as everything has finally processed in his head, “What?!”

You laugh under your breath as you grab him by the back of his head and pull his head in toward yours, butting your foreheads together. “Not to be cheesy, Zuku, but hell will freeze over before I ever kiss someone who isn't you.”

“Huh? But—I thought—“

You shrug with a small smile on your face as you lean back on your palms. “You thought wrong, Izuku.”

He places a finger on his chin and looks away as he thinks aloud, “Wait, but then—does that mean you like me?”

“No.”

“No?!” his head whips toward you, and his voice trembles against his will as he exclaims, “But you just kissed me!”

You roll your eyes before sitting up straight and leaning toward him, and Izuku can’t find it in him to pull away from you, slightly hoping you’ll kiss him again even if you just said you don’t like him.

You tuck a few of his curls behind his ear, cooing, “I'm in love with you, Izuku.”

“Oh,” he says, pausing. “Oh!!”

You pull your hand away awkwardly. “You know this is usually the part where you reject me or not?…”

“Oh right!“ Izuku grabs your hands with his before continuing, “I'm in love with you too!”

You briefly glance down at your intertwined hands before you look back up at him. The minute your eyes meet, you feel your throat go dry, having to force out a response: “Wait, really?”

“Yeah! Why do you think I ran out?” He laughs softly and gives your hand a small squeeze as he teases, “And no offense, but you're kinda oblivious; I'm really not that subtle.”

you frown. “Well, I could say the same about you!” You pause and think for a moment. “Wait, why the fuck did you even think me and Bakugo had a thing? or that I liked him? Literally, what could ever give you that impression, Zuku?”

“Oh, um,“ he looks away sheepishly as he confesses, “I've kinda… thought that since we were seven?”

“What?!” You stare at him incredulously, eyes so wide they’re giving his naturally saucer-plate-esque eyes a run for their money. “What the hell happened when we were seven to make you think that?!”

He starts tentatively, “Uhm, you kinda like, called Bakugo amazing after he jumped off those rocks we used to climb, but he ate shit and wasn't bothered?” He clears his throat, like what he’s about to say next will make everything click in your brain and make you agree that the reason he thought that makes complete sense. “And not to mention that was like minutes after I realized I was in love with you?…”

“Izuku Midoriya.”

He avoids your gaze and instead focuses on your intertwined hands.

“You thought I was in love with Bakugo this whole time because I called him amazing when we were seven?” You ask in a combination of being slightly miffed and in complete disbelief.

He groans and innocently looks back up at you through his lashes. “Okay, well, when you say it like that—“

You cut him off with a small huff and butted your foreheads together once more, murmuring, "Oh my god, you’re an idiot.”

He hums and nods against you. “Yeah, but now I'm your idiot.”

You can’t help the smile that practically splits your face in two as you scatter kisses over his flushed, freckled painted cheeks.

“Yeah. Yeah, you are.”

©TODAYISAWTHEWHXLEWXRLD

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blue-jisungs · 4 months

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Hi axe! Since you're a fellow polish person here on tumblr what polish names would you assign to your moots? Love your works and hope you're doing okay 🙏❤️

ONH HIYA ANNONIE!!! this is such a fun ask ilysm im kissing u on the forehead virtually rn!!! 🥹 i tried to do all/most of my moots so it was a bit of a challenge lmaosjwk tysm dear and i hope you’re doing well too!! <33

also disclaimer: in polish names are purely feminine or masculine, there’s little names that could fit both genders so i tried my best w the male names!! also fun fact that no one asked for – all female names end with the letter a!! :D

sorry for such w long post, i got too excited 🫂🥲

@slytherinshua would be zuzanna, zuzia for short!! even tho i have some trauma connected w that name lmao it just fits perfectly !!

@eternalgyu hannie,, similarly lol but hanna – hania, hanka for short 🥹🥹 i’ve met some hanias and they were all the most adorable people ever just like hannie

@wheeboo okay pls im so sorry but it was the first thought ever when i saw your name rania. there’s a polish name that’s very similar to yours – renia (the full name is renata). and even tho it’s usually an older lady name lol i think it’s cute :( one of my teachers’ name was renia and i have some good memories w that name ^^

@weird-bookworm okay now idk why but sky gives me jagoda vibes. jagoda literally means berry so both sky n jagoda are physical things (?) so it fits hehe. if you’re curious about the nickname, it could be jadzia or jaga lol. actually there’s a tale about baba jaga (like the witch who wanted to cook hansel and gretel [jaś i małgosia] living in a house made out of gingerbread and it was like standing on a chicken leg) but i don’t think it’s a short for jagoda. just a fun fact 😭

@rubywonu nia… hmm id say natalia!! its literally a polish ver of natalie lmao but it’s cute and it fits ^^ nati for short from what i’ve experienced hehe

@fairyhaos now yena i was struggling w you lmao. there’s no names in poland starting with y so i couldn’t pick anything starting w that letter lol (well technically there’s yasmine but imo it’s not fully a polish name…?). we mostly transcribe y as j, so i went in that direction aaaand chose jaśmina. there was literally a lightbulb appearing above my head when i thought of that. yes, the word root is literally jasmine but it’s so… tender, soft, gentle. just like u dear :’)

@taeiun ehh junjunnie i’ll be honest – yours was the toughest one. i know you use he/she pronouns but there’s literally no neutral names lmfao (i mean there are like a few but they’re meeeh). so if you don’t mind – a more feminine one that i think suits you well + it’s literally so pretty – antonina (yes, like marie antoinette), tosia for short 🥹🥹🥹 on a more masculine side i would settle for jakub, kuba or kubuś (there’s a juice/kids food brand w that name it’s so cute🥹) for short!! :D

@haecien omg pls i was thinking for such a long time but then it enlightened me. and polish moots dont laugh or ill bite you. czesiu. LIKE CMON🥹 the full name is czesław, it’s kinda oldish lol but there’s a singer i like – czesław mozil, he also dubbed polish olaf and i feels like … czesiu, cien… pls it fits sm :(

@planetkiimchi i wasn’t sure so i gave you one of my fav polish names, magdalena. magda, madzia for short!! that’s my irl bestie’s name so i have some good memories w that name too :”) it’s really pretty and genuinely reminds me of good things <3 you could translate it into maggie i think

@kyrjnie same case here, so i settled for milena!! also some good memories plus its really cute!! i’ve known some milenas lol and i never actually used a nickname for them since lena is a separate name 🥲

@etherealyoungk hehe since your and sky’s names r similar i didn’t want to repeat it so i chose natasza!! there’s one natasza i’ve met lol os i don’t know what they usually use for short but if guess nati maybe? it’s such a cute name (yup, it’s the same as for example natasha romanoff teehee its slavic after all)

@writingmeraki i was thinking patrycja, pati or patka for short :D imo it suits you well hehe

@icyminghao hmmm hmmm noelle, noelle… i didn’t want to go for the polish equivalent of your name, which could be something along noemi or naomi. so i decided to pick nadzieja – it literally translates into hope!! it’s such a pretty name :( very optimistic and bubbly, just like you :D

@mirxzii i was fighting my inner demons bc roxie is very similar to roksana!! so if you like it, that’s fine but! imo you give off a żaklina vibe!! it’s such a unique name just like you, obviously in a good n positive way :D

@enluv hmm i was pondering tbh and eventually chose kornelia!! when i was younger i wanted to be named that and was very pissed at my parents for not choosing it as my name >:( it’s so so pretty and the short for it AHHH!! most people use kora and it literally translates into tree bark (i think that’s the name?). there was also a very talented polish singer who used kora as her stage name (sadly she passed away but a lot of people still love her music🥹)

#i was fighting to sneak my irl name here #or did i…?#miahahaha you’ll never know #(well only one polish moot will know but shush)#it was so so fun help :(#i love sharing lil fun facts like this abt polish culture n traditions n stuff :((#literally anon ilysm #axe’s fun corner

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nafohcnis · 25 days

Note

I JUST SAWYOUR JDS QUICK AND CONCISE GUIDE COMIC WITH BRUCE AND JD AND I AM SO SICK OHHHMY GODDDDD UR ART IS SO LOVELY

AHHH!!!! THANK YUOUUU!!! SUPER GLAD U LIKE IT HUHU... ths fic is so good i gotta make more comics 4 it AUUGG.. here's a kinda old one of him fainting in chapter 22.. HOPEFULLY YOU'RE.. PAST THERE AND IM NOT SPOILING THIS..

I JUSF REALISED I HAVE A GOOD PINCH OF GRAY JOHN DORY I SHOULD POST... sorry anon ur ask is gonna have a small pile of pictures attatched to it. . .

these're pretty oldish.. drawn right under the OG freak out john dory where he's pacing around with his hand on his chin...

#pizza cat stays cuz.. i donthave the heart to remove it. . .#so giddy people like my j.d quick and concise comics..#UMM REMINDER.. GO READ JOHN DORY'S QUICK AND CONCISE GUIDE TO SURVIVAL BY RYTHEONEANDONLY ON AO3!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#John dory #trolls john dory #ask

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nami-moittli · 4 months

Text

The Prefect’s Plight

(Aka, an oldish fic I wrote that I still really like and decided to post here, as well)

_—_—_

Sometimes I wish I had magic.

Of course I do.

I live at a school for mages, after all.

I could paint things without paint,

I could wash my clothes in an instant,

I could fly with a broom,

I could conjure fire, ice and wind,

I could do things a normal human could only dream of.

I could do all the things I see my classmates doing.

But I can’t.

I can’t do all these things that’s considered “easy” to everyone I know.

I wish I had magic, in order to stand alongside everyone else.

But,

That’s not the only reason why I wish I had magic.

I wish I had magic for the blot.

As a student of this school, I would be preforming magic safely.

But I know, better than almost anyone, that it’s far too easy to be consumed by it.

I had seen what the blot had done,

Twisting a person into something almost unrecognizable

Showing off only a core trait of why they had drowned under the ink.

I had seen how it left scars that will never fade,

How those scars can only be hidden.

Yes, I had seen the dangers of blot.

But I had also seen the aftermath.

After all, after soil has been burned, the resulting plants are stronger.

I had seen how it allowed everyone to understand how much pain someone was in

How much pain, they, were in.

Yes, I know the intertwining peace and pain that came from blot,

And I find myself wishing.

The cork to the bottle of my emotions is on too tight.

Too tight, I can’t even touch it.

So I wish that the blot’s ink would be the grease needed to loosen that cork.

To finally make everyone realize that my pain, fear, guilt, anger and everything in between is something worth noticing.

“The Ramshackle Prefect is strong throughout the hardships”

“The Ramshackle Prefect was hurt by the hardships”

Is that what I want people to say?

I want to go back home,

But the longer I stay, the less that becomes true.

I want to be safe in my bed,

though which one is that?

“I wish I had magic,” I think, as a barely corporeal hand wipes away my tears.

I feel the warmth of warm blue flames heating my chin as my shirt is soaked with tears.

At least I can cry freely in this bed, with only the ghosts and Grim to know.

I wish I had magic.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst yuu #twst mc #twst grim #twst ghosts #kinda #twst fic

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missgavi · 1 year

Note

hii you asked for prompts of dad!gavi so i was wondering if you could write maybe about gavi’s 6 year oldish daughter asking gavi to help her with her homework and him helping her 🫶🫶

awww (also, this is aged up gavi cause I don't fancy him having a kid at 12 yrs old lol 💀)

"papiiii" your daughter came running through the kitchen door. You were out and about and since Gavi had one of his off days he decided to cook dinner for the three of you tonight.

Turning around, salt in one hand and pepper in the other, he looks down at his daughter and smiles "what's wrong bonita ?" he asks, spinning back around to finish seasoning the sauce for the pasta.

Sighing dramatically, she sits down on the kitchen floor and throws her notebook next to her. With a pout on her little lips, she finally says "I don't know how to solve this problem"

Glancing down at the little girl on the floor, he turns the stove to the lowest setting, pats his hands dry and reaches down to pick up his daughter.

Sitting her down at the kitchen table, he opens the notebook and tells her to show him exactly what she isn't getting. That's how the two of them spent the rest of the night. Doing homework , Gavi checking the food on the stove from time to time.

By the time you get home, you can hear both their giggles from the kitchen. Taking your shoes and coat off, you quickly wash your hands in the bathroom before making your way into the kitchen.

There, Gavi is plating the pasta into some bowls while your little princess is packing up some notebooks and pens, their laughs echoing through the thin walls of the kitchen.

"What is going on in here Gaviras ?" you ask, your hands on your hips. At the sound of your voice, both of them turned towards you, two pairs of kind chocolate brown eyes landing on you.

"Mami" your daughter squealed before running towards you. Bending down, you pick her up and wrap the little girl in a warm hug. Seconds later, a pair of strong arms is wrapped around the two of you, a kiss planted on your lips from Gavi.

The rest of the night was spent with the two of you sharing stories and jokes. Not to mention eating Pablo's delicious pasta.

#miss gavi drabbles #pablo gavi x y/n #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi imagine #pablo gavi #football #fc barca #fc barcelona #fcb #pg30 #pg9

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jackhues · 2 months

Text

together - pricey shots and brick wolls

pricey shots and brick wolls! au masterlist

note: takes place in march 2022 - rowan's 23 years oldish. if something's not factually correct, i'm so sorry guys. i tried really hard to make it kind of accurate. i kind of don't like this... but anyways it's here now

tw: asshole doctor, mentions of periods/fertility

"i suggest you drink lots of water and work out more," the doctor told rowan. "if the pain continues, you can take pain medication, but i don't think it'll be necessary. take a half hour walk in the mornings and evenings and stay hydrated. perhaps watch your diet as well. it's nothing big."

rowan stared at him, unsure if he was being serious.

the doctor noticed this, raising a brow in her direction. "any questions?"

"i'm just -- i mean, i'm an athlete," she reminded him. "i work out a lot more than the average person. i stay hydrated. i've got professional trainers making sure i have a healthy, balanced diet. i can't get any healthier than this. telling me to drink more water, to work out, to eat healthy -- it's not a solution. i can't do it any better than i am right now."

rowan could've sworn the doctor was about to roll his eyes.

"you play in a league?" he asked her. "or just... recreationally?"

"i play professional hockey," her voice came out tougher than usual. "i play in the phf, for the toronto six. i play for team canada too, i just won a gold medal for this country a month ago. i can assure you, my diet and work out routine has nothing to do with the pain i'm feeling."

the doctor sniffed, noting some things down on the clipboard.

"alright, the best i can do is prescribe you some pain medication," he ripped a prescription off and handed it to her. "i can also refer you to a specialist, but i don't think it'll be much help."

"i'd like to see the specialist," rowan responded, taking the prescription.

"sure, okay," he nodded, filling out something else and handing it to her. "you'll get a call from that number in a few days to work out an appointment time."

"thank you," rowan told him, not really meaning it.

she left the room, making her way back to her car. she took a deep breath, reminding herself to calm down. being angry and driving home would do no one any good.

over the past few weeks, rowan had been experiencing lots of pain and intense cramping. her periods had always been a little unusual, but so were her mom's, and she didn't think too much about it. the big problem was the cramps and pain she'd have even after her period. her fiancé finally convinced her to get it checked out after seeing her crumple in the middle of her practice due to pain.

"this is why i haven't gotten my shit checked," she muttered to herself, angry at the doctor for simply dismissing her. she'd heard stories of this her whole life, and of course, it finally happened to her.

she sent a text to joseph, letting her know the appointment was done and she was going to see a specialist eventually. finally, convinced that she had cooled off a little, she turned the car on and made her way home.

---

rowan got the call to pick up her reports while she was washing the dishes.

"everything alright?" joseph asked her once she hung up.

"it was the specialist," she told him. "um, they told me i have to pick up the reports."

"that was pretty quick," he responded. "i thought they take like, weeks. i didn't know it only takes a few days."

"they usually only tell you to pick up reports if something's wrong," she continued quietly. "otherwise, they might not even call back."

"hey, hey," joe got up quickly, taking her hands in his. "hey, look at me. giving your report doesn't mean it's something bad, okay? you won't know until you get them."

"can you come with me?" she asked, her voice a little small.

"of course," he responded. "you don't have to ask. whatever you want, love."

rowan's heart felt like it might burst -- either from the nervousness of getting her report back, or the love she felt for joseph in that moment.

unable to speak, she simply nodded, allowing joseph to lead her outside and to the car. he talked while he drove her to the specialist's office, telling her about his day and all the crazy things his teammates had done.

she appreciated him a lot for that, for doing his best to take her mind off of this. she wasn't usually nervous when it came to things like this, but for some reason, she could only think up the worst things.

"you ready?" joe asked her, turning the car off and turning to her.

rowan closed her eyes, taking a deep breath the way her uncle had taught her years ago. a deep breath in, a deep breath out -- and out with it went the thoughts of everything that didn't matter in this moment.

she nodded at her fiancé, "ready."

---

"miss price?" the doctor asked, entering the room.

rowan sat up straighter, nodding, "that's me."

"and this is?" the doctor looked at joseph, sitting in one of the seats near the patient's bed.

"joseph woll," rowan introduced him. "my fiancé. he'll be staying here for the reports, i already signed a consent form at the front desk."

"perfect, it's nice to meet you," she smiled at joe. she turned to her computer, typing up a few things and pulling up some files. "okay, so rowan price? twenty three years old?"

"yup," rowan nodded.

"you came in for a pelvic ultrasound and test two days ago, due to intense, recurring abdominal pain, correct?"

"mhm," she nodded again.

the doctor furrowed her brows at the reports, turning back to rowan. "is there anything else you'd like to tell me? any other pain? discomfort? irregular periods?"

"it's mainly just cramps so bad that i can't even walk," she responded. "a little bit of back pain, but nothing else really hurts. sometimes i feel sick though. and my period's always been a little weird."

"hmm," the doctor noted. she turned back to rowan, passing over two ultrasound photos -- the printed results of her ultrasound a few days ago. "you see the tissue clumps right here? that's a type of tissue similar to the lining of your uterus."

rowan examined the ultrasound, barely able to make out what the doctor was explaining. it had nothing to do with the ultrasound, but it was simply the fact that rowan was unable to ever see ultrasounds.

her parents had once tried to surprise her with the ultrasound of her youngest brother when they were pregnant, and she had no idea what it was.

"well, this tissue isn't in your uterus," the doctor explained. "it's growing outside, which may cause bloating, especially around your period."

"that's what's causing the pain?" rowan asked. "uterus tissue not growing in my uterus?"

"it's a condition called endometriosis," the doctor told her. "you might've heard of it."

"i have, yeah," rowan muttered. she might've heard of it, but she didn't know much about it.

"there's no cure for this, but there are treatments," the doctor told her. "hormone therapy, iuds -- surgery's also an option. the treatments can relieve your pain, they can increase your fertility, they--"

"wait, what?" rowan cut in. "it affects fertility?"

"in many women, yes," the doctor told her. "you won't know for sure unless you try to get pregnant, but there is a solid chance you may be infertile. if you'd like, we can do more tests..."

the rest of the doctor's words seemed to go straight through rowan's ears. she was hearing them, but she wasn't understanding them.

she heard joe say something to the doctor, who nodded in understanding and left them in the room. the door closed behind her, and it was as if the spell had lifted.

"hey, look at me," joseph said to her, cupping her chin in his hands. "it's going to be okay. you're okay."

"i just -- i'm scared," rowan whispered, finally speaking. "i never thought about being a mom before, and now that i might not be able to be one -- this is so stupid, why am i like this?"

"don't do that," joe told her sternly. "don't invalidate your feelings. you were just informed of a health condition, you're allowed to be emotional over whatever part of it you want."

"i'm still mad about that stupid doctor too," she whispered, voice cracking as more tears welled up in her eyes.

"you should be mad about that too, he was a dick," joseph agreed.

rowan closed her eyes, leaning forward and letting joe wrap his arms around her.

"whatever's next, i'm here for you," he promised her. "we're doing this together."

in that moment, rowan knew, they were going to take it step by step, and they were going to do it together.

---

note: before someone goes crazy, rowan doesn't think being a mom is her only purpose in life yadda, yadda -- she's just in shock. she has siblings that are much younger than her, and she loves babies. she never expected to possibly be infertile so the news is shocking to her. that's all, thanks <3 also if you feel like i depicted smth wrong, please let me know (nicely is all i ask)

#naqia's au's!#naqia writes!#pricey shots and brick wolls! au #nhl fic #hockey fanfiction #hockey x reader #nhl x reader

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toxictoxicities · 9 months

Note

do you have headcanon voices for any of the iterators? :o

The voice for Pebs I was talking about here It's legit so perfect DRFTYGHI

I have thought about Suns and Moon tho about how they would sound- I think I'm on my own here but I feel like peeps give Suns either a too deep or too high voice, there's no sweet spot- which is why I imagine Suns to have a more caramel voice, not too shy nor too confident- but bold enough to be reckoned as they are one who demands respect (not demands but- surely radiates that vibe) - kinda like the fella in lala land who sings City of Stars I reckon! But I'm still looking around!

For Moon I'm still trying to visualize it, but 100% gentle, not sweet, but gentle and a bit oldish and mature. I don't like the whole- high pitch voice some have given her, to each their own of course! But like- Moon is old SERDYGHUIJ

Though this is all just my own opinion or well- Headcanon

#QNA #qna for Vic :D #ToxTalk #Emergence #idk if this is Emergence specific?#I guess this would apply to all #headcanon #opinion #rw #rain world

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desognthinking · 2 months

Text

WIP... Wednesday

Tagged by @willowedhepatica (thanks!) I'm so sorry that this comes so late 😭 life got in the way. Not sure who i can tag who has things in the works they can share, but please Please know if anyone has any snippets or sneak peaks I would love to see them and yell about them with you pleaseee

Not strictly a WIP but here’s just under 3.5k of an oldish experimental AU inspired by this post :’) in this one they’re… *checks notes*, ah, hmm. Chimerical tomb guardians carved from stone.

-----

It’s a wickedly stormy day when a procession scores up the hill through beating rain and blowing dust, but there’s no time to waste. The wedding will not wait, and on its occasion, as a symbol of the new ties between the families of the bride and the groom, there is a terrible, beautiful new guardian grotesque to be received by the Silva tombhouse from the Salviuses.

It is surely mounted on the property sometime during the silver-black onslaught of sky upon earth, but Beatrice cannot clearly see it through the rain and the maze of trees that still separates the Silvas from their neighbors. The families on this hill are not quite rich enough to expand at the pace of the wealthiest among them, who slice and raze to add to their already broad campuses of tombs. Instead, in this part of town, modest, often unmatching clusters dwell amongst the wildflowers and long-lived trees sprayed across the land.

Beatrice likes the nature. Her perch is kept cool by the damp and dewy mornings, birdsong flickering from above and around. In the filtered haze of heat and light there is some measure of peace too – here, there is less to fight over, and fewer lines of tension between the families. Hidden by farther slopes, there are fewer threats from beyond. And, overshadowed by the lower circuit of large gated tombhouses, there are far milder spoils for aspiring robbers.

It’s from one of these large inner-city tombhouses that the new stone protector is said to arrive. The Salviuses have money spilling out their hands and down their wrists. It’s said, it’s said, it’s said – it’s whispered in the wind that carries the falling leaves from vine to vane, so easy for Beatrice to stretch up and put an ear to. The pollen clouds dispersed over grass in shapes spelling disruption and newcomer. It’s gossiped over pages in the library, first with smug nods and just you wait and see, dear, we’re never wrong from the grandfathers and grandmothers as Beatrice pores through the volumes in the upper shelves, precious books pressed so high and so far back that they’re backed into both wall and ceiling.

Then, inevitably, it carries through the air in the giggles and hushed gasps of the living members of this family, hands curling over yarn and needle as the youngest children breathlessly run and hide behind the walls and in the shadowy pockets of the tombhouse. The Great-great-great Grandmother who had been the first to break the news is mollified by the confirmation, and generously refuses to gloat.

A Silva girl is marrying a Salvius boy, and the Salviuses are pledging a guardian – the spirits know they have too many anyway, but still, a Salvius guardian – to this hill.

“You’ve got to go over and see what’s going on,” Beatrice is instructed one morning, in no uncertain terms. They’re going over integration by partial fractions on the little platform at the back that looks down over the mills: her, Great-Grandfather, and Lilith, who’s slunk over yet again from the Villaumbrosias’ for some ‘peace and quiet’, and also because Beatrice’s family likes her for some mysterious reason. They pretend it’s because they need the extra pair – or, well, pairs, in Lilith’s case – of eyes. The massive, foreboding, Villaumbrosia affair the next hill over already boasts so many fearsome hands on deck, and they only have one Beatrice.

Great-grandfather is gentle and teasing about it; Beatrice (and Lilith, although she will never admit it) is his favorite captive audience.

Of course, it’s easy to treat her as one of their own on mornings like this — quiet summer days when she’s stripped of silica and scale, descended from her weatherworn perch. Devoid of the coarse matter of rock and metal twisted into hungry, flame-spitting fangs, and instead merely a soft-spoken spirit in a youthful skin. When the great grandfathers and mothers and their grandfathers and grandmothers look at her and see dark, almost-human eyes and loosely-bound hair in a bun above her shoulders.

And when Beatrice walks Lilith out and across the rocky way that leads home, it’s easy for them to wave the two of them off. After all, Lilith is just a young woman with black waves she tucks carefully behind her ears and a handsome, slanting jaw that could almost pass as being real; as being pressed and molded with muscle and mandible and a fragile, mycelial network of vasculature and nerves. Not another delicate illusion that would slip and shatter at the first sign of danger, revealing in a flash the grotesque ugliness within.

There hasn’t been an attack in a while. When there hasn’t been an attack in a while Beatrice thinks the family tends to forget where exactly they hold court.

(Here, cradled close enough within these hills to walk back to where home once was. Children’s handprints on the threshold, coal scribbles on the floor. Walls still perfused with the fragrance and vapor of hot homemade stew.)

This is a graveyard. This is a necropolis, a city of the dead. It slithers amongst the roots of the living but does not make a home of it. In its palm lies the fragile in-between, the sickly sweet intersection where the living and the after-dead mingle like the meeting of two clouds. Within its grounds the family is wont to forget the ruthlessness that’s sometimes needed to keep it in balance.

Once they depart, Beatrice and Lilith’s guises fall away. Invisible to a still-beating heart, two terrible chimeras gouge skid-marks through the dirt to get to the Villaumbrosia citadel before its guests arrive at ten-thirty. Miraculously, only twice during the entire trip does Lilith half-heartedly threaten to snap Beatrice’s tail off.

They make it there just in time. Beatrice watches as Lilith sweeps her way up the manicured moss columns and melds, in a quick thrash, with the magnificent dark-gray creature of stone that lunges out from the south turret. Frozen like this: mouth curled in a snarl and sharp wings flung out – in mockery, in bombast, in warning; Lilith at her most vindictive and most frightening, the elaborate Villaumbrosia insignia branded hot and painful down her side.

Beatrice knows it hurts, of course. Perhaps less so like this but certainly in the flesh, where it is always red and raw like the day it was carved down Lilith’s ribs in the workshop. Preserved unchanging in the meat as it is preserved forever in the rock. Lilith winces, when she thinks the others aren’t looking, but Beatrice knows. Camila might say something – probably does say something, but Beatrice doesn’t. She understands too well, and after all, what can they do?

After all, this is their work. This is life: whatever is asked of them. For Lilith today, it is to be a showpiece for guests at a bloated, overwrought tea ceremony. Broadly, it is watchman, and protector, and advocate. And at times like these, when there is a stir in the tangled ecosystem of bloodlines and their guardian-creatures, Beatrice is called upon to be an ambassador.

So, the day after the storm, Beatrice leaves her perch to seek out the Silvas. She glides down from the still-slippery stone, and lands softly on the wet earth, scale meeting fur meeting soil and humid air.

In her hands – her metaphorical hands – she clasps fistfuls of string that stretch, infinitely thin, to every corner of her tombhouse. She flexes each one and puts it between her teeth as she steps over the threshold and into the trees, testing their elasticity and tensile strength. If there is to be a twang, however minute, she must feel it. There is only one of her at home.

As she approaches the Silva tombhouse the air around her shifts and seems to solidify into a medium both probing and warning. Beatrice stills, allowing the woods to see her and course through her calmness. They know her, of course, and she waits for them to pass on the message to the newest guardian, still incredibly sensitive to the prickle of unfamiliar movement and sound.

Presently, physically, the world exhales.

Beatrice cautiously continues forward, until the treeline peels away to reveal the Silva tombhouse.

Tombhouse, as it goes, is a misnomer – a tombhouse is a complex rather than a single shell. It is no single cell for a coffin, but a collection of connected mausoleums and courtyards and passageways and corners and gates, lifted high and tunneled low. And as befitting a clan of esteemed craftsmen, the Silva tombhouse is a harmonious set spiraling outwards in organic whorls. Its walls are scraped clean and brushed beige, curled and leafed and folded in at the edges. Delicate and pretty in its strength in a way Beatrice’s own plain, stoic little set of residences could never be.

At the top of the central mausoleum, bounded by a parapet, rests a flat platform. On that ledge sits the new grotesque.

Ink-black stone peeks curiously down at Beatrice.

Immediately it is clear that she is like nothing Beatrice has ever seen before. Yes, as is tradition she is joined and jawed together piecemeal from various symbolic beasts, but this composition and style is unique.

She’s simultaneously entirely unlike both the typical statues produced by-the-dozen in the workshops, and the specially commissioned sculptures like Beatrice herself. This guardian is a patchwork of shapes and textures Beatrice has only ever seen in the watercolor sketches of her tombhouse’s own library as belonging to exotic creatures from faraway places. Still other elements escape her recognition and description, and everything meshes deftly at smooth, near-invisible seams.

Perhaps this isn’t surprising in a Salvius guardian – Jillian’s own commission too, it’s rumored. No less should be expected from someone the alchemists and scientists alike shy away from. Jillian Salvius considers herself a traveler, and a collector, and a dabbler, and Beatrice hears that the spokes of her gates are gnarled and carved in strange patterns from foreign lands.

The guardian shifts and cocks her head curiously, and Beatrice pulls herself together sharply.

“Hi,” the creature says. “You must be the neighbor from the east.”

Beatrice snaps back into polite, exceedingly proper posture. She nods, dipping forward in a movement resembling a bow. It makes the high-perched creature giggle, gauzy like air.

“Good morning,” she replies. “My name is Beatrice, and you’re right. How did you know?”

The guardian doesn’t answer. She separates from her stone in a miasma of color, swoops down noisily, and lands, a little clumsily, on a lower ledge. “Two heads, huh?” she says, thoughtfully. “Kinda perfect for the scholars.”

It’s not said judgmentally; more so with a further curious slant of her head, observational and light. Beatrice feels strange and semisolid all over.

She doesn’t correct the new guardian; tell her that no, she hadn’t actually been crafted or blessed for this bloodline, only gifted to them just one generation ago. And gifted rather carelessly, at that; an obligatory token presented upon the death of the benefactor’s tutor.

Before that her two heads were designed not as a tribute to wisdom or a paean to collaboration, but in order to stare proudly over an excessive estate, stretching out in opposite directions over land too vast for merely one head to behold. An arrogant symbol of not just physical, but political reach. She was a status symbol for powerful people – two-faced might be a better descriptor.

Beatrice has always considered this with some bitterness, but today, she oddly feels no urge to self-flagellate. She feels, suspiciously, nothing at all; a fuzzy blank.

Instead, in response to the guardian, Beatrice blinks. Both of her heads do. They crane and incline together, like long-necked birds bending to convene. She feels sharp ears on each one twitch and flutter.

The creature laughs again. She descends further to the porch, then approaches Beatrice slowly. “I’m Ava,” she introduces herself, finally. Shyly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Ava,” Beatrice repeats, careful and hushed. She parses it over and traces it as though threading a needle – how the strange, simple symmetry of the word, the hypnotic up-down-up of A-V-A, doesn't begin to encompass the entity approaching her. On cue, Ava does a funny, shuddery motion that cascades down her whole form.

Beatrice, leaning her heads over old tomes like water jugs tipped over a parched tongue, dreams of fantastical things, from places that often sound even more surreal. And yet before her now stands the most peculiar thing alive yet, that defies everything she’s known and seen.

Yes, clearer now before her eyes, Ava is a patchwork of impossible parts.

Up close Beatrice can see she’s also a riverbed of illusory things. Small divots seem to scoop themselves out, sink deep, and then ripple back up into the surface of her body. Bubbling, and collapsing, and reforming, like springs of molten mother-of-pearl. Each little cavity shimmers like roughened gemstones: a gasping, dark blue, like well water under the sun; or a moody green like the light-starved undershade in a storm; or a thawing amber that Beatrice cannot even describe except that it looks like the smell of hot bread with a sweet cream core, tempting and steaming.

“Beatrice,” Ava echoes, her eyes gleaming and dark. They bubble expressively and endlessly deep. Gazing at Beatrice, straight, still and pondering. Searching.

Silence stretches until it doesn’t.

Something snaps – a bird on a twig above – and Ava shakes herself awake. “Where’s my manners!” she exclaims suddenly. “Come on,” she swishes around gamely. Beatrice, bewildered, sneezes.

She’s learning quickly that when Ava laughs, the dense tassel-like feathers on the back rise in delighted reflex and splay apart.

The two of them slip between trees into a little glade, buoyed by her relentless charm and a thrumming current of something else, in the undertow.

Once upon a time, this was a courtyard, although now that the Silva tombhouse has unfurled in the opposite direction it’s been allowed to tastefully overgrow into its former self, mossy and scruffy. Old pieces of wall and pillars still cordon off one side; Beatrice resists the temptation to bound about and explore, and instead parks herself primly at a corner, not fidgeting.

Ava has no such compunctions. She wriggles herself into a comfortable position on a large boulder. Her weapon of a tail dangles down and bats at the ground idly, uprooting chunks of grass.

“How are you finding it here?” Beatrice asks, trying very hard to be normal.

“Honestly? I don’t know yet,” Ava grins, “and you’re the first one of us I’ve met here.”

She pauses, cocks her head to one side so strikingly. The gesture almost looks human. “You know, my new folks think very highly of you,” She looks appraisingly over Beatrice with an indecipherable expression.

Beatrice feels quite hot. “Mine are curious about you.”

There is a shift in the air as Ava straightens abruptly. Her tail stills. “What will you tell them?”

Beatrice bites her tongues, undecided. She’d meant to think of it later, to phrase and rephrase and turn the words over and over in her mouth on the way back to get them right. It takes a while, usually, to distill her thoughts precisely into words that balance both insinuation and tone, and half the time it ends up all too stilted and formal anyway. How people seem to be able to do that, off the cuff – it’s confusing. Far easier, Beatrice thinks, to sit quietly beside and let such people do the talking.

Especially now that this seems, somehow, to be important to Ava. And especially now that she finds she doesn’t quite have any of the words.

If Beatrice had hands she would wring them. She thinks, distantly, of what someone else wiser than her might say. “They’ll agree with me that you’re certainly unique,” she starts, and it’s like Shannon’s talking through her, stately and gentle. Bold, like Mary.

She adds, in an abrupt impulse that’s, alarmingly, all Beatrice, “I do think you’ll fit in well here.”

“Oh,” Ava seems surprised. Her tail, heretofore curled tightly on the boulder, relaxes and turns a loose arc in the air, hacking at the grass. “Thanks,” she looks at Beatrice, and inhales sharply, although not unkindly.

Pauses. Sheepishly, she adds, “I’ve heard some people, uh, calling me devilish and other things, you see. But you know, it’s fine. Whatever.”

Beatrice grimaces involuntarily, then schools her expression back into an empathetic nod. It’s not unexpected. There’s bound to be a procession of curious gawkers and onlookers filing through to try and catch a glimpse of something hailing from the elusive Salviuses. Beartice knows the type: traditional, gossipy and busybodies.

They’ll take one look up the roof and gasp in disbelief or disgust, probably. Sneer up at the twisted, unnatural proportions, if they’re brave. Ava runs too close to the precipice of their diluted tolerance.

“The Silvas are good people. They’ll stand by you.” Beatrice isn’t sure if it helps, but it’s true. The households here are the little silver lining of this part of town, otherwise ragged and out of the way and a little discordant in its hues.

Ava exhales gently. Beatrice thinks there’s a small smile there. “I know.”

“It doesn’t make it easier.”

“Yeah. I know,” repeats Ava, her eyes shining, and it’s almost like she really does.

Beatrice understands. They did it to her, too, after all.

The people who commissioned her had made a puppet of her. They had demanded a departure from classical references and therefore affixed to her frame things like startling, swiveling joints and odd angles. Two heads, of course, among other modifications – all in an arrogant, ambitious drive to defy tradition and create a visionary symbol of fear and envy. Instead, the lay beholder glanced upon the warped anatomy and thought it blasphemy. And so, Beatrice rapidly became that to her own family too: acrid to the eyes, rotted in the soul, a disembowelment. Failure. An embarrassment.

The whispers billowed large like cotton sheets drying in the fields, caught and blown out in the wind.

It was a matter of time. Beatrice imagines the tiny family offspring being taught their true oral history in a sugary sick little chant, clapping their chubby hands cheerfully and squealing every grim word,

Then the old teacher died / and it was a great relief / The family rushed to ready / a token of public grief

Her, of course. Her, and not any of the cruder, more sedate, stone guardians that studded the estate. The small ones who, on a good day, sat patiently and circulated air and respired noisily, and who were not capable of thought or pain. The family had a lot of them lining their walls, not much more than large decorative lumps of dough programmed to trap, waylay, or bite at intruders.

Instead, they parted ways with the looming, ghastly and elaborate figure that guarded one of their main wings, and painted it as a great outpouring of sadness. Beatrice knew better.

The whole event was swift; almost planned in advance. She’d barely had time to send an urgent warning to Lilith before she was gone – a failed experiment in pomposity that took an unforeseen and regrettable turn into the profane.

In a matter of days she was transplanted from lush green gardens into dry hills bathed in reedy, half-obscured sunsets. The kind of neighborhood her old family would call avant-garde or ‘forward-thinking’, although with a scoff that betrayed what they really thought.

And at night, looking down to sleeping homes, Beatrice would hear in the nothingness the same whispers splashing down the stone like rain, all over again.

Mindlessly, now, she has the sudden urge to reach out and feel. Fluttering cells or hardened stone, it doesn’t matter. She wants to transmute a hand of tender human pulp and skin, and run fragile fingers softly over the strangest braided foldery and flattening of membrane, bumps and spindles until they catch, pierce and bleed.

And she so badly wants to tell Ava: I think you’re nightmarish and very beautiful. You would hold an army off this humble hill. like holding out a pathetic little bundle of flowers– but she doesn’t. It’s too long and too much; I’m here. is too short, and both are too naked. She’s not that kind of creature. She’s carved from solid rock and even when she sheds it it still feels like its weight chains her to the earth.

Her voices remain even and steady, somehow.

“I –This isn’t the customary welcome and introductory visit,” Beatrice confesses, in lieu of it all.

“Oh. It’s not?”

Beatrice shakes her heads. “There’ll need to be a more official one.”

The overlapping layers of spines along Ava’s limbs rise and then flatten, quickly. “So I’ll get to see you again soon?”

Feeling warm, or moist, or something like a pillar of pressurized foam, Beatrice clears her throats. “I suppose so. Yes.”

#“Ard wtf is this AU” 😭 listen. it was a strange and fun little thing/experiment to play around with #YEAH imagine a large town/small city that spills out over the hills in a labyrinthine necropolis of familial mausoleums / tomb complexes #pragmatic bulwarks of defence and important centers of social/intellectual/cultural life and death and the rich after-death #beatrice is the super serious guardian of a respectable but modest bloodline of teachers and scholars #when she's not staring moodily out into the distance she spends like all her free time in the library/underground heirloom chamber #and getting tutorials from fond but vaguely concerned ancestors #They love her unconditionally btw she’s just sometimes in her head too much to see it #the Silvas are renowned artisans! Jillian is jillian lol #If some of the words sound like they don’t exist it’s because they straight up don’t. I’ve no idea what old me was thinking.#hashtag avatrice hashtag meetcute hashtag wrarior nun hashtag mutually obsessed at first sight etc.

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