#the chemicals in those always find a way to cheer me up and also they are fun to eat

[allnightlongzine]

Join The Black Parade: My Chemical Romance And The Politics Of Taste

Daoud Tyler-Ameen | OCTOBER 21, 2016 | npr.org

Sunday is the 10th anniversary of My Chemical Romance's The Black Parade, a defining album for both the band and a generation of pop-punk fans. A decade later, NPR's Daoud Tyler-Ameen is still processing what it means to love this record, and what its impact says about the culture around it.

Click the audio link for his roundtable discussion with Tracy Clayton, host of the Buzzfeed podcast Another Round, and Hanif Willis-Abdurraqib, poet and MTV News columnist — or find it in the All Songs Considered podcast feed. For more on how their conversation came to be, read on.

Common wisdom suggests that the culture you're exposed to in your teens and early 20s ends up informing your taste for the rest of your life. For most people, those years are where the very notion of taste begins. Books, movies, music, fashion, friends: You realize you have options, and you reject the ones that don't match your idea of who you are. The stuff that does stick — be it posters on a wall, patches on a jacket, a dog-eared paperback stuffed in a back pocket — you add to your coat of arms, self-definition by way of curation. What you like informs your understanding of what you are like, and vice-versa.

But every so often, taste leads you somewhere complicated. Sometimes you love a piece of art, but not what that love says about you — and the self-portrait you've so rigorously composed threatens to flake away. This is where I was 10 years ago, when My Chemical Romance released its third album and crowning achievement, The Black Parade.

In 2006, amid the rising tide buoying the fates of Fall Out Boy, Paramore and Panic! At The Disco, My Chemical Romance was as just about as big as it got. This was a boom era for the kind of band whose LPs are stocked at Hot Topic, but the Jersey quintet had always seemed to aim beyond its base. MCR had come out of nowhere with 2004's Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge, an album born of hardcore but ringed with enough melody and melancholy that all stripes of emo and pop-punk buffs could find themselves in it, too, resulting in sales that zoomed past Warner Music's 300,000-unit target on the road to platinum status. The record had hits, it had hooks, and it had reach, especially once the cinematic visuals for "Helena" and "The Ghost of You" found their way to MTV. Crucially, it also had a sense of humor — see the video for "I'm Not Okay (I Promise)," in which freaks-versus-jocks teen comedies are skewered with note-perfect precision — which meant I couldn't dismiss the band as some self-serious Marilyn Manson hangover, even if singer Gerard Way did favor eyeshadow and funeral garb. Three Cheers was really, really good, and that was a problem for me.

Emo had found me in 10th grade, when a two-month relationship left me with a bruised heart and a taped copy of The Get Up Kids' Red Letter Day EP, and had followed me to Yale, where I hipped my freshman roommate to Dashboard Confessional. My Chemical Romance's music was not itself the issue — rather, it was the scale of the thing. This band was so popular, so grandiose — and thus, it was also a punching bag, derided as "mall punk" by the same people who had a few years earlier indicted Britney and *NSYNC as signs of the apocalypse. At a moment when mannered indie-pop and roughshod garage-rock were infiltrating the mainstream, MCR was earnest, dramatic and unapologetically massive, in a way that made it conspicuously uncool. And for me — a gawky black kid at a fancy white university, feeling very much stuck between identities — uncool seemed like the worst possible thing to be.

Writer Carvell Wallace has described the struggle this way: "Having black skin but liking white things is a little like walking on a tightrope ... You have white friends with whom you can never talk about race but you avoid groups of black people because you fear they will hear what's in your headphones and call you out as a traitor." Those words come from a Pitchfork Review profile of TV on the Radio frontman Tunde Adebimpe, with whom Wallace had overlapped years before as an NYU undergrad, and identified as a kindred square peg — the kind of black kid who might not take great care of his sneakers but would agonize over which ratty band T-shirt to wear to a party. That's the needle I was threading when MCR arrived in my life: wrapping myself in thrift-store accessories, loudly claiming bands like TV on the Radio as my heroes, positioning myself as the kind of black bohemian (Pharrell and Basquiat come to mind) who can move between cultural groups by dint of the fascination he inspires.

This version of me wasn't a lie, just a selective presentation of the truth. But committing to My Chemical Romance, which in spite of its success was scorned far and wide as mass-market histrionics for sad teens, threatened to shake the myth apart. So I kept my love of Three Cheers to myself. And when The Black Parade arrived, heralded by an orchestral lead single whose video employed period costume, gothic sets and scores of extras, I was mortified — and pushed the band out of my life altogether. I was out of school by then, playing in bands of my own, working office jobs and learning to carry myself as an adult. Even closeted fandom seemed like a bad habit in need of shedding. The inner emo kid, I thought, had to go.

This summer, a cryptic teaser posted to My Chemical Romance's YouTube channel briefly lit up the social web, stoking fevered rumors among those who'd been missing the group since it disbanded in 2013. A day later came the letdown: There was no new album, no reunion tour — just a 10th-anniversary reissue of the record that had come to define the band's career.

Fans took to Twitter to voice their disappointment. Two voices in particular jumped out at me: Tracy Clayton, co-host of the Buzzfeed podcast Another Round with Heben and Tracy, and Hanif Willis-Abdurraqib, a music writer and the author of a remarkable book of poetry called The Crown Ain't Worth Much. Both of them are friends of friends, part of an extended media family that platforms like Twitter have helped to illuminate. Both of them create work rooted in blackness, Tracy in searching interviews that sound unlike any in her field, Hanif in poems that read more like cultural essays, refracting issues like gentrification and police violence through the grammar of hip-hop and pop culture at large. Both of them were legitimately upset that My Chemical Romance was not getting back together. I knew I had to talk to them.

It isn't just that I've come around to The Black Parade in the past year, though that helps: When I finally allowed myself to listen to it all the way through, when I researched its underlying narrative about a cancer patient's journey to the beyond, when I stumbled on live videos of the band dressed in marching gear and corpse paint, the weight of it all hit me over and over and over. The record is a monument, as moving a statement about death as has ever been made. Twenty-two year-old me would have loved it, and loved talking about it. But it may well have taken the media environment of 2016 to show me how to have that conversation — in public, no less.

I don't know how much of this revelation comes from a change in the industry, and how much is just my own senses becoming more finely attuned, but the sheer plurality of black voices that move through my social timelines and podcast feeds these days is such a rich, resplendent comfort. When you can follow the work of not just a handful of black writers and commentators, but dozens upon dozens, running on their own or within enshrined institutions, you stop focusing on how different their perspectives are from the rest of the world — and begin to take notice of the many differences among them. You witness their minor debates, and pick sides. You see and hear them making guest appearances in one another's territory. "Rep sweats" fade from the picture; instead, you take as a given that people of color do and make and like all kinds of things.

And so, to toast the 10th birthday of The Black Parade, I called up two black writers whose work I adore and whose taste I admire, to have the exchange of ideas I wish I'd known how to have way back when. Here's hoping it reaches a few brown kids still learning how to trust themselves.

Andrew Limbong and Brent Baughman provided production support for this story.

#npr #black parade #2016 #podcast #outside

[liskantope]

Hey, I am the sender who wrote to you about transtrending. I found it funny that you recently reblogged that post again, because I checked your blog in order to send you another message about it.

I can't remember what I had wanted to say, at the moment… but there was one line in your post that stood out to me:

"And I don’t know how many stories like yours there are, compared to stories of kids turning out to look back on their transition as a lifesaver."

I found that line sort of depressing, because early in my attempt at transitioning genders... I did regard it as a 'lifesaver'. The hormones that I was taking had acted like a chemical anti-depressant... but they do that regardless of gender, or gender-identity. It's just a physical property of the substance and how it acts on the human body. The other outward physical effects were actually slowly making me more and more depressed in a subconscious way.

I had talked to someone else about how I had felt about transitioning, and how I used to think about it. But I set up 'conditions' in my mind, for when I thought I was going to be happy, finally. If I didn't meet the conditions, then I felt like I wasn't at 'true happiness potential'. ...Like there was always something better out there.

The conditions that I set for myself in my teenage years were 'transitioning to the other gender'. But my friend had quipped that other people also set these types of terms & conditions for themselves: "Have kids, get married, and you'll finally be happy." "Transition, be seen as the other gender, and you'll finally be happy." But it's really just a way of psyching yourself out of living life fully. Because at the moment you set those terms, you might not be happy... so you want to carve yourself a path through the mountain to the other side. Life is freaking vast and full of the unknown.

I just didn't want to admit that I was wrong, as a teenager. I didn't want to be wrong. I mean, deep down... I really did want to be wrong, so I would able to live my life the way I was born, but I SET MYSELF ON A PATH, I WAS DETERMINED TO FOLLOW IT TO ITS BLOODY END! HYAA!

...but it's really sad in the end. Maybe the old folks were right, and cartoons and fairy tales really can rot out a kid's brain. hahahaha

If I remember what else I wanted to write to you about, I'll be sure to follow up. Cheers. I love reading your posts.

I don't remember if I had already said this, but another part of the 'lifesaving transition' belief, for me.... had to do with finally meeting my 'requirements for happiness'. So I finally allowed myself to think certain things, and feel certain ways... only to awaken to a world that was worse than when I had 'clocked out'. The mind can be very powerful.

Guess I'm going back and answering already-not-so-recent asks tonight, mostly about young people gender-related medical therapy. Although this won't be so much an answer as a sort of piecemeal reaction to various lines in what itself feels almost like a full-blown blog post of its own that was submitted to me. I'm kind of tempted to advise you to write about your experiences in a more longform and slightly more polished way on your own blog -- I'd find it very worth reading and would follow and probably interact if you tipped me off about where it was -- but I'd be worried about the hornet's nest you might be stepping into if you did.

Meanwhile, I do continue to have qualms about giving so many paragraphs' worth of voice to one data point of experience with youth gender-dysphoria-related medical interventions (and I apologize for how dehumanizing it is to talk about your experience as a "data point", but on my blog as well as when teaching classes one part of my brain always has to see the group of people I'm interacting with as a whole and think about fairness and what messages I'm sending, while another part is interacting with and being concerned for you as an individual). I still decided to answer this in part because (1) writing long asks full of worthwhile informative details and deep inspection of an issue is a good thing that shouldn't be "penalized" by being ignored; (2) relatedly, nothing's stopping someone else with a contrasting experience to deeply describe it in an ask, which I imagine I'd respond to; (3) your experience and perspective is obviously very underrepresented on Tumblr and goes against locally dominant beliefs enough that it may well be that you only feel safe talking about it as anonymously as possible, which necessitates the ask feature; and (4) I think some of the particular points you make are really good and freshly put, especially when applied more generally.

"And I don’t know how many stories like yours there are, compared to stories of kids turning out to look back on their transition as a lifesaver." I found that line sort of depressing, because early in my attempt at transitioning genders… I did regard it as a 'lifesaver'.

I'm genuinely sorry about the triggering* effect I imagine that line must have had on someone with your experience. The problem is that conceivably, someone (or many thousands of people) might find out in the long term that it was a lifesaver for them. Doesn't make it easier for someone else who was drawn into it by their testimony and found out that they were instead worse off than before. Or maybe not so many find it a lifesaver in the long term -- maybe a lot of what we're hearing is young people who have only been on such programs since relatively recently who find it a lifesaver so far or are kind of lying to themselves like you were doing for a while. The unsettling thing is that this recent boom in gender-related medical therapy for very young people is still pretty new. The only comfort that I take in the possible event that this trend has gone significantly too far is that I'm convinced if that is the case that there will be a pretty big backlash some 5-15 years down the road the brings about a correction; in a way, this is an argument against the hysteria of the Peterson types who sound convinced that we're completely driving off a cliff or something. But here I am again thinking about big-group dynamics at the expense of caring about individuals: whatever happens on a society-wide scale doesn't fix the devastating harm that may have been done to someone who transitioned when it was the wrong choice (or didn't transition when it would have been the right choice).

I just didn't want to admit that I was wrong, as a teenager. I didn't want to be wrong. I mean, deep down... I really did want to be wrong, so I would able to live my life the way I was born, but I SET MYSELF ON A PATH, I WAS DETERMINED TO FOLLOW IT TO ITS BLOODY END! HYAA!

And the Sunk Cost Fallacy rears its ugly head again! This is beginning to become a hobbyhorse of mine just because I'm seeing it as a more and more prevalent reason for getting into and staying in really regrettable situations. If it's any consolation, some of the worst decisions in my own life have been very ascribable to the Sunk Cost Fallacy, including when I was a very fully-developed adult. I kind of think people need to be talking about this fallacy more.

Maybe the old folks were right, and cartoons and fairy tales really can rot out a kid's brain. hahahaha

Honestly, a ton of the my deepest concerns about the attitudes of the Young and Very Online, increasingly in the last five or so years, feel related to a sort of cartoonish fairy tale / superhero story view of the world. I don't know what can be done about it or even how to talk about it without sounding incredibly obnoxious and condescending.

*At this point I've basically given up holding myself, let alone others, to not expanding "triggering" and related terms beyond a PTSD context. The milder definition of it that became popular over the last ten or so years still has decently robust boundaries, conveys a meaningful concept, and is useful, I think.

#trans issues #hormone therapy #jordan peterson #sunk cost fallacy #superhero story mentality

[anxiouslyfred]

Dealing with Fears

Summary: Remus had always had some connections to fear just because of the type of creativity he allowed, but that didn't mean he'd allow people to be scared of things he hasn't caused.

/\/\

Remus knows fear. He knows it intimately with the very core of his purpose because while Thomas had Virgil in the role of Anxiety, he held Remus in the role of darkness, forbidden or taboo creativity and a lot of those ideas were made so due to fears.

He was beyond used to being the cause of fear, or the one to make them feel real while remaining imaginary and took pride in his work, but he also knew how to make people react to resolve their fears. Originally he'd believed that was what Thomas needed him to do in the role, especially given how divided the Sides had been while they were young, but now he knew that had been an accidental role if anything.

Still popping up to cause some mischief and hearing his brother coaxing an obviously scared Virgil had him ready to force some fear resolution just as soon as he knew what was going on.

“Where's your sense of adventure, Jack Skellington? It's a bike ride! What could be more fun than racing down hill on it?” Roman was declaring, and a glimpse into the surface thoughts told Remus the city hill that was being spoken about.

“I'm over here, Pissy! And oh You're Right!” He cheered, grinning when Roman jumped and summoned his katana on reflex. “But lets go bigger. There are cliffs on the edge of town we could race down too! Much easier to see the impact damage without all those cars in the way.” He thrilled over the idea, studiously not looking to Virgil who'd actually been fearing that happening before he turned up.

Roman frowned, blinking. “Um, No? I'm not suggesting Thomas risks his life.” He protested, glaring at him.

“Actually you were. Everyone knows cyclists need to be cautious on roads, especially going down hill when there's a busier road at the bottom. Releasing the breaks as you were suggesting is really only mildly safer than cycling over a cliff. It's basically an invitation for injury.” Logan lectured, pulling up a diagram of the area they'd been talking about including notes on how busy the roads around it were.

Thomas clapped his hands, getting everyone's attention, “So, as I originally asked for advice on, my friends were actually suggesting a bike ride around the park. While cycling there would be reasonable, I think we can rule out the route including that hill fairly easily.”

Logan and Roman were agreeing but Remus's attention was on Virgil. The fear was still thrumming and he knew the other side needed to work it out somehow so held out a hand. “Wanna talk?”

…

The next time Remus popped up, curious over the concern flowing through Thomas it was to hear Logan listing how to clean something up at the theatre Thomas was currently performing in. Virgil was once again the one scared, and having his concerns dismissed too.

“These products are safe to use together and we have been asked to remove the stains from the spill.” Logan was reasoning as Remus waited to be noticed.

He wasn't patient though and was immediately replying, only getting a small startle from the logical side, “And mixing chemicals is fun! Just look at the wet from whoever was asked first.” It was easy to have Thomas look back at the supposed stains, an inch of imagination making the spot look slightly green and slimy.

“Ah,” Logan nodded now, “I might have been a bit hasty in suggesting what to do.”

Thomas paused, glancing down to the cleaning products he was still holding. “Soo?” He asked.

“Why don't you find out what's already been used and if we can't we'll only use water and cloth to clean as much of it away as possible.” Logan decided. “If the stains remain then the water should dilute whatever products have been used enough to be safe to use the ones I've already suggested once the area dries.”

Remus rolled his eyes at the change, tapping Virgil's shoulder. “Talk out your fears with me?” He offered, well aware it would be yelling as soon as they were in his room. Virgil took his hand without speaking, silently agreeing the situation he'd been helping with was over.

…

He'd never felt concern growing into fear from Patton and Roman simultaneously and a glance over at Virgil showed the side's eyeshadow getting darker and him moments away from popping in to interrupt whatever discussion Thomas was having. That was what made the decision for Remus, pulling his morning-star to him even as he popped up.

“How about No!” He stated, swinging it a bit when Logan and Thomas both started to argue.

“You wanna summon Virgil in panic mode? We're saying Fuck No! Either shut up or I'll knock you out and you won't have a choice but to shut up!” He yelled over them, glaring.

Logan's eyes narrowed before he sank out and Remus was sure whatever conversation he'd interrupted would be brought up again later, but hopefully when everyone was calmer.

Thomas meanwhile seemed to focus on taking a few deep breaths. “We do still need to discuss that.” He muttered.

“Not when people are getting scared without me helping to cause it.” Remus countered, waiting for Thomas's nod to look at the other sides. “You two wanna talk about what got you so scared with me, or just together?” He offered, well aware that neither Roman or Patton were particularly friendly with him still.

Patton was already shaking his head, “Thanks for your help Kiddo, but You old pops just needs some time to himself.”

“I'll talk. Imagination?” Roman agreed, already sinking out before Remus had nodded.

…

Remus had always had some connections to fear just because of the type of creativity he allowed, but that didn't mean he'd allow people to be scared of things he hasn't caused.

#remus sanders #fears #bike accident mentions #chemical mixing mentions #cw threats #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #character thomas

[davekendrick]

12 Natural Air Fresheners to Make Your Home Smell Clean and Crisp

If artificial scents make your nose wrinkle and sneeze, it’s time to switch to natural. We can use many different scent combinations and tools to make the home smell amazing without all the chemicals. Try one of these natural air fresheners for the home!

I talk about scent so much on the blog. From the smells of freshly picked herbs to my latest soap recipe, scents have a way of cheering me up or relaxing me. When writing about them, I so wish you could smell them yourself! My goal is that the pictures and words tell you enough about just how good these projects and recipes smell. And then you’ll be encouraged to make them yourself. Everything I make is 100% natural. Artificial fragrances REALLY bug my nose, and I find them irritating overall. Plus, their aroma never is as good as anything scented naturally! Over the years, I’ve come up with many ways to freshen the home. Here are a few ways you can utilize natural air fresheners! This post will cover…

Natural Air Fresheners

Whether you’re looking to spruce up the closet or want the whole house to smell amazing, here are some of the best air fresheners for the home. 1. Natural Reed Diffuser Reed diffusers have always been my preferred method for air fresheners. Not only do they look pretty, but they slowly emit fragrance, and it never becomes too overwhelming. Especially my natural version! To make this diffuser, I gathered reeds and stems from my garden that are hollow enough to wick up the fragrant oil. The oil is scented with essential oils, and I have plenty of different scent combinations you can try to freshen up small spaces like hallways or bathrooms.

2. Pinecone Diffuser Another excellent natural air freshener is to utilize pinecones. I don’t know about you, but I cannot help but collect pinecones for crafting and decorating. This is just one of many clever ways to use them! After cleaning the pinecones, you can scent them with essential oils. The result is a festively fall air freshener to display in your living room or anywhere else that needs a scent boost.

3. Lavender Linen Spray I originally designed this spray to freshen up my clothes as I ironed them. It made my clothes smell fresh for much longer, and I just love inhaling the scent whenever I put on a new change of clothes. You can use this spray for more than clothes, however. It works well on all kinds of fabric. Another favourite way to use it is by spraying it on couches or curtains. Use it like they do in those Febreze commercials!

4. Aromatherapy Closet Fresheners Once upon a time, I had clothes moths, and I was absolutely horrified. After the initial cleanout of the closet and clothes, I needed to ensure they didn’t come back. These closet fresheners were my solution! I hang them in my closet among my clothes. They slowly diffuse strong-smelling essential oils into the closet, which repels the clothes moths. And I’m happy to report they never came back! These could work well for any small space, including cupboards or even the car!

5. Lavender Dryer Bags You’ll catch on quickly just how much I love lavender. I grow it in my garden, and I use LOTS of it when it comes to these natural air freshener projects. One of the easiest ways to utilize it is with these lavender dryer bags. They add a floral and clean scent to your laundry. You’ll notice it on your clothes and also in your laundry room on laundry day! They’re also a complete replacement for those chemical-laden dryer sheets.

6. Herbal Drawer Fresheners It’s easy to keep clothes in the closet smelling nice and fresh. Clothes in the drawers, meanwhile, can quickly smell a little musty and dusty. My fix for this is herbal drawer fresheners! These keep all your folded laundry smelling fresh, even if it’s been in the drawer for a while. For a special touch, I monogrammed my herbal drawer fresheners to give them as a gift. They’re made from thrifted wool sweaters, making them even more eco-friendly!

7. Christmas Simmering Spices The absolute best way to make your home smell amazing is with these simmering spices. Even on days when the oven isn’t working up holiday baking, my house smells amazing thanks to these. Also known as stovetop potpourri, you toss spice mixtures into a stovetop or crockpot and let them simmer for a delightful-smelling house. I have plenty of Christmas scent combinations for you to try, but you can easily customize them to use this natural air freshener method year-round!

8. Cleaning Bombs If you’re in the kitchen or bathroom and notice a faint, not-so-pleasant odour, it’s probably coming from the drains. That’s why I use cleaning bombs for the sink, toilet, bathtub, and garbage disposal. They’re super simple to use. You just pop them in the sink or toilet and watch them fizz. The fizzing cleans the area while also emitting essential oils. The effect is a clean drain with a lingering fresh scent in the air.

9. Lavender Spray Deodorant I know what you’re thinking…a deodorant?! But yes! I hate to say it, but sometimes it helps to freshen ourselves up too! I use this recipe a ton, not only on my underarms but also on my clothes as well. One of the benefits of using natural ingredients is that they’re safe for use in many different ways. Try this floral scent combination to freshen up your skin, clothes, or the air.

10. Cinnamon Dough Ornaments I wish you could smell these cinnamon dough ornaments through the screen. This is another excellent seasonal air freshener for the home, perfect for the holiday season. The aroma reminds me of sweet spiced apples. First, you get to smell the delicious scent while you bake the ornaments. Then, the ornaments will continue to scent the Christmas tree once you hang them.

11. Herbal Dream Pillows This freshener is designed just for the bedroom! If you have trouble sleeping, one of my favourite techniques to promote sleep is actually scent. This herbal scent blend is designed to emit a calming fragrance that helps put you to sleep. The pillows are great to sleep with but also make snuggling up on the bed that much cozier.

12. Herbal Wax Melts Wax melts (and candles) are one of my personal favourite natural air fresheners for the home. A tealight sits inside the wax melt pot with the max melts atop. When lit, the wax slowly melts and releases the fragrance of the wax. Making them yourself is quite easy! And they have none of those artificial scents you see with storebought wax melts. Instead, customize your scents with essential oils.

Frequently Asked Questions About Natural Air Fresheners

How can I make my home smell good naturally? Essential oils are the best way to get a natural fragrance. Depending on what you mix them with, you can create sprays, scented oils, cleaning products, décor, and more to naturally freshen the home. What makes your home smell good the longest? My go-to recipe to make the home smell amazing is simmering spices. They linger in the air for days, and the aroma easily wafts through the entire house. Otherwise, I routinely keep my lavender linen spray on hand to quickly spritz and freshen up the home every few days. Read the full article

#Airfreshener #Aromacompound #Essentialoil #Naturalresource #Odor #Perfumes

[tonkibands]

Sleepytime tea nightmares

#Sleepytime tea nightmares full

You can also whisk the milk after you heat it up to give it some bubbles. If you’re into frothed milk, then you can use a milk frother. I like using vanilla soy milk for this it adds a touch of sweetness and you don’t have to add any sugar/honey/etc after. How do you make Sleepytime tea taste better? Two studies have examined the effects of chamomile tea or extract on sleep problems in humans. Chamomile tea is most commonly known for its calming effects and is frequently used as a sleep aid. Most Sleepytime teas contain chamomile, a medicinal herb used for its calming properties. Also try to avoid heavy snacking or a heavy meal in the couple of hours before bedtime. Skipping any potentially scary books or stories, providing a cheerful night-light and leaving the bedroom ajar can also help. Although it contains chamomile (which to me always tastes like rotten dirt), it has a sweet, fruity and fresh flavour, thanks to the ingredients of spearmint, blackberry leaves, orange blossoms and rosebuds. Sticking to a calming bedtime routine is the best way to ease the stress and anxiety that can cause nightmares in the first place. Does Sleepytime tea taste good?Ī lovely surprise was that Sleepytime Tea smelt good as it brewed, and it actually tasted delicious, too. The liquid melatonin assists in multiple areas such as lowering heart rate, lowering blood pressure, increasing immune functions and blocking stress responses. The chamomile works as a sleep inducer and as a mild tranquilizer. Oz’s Tired Tea” uses chamomile and liquid melatonin as the main ingredients. That will give your body enough time to metabolize the tea, and the chemical compounds that cause those sedative feelings to kick in. How soon before bed should I drink Sleepytime tea?Īccording to Breus, you should drink one cup of chamomile tea about 45 minutes before bed if you’re hoping to induce sleepiness. Research shows that the chemical composition of chamomile is responsible for its improved sleep benefits. Chamomile has long been used to treat anxiety and depression in traditional medicine. Chamomile has been used to relieve stress and fatigue, and has proven beneficial to induce sound sleep.Ĭhamomile tea is one of the most well-known sleepy time teas thanks to its natural sedative effect. The only difference I’ve detected between this product and regular Sleepytime is the addition of valerian root to the ingredients list, and a caution on the side of the box about not driving or operating machinery after using, as if this is some herbal-tea version of Ambien or Sominex. What’s the difference between Sleepytime and Sleepytime Extra? All known to work as sleep aids allowing you to relax enough to fall asleep.Blendmaster’s Notes: This most beloved of herbal teas gets its comforting aroma and perfectly balanced flavor from a blend of soothing herbs, including delicate chamomile, cool spearmint and fresh lemongrass….Celestial Seasonings Sleepytime Herbal Tea Bags.

#Sleepytime tea nightmares full

The recipe is full of traditional herbs and dried flowers, chamomile, hops, catnip, valerian, St. This one is so delicious that I stir in a little bit of raw honey and sip it warm with enjoyment. I find that most tea recipes have me either loading up the sweetener or letting it cool enough to chug it down. Which is good because I’m not much of a tea drinker. What I’ve noticed for both Bekah and now myself is that it seems to be just enough to help us develop a normal sleep pattern and after a few nights it’s no longer necessary to keep drinking it. Knowing how important sleep is for her, I formulated this recipe to help give her body a little nudge in the right direction. After struggling with it for a few nights, I remembered an herbal tea mix that I made for my little daughter Rebekah who seems to have far too much energy to go to sleep and it would take her sometimes 2 hours or more after bedtime to finally fall asleep. I’m already prone to get restless leg and anxiety about how quickly morning will come doesn’t help matters much. This herbal tea mix not only tastes delicious but is a wonderful natural sleep aid and will help you relax and sleep soundly.įor Various and Sundry reasons sleep has not been coming easily for me.

#Sleepytime tea nightmares

[tokisguitarpick]

interruption part.1

characters: Skwisgaar Skwigelf x Reader 

doods, I really tried to make this one giant piece but I said that on friday, it’s fuckin wednesday, work has been kicking my ass, here’s what I got so far

The first time you met Skwisgaar Skwigelf was unfortunately also the first time you pissed off Skwisgaar Skwigelf. 

In your defense, you thought it would be prudent to bond with the support staff- your boss Charles, the music producer Abigail and her assistant Dick, the Klokateers, the people around the band- as soon as you could to cement your place at work first. After that, then you would really worry about Dethklok liking you. It's not that you were rude to them, hell your whole job was making sure their needs were met and they were secure and happy on a day to day basis. But if Charles asked you for a report at the same time Murderface told you to go get his dethphone from his bedroom, Charles took first priority. Which was why when you were sent to deliver a fax from Crystal Mountain Records to Abigail, you went diligently down the 4 floors it took to reach the studio and entered quietly, recognizing the red recording light on over the door. A brightly melodious guitar solo rang through the gothic studio rooms, sounding as exquisite as a Beethoven composition when unaccompanied by the rest of the death metal band, and you hovered by the door for a moment. You were nervous to disturb now that you heard exactly what they were recording. But your rationale won out and you decided to simply slip the fax to Abigail and leave.

Approaching her desk, you got a clear look at the source of the music and it caused your step to falter. Skwisgaar, tall and imposing, shredded his guitar with deft hands inside the recording booth, his fingers moving faster on the Gibson neck than your eyes could follow.

Instead, they moved to his face, taking in his closed eyes, his full lips parted, and a light sheen of sweat covering his skin as he worked. His long, cornsilk hair was uncharacteristically swept up in a messy bun at the nape of his neck, short tendrils made loose from exertion clinging to the edges of his face or else flowing around him. A bead of sweat caught your eye as it rolled down his Adams apple and your gaze trailed to his thin, defined arms and the muscles working under his skin, his long fingers showing off every ounce of skill he had. He looked nothing like the guitarist that took the stage with Dethklok, giving a heavy and thrashing performance. He looked at peace, a man entirely in his element. He looked heavenly.

Suddenly, every headline calling him a rock and roll god over a photo of him covered in ghoulish makeup felt entirely false. If only they could see what was in front of you now.

Sadly, all good things come to an end. Your faltered step caused you to squeak as you caught your balance. Abigail jumped and turned in her chair. The music ended with an abrupt squeal and Skwisgaar's icy blue eyes snapped open.

"Oh, who the fucks is this?!" he spat into the mic and you blushed, embarrassment finding a home in the pit of your stomach. Abigail sighed, looking you over with a crooked eyebrow.

"So sorry, I was just bringing this to you." You handed Abigail the fax and she unfolded the paper to read it over. Skwisgaar, who seemed to find your interruption bothersome enough, bristled as your eyes flickered between him and the music producer. He yanked the guitar strap off his shoulder and snarled, "Not evens anythings important! Get the fucks out of heres!" He held the guitar by the neck and gestured aggressively with it.

You jumped, turning tail and hurrying away as fast as you could without running. The only reasoning for his behavior came at the end of an email from Abigail, a throwaway line about it being crunch time with the production of the newest album. But sadly, that was the start of your professional relationship with the Dethklok member and it was a shame, that one instance coloring the way he treated your presence in Mordhaus. He didn't reply when you asked the band questions, he turned his nose up when you had to contain some of the band's more brutal ideas, he only ever referred to you as a servant, the list went on.

It was taxing and honestly, a little upsetting. You had managed to piss off Nathan your first week here as well but by the next morning, he greeted you with a joke about it and asked you to make a pot of coffee. You spent many afternoons wondering if there was any way to make it up to the haughty guitarist. And wondering what exactly you needed to make up in the first place.

The next climactic moment in your relationship came around the four month mark of your employment.

The acrid smell of burning plastic reached you as you walked past the hallway leading to the kitchen, making you sigh. You put a jump in your step, something at odds with the very exasperated expression you could feel on your face, and hurried to the source of the smell, the armful of dirty laundry you'd picked up in the living room discarded as you jogged. Entering the kitchen, it took no time to zero in on the small fire slowly growing on the stovetop. 

Toki and Skwisgaar stood over it, the former blowing frantically at the quickly blackening frying pan while the former flapped at the fire with a hand towel. The mere sight of Toki's long hair billowing around the open flame made your chest seize. "Guys, guys," you will be the first to admit, your voice came out in a shriek, "stop! Move!"

Toki jumped away from the stove with a welp, his eyes wild when he saw you. You snatched the fire extinguisher off the wall by the door and ran up to the stove. Skwisgaar still hadn't moved. If anything, he seemed to step in your way, blocking you from the fire. "I has it under controls, leave." His voice was hard and cold, almost jarring in contrast to the scene playing out.

 And in your bewilderment, you snapped. Months of irritation compounding itself into a rage that bubbled past your lips, you growled, "Skwisgaar Skwigelf. If you think-", you grabbed a fistful of his shirt and wrenched him back, "-for a goddamn SECOND-" Skwisgaar stumbled and you caught his slim waist in the crook of your arm, "-I'm going to explain to Charles-", you threw him behind you and lined up the extinguisher, "-his most arrogant guitarist got third degree burns because he was too fucking STUBBORN-" aim, "-to MOVE!" fire. You pulled the trigger on the fire extinguisher and doused the stove in a thick, chemical scented foam, holding it there until the fire was smothered. Breathing heavily, you spun around and shoved the extinguisher into the blonde's arms. "Then you're stupid, too," you murmured with venom.

Skwisgaar was a tall man so even face to face as you were, he still towered over you, his eyes icy and his hands overlapping yours on the safety equipment. His eyes traced your face and you could the heat coming off your cheeks but using all your strength, you softened your expression. "Stop freezing me out. I'm just here to help." Your voice was still low but much gentler, which seemed to throw him off. Skwisgaar's haughty face mellowed and his eyes dropped to your mouth, his bottom lip finding a place between his teeth unconsciously.

"Ja," Skwisgaar finally replied, a terse acceptance as he took the fire extinguisher from you. His eyes hadn't left your face for a moment and he just rocked back on his heels, keeping the equipment awkwardly held in front of him. "I suppose Charles woulds finds dat upsettings."

Breathing a sigh of relief, you finally looked back at the stove and frowned at the charred frying pan. "Can I ask what you guys were doing?"

Toki finally piped up, seeming relieved that you weren’t yelling at them. "We's were tryings to makes a grilleds cheese."

Eyebrows furrowed, you studied the charcoal in the pan until you recognized it as a whole block of cheese. The mental image of a new, freshly purchased block of cheese, still wrapped in the plastic, being placed by these adult idiots into the frying pan made your blood pressure rise and you immediately put it to the side, deciding against any other questions.

"Okay. Well. I'll order us some pizza."

That cheered Toki up immediately but Skwisgaar simply nodded once, his cheeks turning a very light pink.

From that point on, Skwisgaar seemed to slowly accept your place as a member of the support staff. Between riffing on your jokes and agreeing with you on occasion, you would've said that your relationship with Skwisgaar was the best it had ever been.

Unfortunately, this came with an unforeseen consequence. 

Now, you had a massive crush on Skwisgaar.

Okay, sure. Technically, you'd had a crush on him for a few years. Everyone in the world knew Dethklok and regardless if they liked the music or not, everyone had a favorite. Yours had always been the Swed. And sure, he looked hot as fuck in the recording booth all those momths ago. But all the following cold shoulder encounters had turned you off of the rock star, the withering look he shot you whenever you had tried to reign in the band members kicking any thoughts of fancy to the curb.

But that was before. This was after. The shock you felt later that day when he addressed you by name for the first time was electrifying. Instead of jestful barbs at your expense on the off chance he acknowledged you, Skwisgaar joked that you took no shit so Murderface better stop riling you up. No longer barking "Moves!" if you were in his way, he simply slipped past you, his hand warm against your upper- though once or twice, lower- back. Now you preened yourself when you knew you would see him, not wishing you could hide. It was driving you crazy.

You felt like a groupie or a schoolgirl, constantly fixated on your crush. Wishing and scheming to get closer when he was around you, his presence obscuring your thoughts when he was away. You had read all the print interviews available in the Mordhaus archives, watched the video interviews online, and had even followed a Dethklok fan Instagram to get a smattering of band photos on your timeline every day. You justified it all as being diligent at your job. But that only went so far, even with yourself. You stayed there, living in limbo for months as you wrestled with your feelings and professionalism. Skwisgaar, however, seemed oblivious to the effect he was having on you. You caught him staring at you sometimes but it was so few and far between that you simply chalked it up to him zoning out.

Or that's how you lived until Christmas.

You celebrated your winter holiday early so you could be on call for the band during actual Christmastime, which turned out to be a good idea. The mothers of Dethklok decided to visit the week leading up to the 25th, having skipped the year before on Charles' recommendation and they seemed exceedingly cranky due to that. The week itself was brutal - Nathan was broody and even quicker to anger than normal, Pickles hadn't been seen sober since they learned about the impending arrival, Murderface was essentially a walking scab from the anxious picking he'd subjected his arms to, and Toki was catatonic.

Of course, your focus was caught most by Skwisgaar. Sulky with a sour stomach, he kept his head down all week. He had his guitar glued to his hands and was second only to Toki in using avoidance as a defense mechanism.

It was incredibly stressful juggling between the bristled band members and their neurotic mothers. Charles himself said it would be at least a month before they could schedule any public appearances so the boys could decompress, and ideally avoid a PR nightmare. So to say you were glad to see their mothers finally leave, only Nathan's thanking you for attending to her, was an understatement.

After a long day of taking everyone to eat then to the airport, you had retired to your small Mordhaus apartment as soon as you could - which was pretty soon as the band seemed just as exhausted and had disappeared once you had gotten home.

You didn't reemerge until after midnight, sneaking out and down the hall to find something to eat at a quarter past twelve. The house was quiet on your walk to the kitchen but after grabbing your snack - a cold cut sandwich you had wrapped in a paper towel to avoid leaving a trail of crumbs - you heard soft, twinkling music coming from the living room as you passed it on your way to the elevators. Pausing to listen, you recognized it as guitar and wondered which of the guitarists were playing, given that Nathan was the only band member who couldn't. You wondered if Murderface had seen you head down and was trying to get your attention, a ploy he had used before, ending with your curiosity getting the best of you. You crept to the living room entrance to peek.

Skwisgaar sat on the sofa facing you, pale and glowing in the dim light coming from the arcade games. His eyes were closed as his fingers glided over the neck of his Gibson, his silky hair draping down his neck and naked shoulders. Seemingly dressed for bed, he was shirtless - though his guitar hid his midriff, to your disappointment - with a pair of black sweatpants on. He seemed lost in his music, strumming out a low melody with mastery.

Your breath caught as you took in the sight and you stood there silently, trying to photograph the moment in your mind, until you registered his expression.

Devastation.

His eyes were closed but tears were streaming down his gaunt cheeks, his quivering eyebrows were furrowed, and he was mouthing a song to himself, his full lips pale. He looked like a man at war with himself, lost and broken. The music was no longer soft and twinkling, it hung in the air like a funeral dirge.

As the past few days ran through your mind, every mention of Skwisgaar's childhood came back to you and all the pieces suddenly clicked into place. This wasn't a man lost, this was a man, once again, in his element. The grief and sickness he had been feeling all week was flowing out of his guitar like the tears from his eyes.

Feeling your own eyes prickling, you felt like this was too much, too personal, for you to see. But despite that, your heart ached and you were stepping forward before you registered the motion. "Skwisgaar?"

#metalocalypse #metalocalypse fanfic #skwisgaar skwigelf #skwisgaar skwielf x reader #dethklok #i wanted it to be 5 times you interrupt skwisgaar and the last one was gonna end in a kiss but i'm slow #i got stubby slow fingers donts fuckin looks at me #if you have ever seen hozier live i tried to capture that in the recording booth #timeline is weird because i wrote this before debating if my fics take place between s3 and s4 still dont know!!!! enjoy!!!

[soulmate-game]

Can you do a prompt of Marinette being the daughter of the Joker and Harley but Harley left him before Marinette was born and when Joker found out about his daughter He decided to kidnap Marinette so she can become like him (Ace chemicals) (Daminette)

Woot, my first ask in a while! Let’s see how I can do this oddly specific ask that reminds me of a fic that might actually exist but tbh I’ve read so many fanfics idk if my brain is remembering right

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette knew Sabine and Tom weren’t her biological parents. She had known ever since she was eight, when her mother by blood visited her for the first time, sat her down, and explained everything. Including, but not limited to, her disastrously toxic past relationship, her new girlfriend, and her recent success with long term rehab (unofficial rehab that mostly consisted of illegal anti-hero actions, but hey if it worked it worked).

Marinette understood. Well no, she really didn’t since she was only eight, but she understood that her mom— that Harley— was genuine. She had always had a knack for emotions and telling when people were sincere or not. And Harley really was regretful about not being in her life beforehand, and was serious about wanting to be part of her life now that her own was mostly sorted out.

So Marinette was not surprised when Harley really did stick it out. When Harley cooed over Marinette copying her hairstyle to show her support of her biological mom, when Harley never failed to call at least once a week even if she was in jail for punching some asshole or another. Harley never stayed arrested long anymore, she was usually found to be on the right side of the moral scale more and more often so the police didn’t bother keeping her locked up anymore. Through the years, Marinette always looked forward to her mom’s calls. Looked forward to being lulled to sleep by one crazy story or another from her mother’s past. Everything was nice. Perfect, even, for a while.

A thump sounded from her balcony, one late night when Marinette was thirteen. Blinking, the dark haired girl furrowed her brows. Who would be on her balcony? Cautiously walking towards the trap door leading to it, grasping her metal pencil holder as a weapon (she remembered all of her Mom’s stories about break-ins and random attacks back in Gotham), the teen strained her ears. Akuma attacks were only a few months old now, but she had already become in high alert for any sign of Hawkmoth or his victims. As per usual, Marinette’s paranoia began to kick in. Did Hawkmoth already figure her out? Was he here for her earrings? Would she be able to fight him?

She gently pushed up the trap door, catching a glimpse of black leather. Huh? Marinette narrowed her eyes, confused. Was it Chat? He should have been on patrol, on the other side of the city. What was he doing visiting her?

Suddenly the trap door yanked the rest of the way open, making Marinette yelp as the handle for it rugged away from her fingers. And there, backlit by the pure blue-white moonlight, was Not Chat Noir. It was Catwoman, in all her skintight black leather glory, grinning at her before pushing her cat-eye goggles up to the top of her head and crouching down by the trap door’s entrance, balancing only on the pads of her feet.

“Well hello there~” the woman purred. “So you’re the cute little kitten Harley is so secretive about. Nice to finally meet you,” the woman held out a hand, sending Marinette a sweet, if mysterious, smile. For a while, the pigtailed girl only stared before a squeal of excitement left her throat, leaving very little room for any doubt as to her bloodline. A large smile curled over Marinette’s lips, leaving her beaming widely at the catlike woman on her balcony.

“Auntie Selina! Mom’s told me so much about you! Come in, come in, come in! I’ll sneak some macaroons up for you. Or do you prefer croissants? What’s your favorite flavor? Are you really dating Batman? Oh my goodness, that necklace is so lovely! Did you steal it?”

Selina could only chuckle fondly at the word vomit, letting the smaller girl drag her down the trap door and into her very… pink room. Looking around, Selina was once again slapped with just how similar this kid was to her outgoing friend. Marinette clearly had no shame in indulging in the things she liked, such as the color pink and anything regarding fashion. But there were other things amongst the girliness of the room, like the posters of Jagged Stone and the training dummy half-sticking out of her closet door. There were a few ornamental knives hung up behind her computer, seemingly just for decoration although Selina could see that they were definitely battle ready and sharpened. A small mallet, clearly a miniature replica of her mother’s own signature weapon, leaned up against the side of the girl’s laundry basket. But then there was Marinette’s mannequin, which was surrounded by meticulously cut pieces of cloth and had other pieces pinned to it strategically. Marinette clearly had the same professionalism and love for her chosen career that had so completely defined Harley in the Time Before Joker. The same genius intellect hiding in those deceptively cheerful bluebell eyes. And for the first time, though not for the last to be sure, Selina found herself thoroughly relieved that it seemed Marinette had inherited very little from her father.

Except, as she would learn from stories Harley told her later, an apparent affinity for chaos.

“I’m not that picky, kitten. But I’m not that hungry, so don’t go too out of your way,” Selina decided to just react the same way she did with Harley’s rambles, and answer one question at a time. “Also, I am actually dating Bruce Wayne. But, if you promise not to tell anyone—“ she waited for Marinette’s eager nod before continuing casually, “— the two are maybe not as mutually exclusive as many think,” Selina finished with a conspiratorial wink. “No, I actually did not steal this necklace. Bruce has been adamant in trying to curb me of my thieving habit by buying me almost everything I so much as glance at sideways. It’s sweet. Naive, because I like stealing for the fun of it, but sweet.”

Marinette giggled, bouncing in place happily. She loved a bit of innocent gossip like this. “Is Momma Ivy ever gonna visit? I don’t think Mom told her much about me yet, and I still gotta give her the shovel talk!” the fierce look that overcame Marinette’s face made Selina laugh again. Oh yes, definitely her mother’s daughter.

“Pam has been trying to sneak over, but the laws regarding Metahumans in Paris suddenly got much stricter a few months back and have caused some problems. You wouldn’t happen to know what happened, would you?” Selina did not miss when her seemingly innocent question caused her niece to close off almost instantly. Bluebell eyes took on a familiar guardedness, and scanned her with the same soul-searching intensity that Harley had when she was channeling her Psychiatrist side. Selina found herself in a slightly concerning spot though—

Because she couldn’t predict Marinette at all. She was left to simply stand there as Marinette searched for some unidentifiable thing in her eyes, completely unable to read the younger girl’s face and with no idea of what to expect. The side effect of having chaos so thoroughly entwined in both of her biological parents, she supposed.

“Nope, no idea.”

Selina knew that was a lie, but knew equally as well that she would not be getting a better answer anytime soon. So, she let it go and the two of them once again dipped into innocent chatter.

Later that night, when Selina left and the sun threatened to rise at any minute, Tikki flew up from her hiding spot under Marinette’s pillow to land on her holder’s shoulder. Marinette giggled and looked over at her little friend.

“Tikki?”

“Yes, Mari?”

“Why was I chosen to be your holder?” She asked suddenly, flopping back into her bed and staring at her ceiling. The little goddess hummed, smiling knowingly before flying down to cuddle in the crook of Marinette’s neck.

“Because you are born from luck itself. Even when bad things happen, you have the luck and determination to get out just fine, and stronger than before. And despite the destruction and anarchy in your blood, you have the willpower to reign it in and keep control of yourself. That’s all order really is, Marinette. The decision to take all the chaos and madness around us, and make it make sense. Make it do something good. And that’s a large part of who you are, I could feel it in your soul the moment we first met.”

Marinette closed her eyes, biting the inside of her cheek. “What if I lose control?”

“... You’ll just have to get it back. It’ll be hard, but as long as you have people to support you, you will be able to do it. You aren’t evil, Marinette,” the small God seemed to sense the true question her holder was asking, and did her best to soothe the doubt the girl felt. “Just remember the reasons you fight against chaos. Remember everyone you love, and you’ll be okay. And you have me, I’ll always help you.”

“... thank you, Tikki.”

—*—*—*—*—*

“He’s going to find out, Mom.”

“No he won’t, don’t be silly! I’ve been very careful about hiding you from him, Nettie-pie.”

“Mom… I just have a bad feeling. I don’t think we can hide who I am from him. If he sees me, I think he’ll know.”

The phone went silent.

“If he hurts you, I’ll kill him. If I was crazy about him, Sugar, then I’m head over heels for you. Not even he can stop me from caving his skull in if he tries his usual tricks with you.”

“... My plane leaves soon, I’ll talk to you when I land. And mom?”

“Yeah, honeycake?”

“I love you.”

—*—*—*—*—*

It was uncanny just how often Marinette’s hunches were right. Her intuition was something to behold, truly, because it only took three days in Gotham before Joker snatched her right out of her room at Harley and Ivy’s apartment. At least Marinette had sixteen by then, so she had had enough experience as a hero in Paris and with generally unpredictable situations and people who were absolutely nuts for her to not immediately panic. Too much, anyway.

Because there was definitely a little panic there.

See, Marinette knew herself inside out by then. After her own battle with her toxic feelings towards Adrien and doing her best to heal from those before she turned out like her mom, she knew she was by no means mentally indestructible. Mental illness ran the high risk of being inherited, and Marinette was well aware that her own personality was scarily similar to her mother’s at times. She got attached quickly, felt affection and love for others very strongly and, as she found with Adrien, could easily become obsessive if she didn’t watch herself. At least Harley was the perfect person to help with that, and Marinette was serious about helping herself too. She did everything she could to keep an eye on her mental health and keep her behavior in check so she didn’t do anything too unhealthy with her relationships again.

But she knew, she knew she had a soft spot for family. She got attached too easily. And being in the same room as her biological father, despite being tied up by her hands and feet and knowing just how many unforgivable things he had done in his life, Marinette felt vulnerable. She didn’t want to hurt him, despite everything. She still loved him, despite every reason not to, despite her first meeting with him being with him shoving chloroform over her face and hogtying her to a metal chain dangling over a vat of acid.

Geez, she’d need more than just her mom as a therapist after this for sure. Even if her mom had a PH.D, Marinette felt like she’d need several psychiatrists to sort through her emotional turmoil right then and make sense of any of it.

Marinette licked her lips, aware that the only kindness that Joker gave his daughter was sparing her from the discomfort of being gagged.

“Don’t,” Marinette said, surprising herself with the amount of steel she was able to put into her voice. Somehow, she managed to make the single word sound more like an order than a plead. “Joker, put me—“

“Ah-Ah-Ah!” The clown walked over, tutting and waving his finger in the air in almost playful admonishment. He gave her a dramatically fake pout. “Don’t you know it’s disrespectful to refer to your father by his first name?” Neither of them mentioned that Joker was definitely not his real name. They both knew the point was moot. “Say it with me now— ‘Daddy dearest, I am more than willing to be dunked in acid for you,’ go ahead, say it.”

Marinette’s jaw clenched. Familial love or not, she would not tolerate being ridiculed like that. She dealt with enough ridicule when she was fourteen and fifteen during school, before she put Liar Rossi in her place. She had spent the past three years as a hero in charge of the war against Hawkmoth, in charge of protecting all of Paris from an emotional terrorist.

And gee, wasn’t that what Joker was, too? Sure, he was a terrorist in the classic meaning of the word as well, but he was nothing if not a skilled manipulator. He knew the human mind just as well as Harley or any other psychiatrist did, he just used his knowledge for different means. He had emotionally abused Harley for years, he emotionally abused and manipulated people all across gotham on a daily basis. He was just another Hawkmoth, but with more physical violence in place of magic.

With these thoughts strengthening her resolve, Marinette narrowed her eyes at the man who donated half of her DNA. She let her anger boil into her irises, hitting him with one of the few traits she knew she inherited from him.

Her ability to intimidate others on the tip of a hat.

“No,” she growled back at him. She took a deep breath. It had taken her a while, but she refused to be ashamed of who she was regardless of her blood relation. She would have no problem using the very things she inherited from Joker against him. She might have gotten most of Harley’s personality, she might have inherited her mother’s habit of falling in love hard, fast, and obsessively, but she also had Joker’s defiance. His bone-deep inability to be stopped from doing exactly whatever the fuck he wanted.

And then, there were Marinette’s own traits. The ones that were completely her own, developed over her life organically. Like her refusal to bow down to bullies, her creativity, her ability to take even the most chaotic situation and see some sort of balance and sanity in it that she could use to her advantage.

That she WOULD use to her advantage. The shadows she saw move out of the corner of her eye gave her the chance to do exactly that, she just needed to buy a few more seconds. Just a few more seconds.

“Excuse me?” Joker growled right back, his own intimidation, honed over more years than Marinette had been alive and thus much more potent than her own, reading its ugly head as he stalked towards her. His face was pulled down into an ugly snarl, his shoulders tensed and back straight as he glared right at her. From his spot on the metal walkway, he was easily able to reach over the railing and grab her chin in one pale, viciously strong hand. “I think you’re misunderstanding something here, little Marionette. I’m your father. Half of your life came directly from ME. That makes you my puppet. You exist to follow my orders,” his right grip suddenly let go, leaving behind the beginnings of a bruise as his entire demeanor changed from angry to cheerful. He spread his arms as if gesturing to the whole chemical plant victoriously, and an unnaturally large smile curved over his lips and bared yellowing teeth at her. “But that’s okay. I’ll forgive you this time, you haven’t learned any better yet. That’s why we’re here. We need to cleanse you of all those icky bad habits you’ve learned up until now, all you need is a little,” he bounced in place with a wicked smirk to illustrate his next words— “jumpstart. A little acid goes a long way to enlightenment you know, you’ll see my side of things in no time. And with my blood in you, you’ll make a better sidekick than that idiot Harley ever did. I can sense it, you’ve got a real talent for Chaos in you, it’s exciting, Heheeeheheee! Now then, we should probably speed things along before our family reunion is cut short. Hang in there, my little Marionette,” the man actually had the gall to spin in place while humming a tune cheerfully before all but dancing over to the lever that held Marinette’s length of chain in the air over the vat of chemicals below her. “Everything will clear up in that little head of yours in just a second!”

There! Right as Joker pulled the switch to lower her into the bubbling vat underneath her, Marinette was able to finish untying her hands. She couldn’t contain a small yelp as gravity flung her body forward, leaving her upside down on the chain for a brief moment. That was when the chain started lowering rapidly, and Marinette was barely able to rip the rope off of her ankles in time to swing off of it and onto the metal walkway that came up right next to the giant metal container of liquid death and insanity. Joker had barely enough time to shout in rage before the windows near the ceiling shattered, admitting the city’s vigilantes themselves. Batman, Nightwing, Red Robin, Red Hood, Robin, and evening Black Bat all landed on the same metal platform above Marinette’s head that Joker was still on, buying the teen time to start running. But she didn’t go towards the exit right away, instead heading right up the stairs into the thick of the fight. Robin briefly separated from where Joker was managing to hold his own, goons flooding from side doors to inhibit the heroes in their attempt to bring their boss down.

The katana-using vigilante kept one eye on Marinette the whole time, suspicious of why the girl would come back up if not to help her father. But that wasn’t what she did, instead she flipped and kicked and punched her way through the quickly growing sea of Joker thugs until she reached a small pink purse that had been abandoned near the lever that had nearly sent her into liquid insanity. Three thugs surrounded her right as she snatched the purse up and slung it over her shoulder, but Robin barely had the chance to head over before she was heaving the men, who were all easily three times her size, over her shoulder and was slamming elbows into soft spots and the side of her hand into pressure points. By the time Robin got to her side, all three men were unconscious and bound to wake up in utter agony.

Marinette glanced up, getting ready to haul Robin over her shoulder as well before she realized who he was. She let her shoulders relax just a tick, sighing in relief before returning her eyes to scanning their surroundings. She shot him a brief grin.

“Good thing my adoptive mother, Mom, Momma Ivy, and Auntie Selina all made sure I knew how to take down a small army on my own, huh?” She asked rhetorically before they were both unceremoniously dragged back into the giant brawl.

—*—*—*—*—*

“Nettie-pie!”

“Marigold!”

Harley and Pamela Quinzel-Isley shoved down anyone and everyone who dared block their direct path to their daughter. The girl of the hour stood next to the bat clan, a shock blanket held tightly around her shoulders as she did her best to finish her statement to both the vigilantes and Commissioner Gordon.

“You untied yourself… from a ship-grade knot in high quality rope… with a phone charm?” They heard Gordon ask incredulously, to which Marinette could only give a lopsided smile. That was when her mom and stepmom crashed into her, enveloping her in a nearly suffocating hug.

“Gah— mom— momma Ivy—“ Marinette flailed in their arms for a bit before finally getting her head free and continuing her statement as if she didn’t have two of the most dangerous women in the city still giving her a bone crushing hug. “That’s better. Yes, Commissioner. You see, I realized when I was in the car with Joker, while I was pretending to still be unconscious, that one of the charms on my phone had pretty sharp corners that I could use like a serrated edge if I had enough time. So I carefully detached it from my phone, and held it in my palm. It took almost an hour, but once Joker noticed I was awake I kept him talking so that he didn’t notice what I was doing even as he tied me up to that chain. Really, it’s just lucky that I was able to get it worn down in time,” Marinette rubbed the back of her neck with a nervous chuckle. “But regardless, I think Batman and his partners,” she nodded to the listening vigilantes just to the side of her. “Were close enough that I would have been caught anyway, I just wanted to make sure they had less work to do. The sooner I freed myself, the sooner ‘Daddy Dearest,’” she grimaced as she mockingly used the same term Joker had tried to get her to say earlier that night. “Could go back behind bars where he belongs.”

“Oh my little Nettie-cake,” Harley cried, finally pulling back from the hug long enough to wipe her cheeks. It was clear that she had been crying for a while, and her colorful pigtails were mussed and tangled from where she must have been tugging on them in worry. “You were right. I’m so sorry, I never should have let you come to Gotham when I knew he was out of Arkham.”

Marinette was quick to shake her head frantically, pulling her arms out of Ivy’s hold so she could grasp Harley’s shoulders firmly. “No. No, Mom, I’m fine! And besides, we knew I couldn’t stay secret forever. I really like staying with you and Momma Ivy! Everything turned out fine though, and he’s headed back to Arkham. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay, Nettle,” Pam argued, distracting herself by running her hands through Marinette’s bangs. She had only known the girl for two years, but that was more than long enough for her to consider the teenager as her own. “He took you right out from under our noses. You were supposed to be safe in our home, and he still got to you. That’s not okay. We weren’t able to protect you like we should have been. Maybe you should go back to Paris early.”

“What?! No way!” Marinette argued, eyes wide. “This is the first time I’ve been able to ever visit you guys in Gotham, I’m not letting some psycho sperm donor keep me from enjoying time with my family! I came here knowing full well that it was dangerous. I’m not gonna just run away after one bad experience.”

Harley snorted, and then devolved into uncontrollable giggles. “Heh— psycho sperm donor. Good one, sugar!”

Marinette smiled and rolled her eyes good naturedly at her mom’s usual immature antics. Seeing as Gordon had walked away muttering to himself a short while ago, Marinette pulled herself the rest of the way away from her moms and turned to the vigilantes. Without a second’s pause, she bowed to them just like her Maman Sabine taught her.

“Thank you for helping save me. I know it’s probably a shock that I’ve been kept secret from you guys all this time, but I hope you don’t lump me in with the likes of the green-haired half of my DNA. I’m staying with my Moms in their apartment, if you guys decide to patrol by our place like I suspect, I’ll leave some baked goods and coffee out for you on our patio. It’s the least I can do for you all after tonight. And don’t be too hard on Auntie Selina. Me and Mom swore her to secrecy, even from you guys.”

Batman jerked a little at the mention of Catwoman’s real name, jaw twitching for a second. Behind his cowl, his eyes narrowed. Marinette laughed, easily reading his body language and expression.

“She never told me who you are, but she didn’t exactly hide it either. It was easy to put the last pieces together on my own. But don’t worry, SHE swore me to secrecy too. I won’t tell anyone.

“How the hell are you related to the Laughing Asswipe from Hell?” Red Hood blurted out, his confusion clear even from behind his hideous helmet. Marinette burst into giggles, and both Pamela and Harley smiled knowingly.

“Mom gave me up for adoption when I was born, so I spent my whole life in Paris up until now,” she admitted. “Mom didn’t visit me for the first time until I was eight, and she and my adoptive parents are so awesome that it must’ve suffocated the worst traits from his DNA before they had a chance to develop,” she guessed out loud with a good natured smile.

Batman grunted. Marinette knew that one run-in wasn’t enough for them to trust her. After all, she was still the biological daughter of their arch enemy. But she didn’t mind, she understood the caution even if she didn’t fully agree with it. They weren’t outright hostile, despite the fact that Robin had never stopped glaring at her since they fought back-to-back against the mob of thugs earlier. She could live with their suspicion, as long as they continued to not be outright rude or mean to her.

At least she could empathize with Adrien now, whenever she figured out how to break it to him that Hawkmoth was definitely Gabriel and couldn’t be anyone else. Hopefully she could help soften the blow for him a little.

Harley and Ivy were starting to herd Marinette towards their car and take her back home, where they could continue to smother her in care and make sure she didn’t have even a scratch on her, when Robin’s voice stopped them all in their tracks.

“You are a surprisingly capable combatant.”

Marinette froze, blinking in surprise for a second before turning to stare at Robin in shock. The rest of the Bat Clam was doing the same, nobody expecting Robin of all people to be the first to directly complement Marinette. He tutted, crossing his arms, but never moved his gaze away from Marinette’s eyes.

“But your form could use some work. Most of your style is incredibly improvised, which I can appreciate since you do it well, but you would benefit from more structure in your fighting. I will set up a time and place for us to spar. We start in two days, if you think you can handle it.”

It took a while for what Robin said to sink in, and another few seconds for Marinette to decipher what his semi-aggressive, order-phrased proposal really meant. And she smiled.

“It’s a date.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Woo! This started off a little rough, but I really like how it ended up! Thank you, Anon!

#ml x dc #maribat #mlb x dc #eventual daminette #pre daminette #daminette #Bio!dad joker #bio!mom Harley Quinn #Joker Sucks #Request #Oneshot #Fanfiction #crossover

[burnedbyshoto]

I wanted to make myself like the ravine

— There are plenty of things that Hawks knows about, but there are few he knows none about. A journey of how Hawks navigates the meaning of the word love. 

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pairing: hawks (takami keigo) x fem!reader

warnings: recent manga spoilers, future!au, alcohol consumption, fem!reader

word count: 6,819

a/n: this is for the pocuties valentines day collab! rhank you for letting me join! inspired by the poem to the title of this fic!

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A G A P E

—

Hawks is one of the fastest men in the world.

It’s not a brag; it’s the truth.

A cold, hard, damning truth.

Hawks is a Pro Hero with the power, skill, and finesse required to take the fall for the entire country. He is someone who is loved by all, who thrives off of the appreciation and the cheers, but he knows — he understands — he’s expendable. He’s a tool—an object seconds from being put to rest.

There are many things that Hawks knows; he’s been training to be a hero since he was in his very childhood. Blindfolded, tested and conditioned to be the ideal hero, the perfect pawn.

Hawks is no idiot, and he will never deny that often times that he isn’t sure what he is feeling.

Emotions are weird for him. Feelings are oversimplified in everything he was taught, yet disgustingly really and oddly interfering the second he had set foot into the spotlight. He was used to the cold, the people who would view him as a specimen, experiment 20493, codenamed: Fierce Winged Hawks. The only emotions he understood was apathy, seriousness, anger, resentment, bitterness, disappointment, and relief. When finally, finally, the Hero Commission broke his wings, his spine, and his mind, the small boy so eager to be a Hero ultimately nothing but a soldier, ready to follow commands to the T.

Hawks has only heard of love from the blurry, unclear memories of his childhood. His mother muttering how she had no love for him to be taking care of him as he did, or his father saying he could never love him. Love was foreign, strange, alien to him. Even when he was eighteen and finally given a bit of freedom from the chains the Hero Commission bound him in was expressed out of love. But he was put into the cage that granted him the ability to spread his stiff wings; love made no sense.

He saw lovers making out in alleyways, and he furrowed his eyebrows, wondering just why anyone would want to kiss in the smelly, dark, virus-infected areas. He saw his colleagues come in looking dazed, refreshed, reborn, yelling loudly, and singing poetry about their love for some other person they met just yesterday. He also couldn’t ignore the days, weeks, months later when they would rearrive with red-rimmed eyes, swollen eyes, and a tremor to their voice.

Love seemed… awful to Hawks.

Love was a deception of brain chemicals. Nothing more than your mind bending, flipping, and twisting to make something that made absolutely no sense make sense. 

Hawks had expressed that one day to a sidekick of his, his barriers and walls crumbling away because he had been on a stakeout for five days straight now. The world that could never keep up with him was numbing his brain.

“Well, that’s romantic and flirtatious love for ya,” his sidekick explained with a halfhearted shrug. It seemed that he both agreed and disagreed with what Hawks had to say. “They’re amazing loves, don’t get it wrong, and they definitely don’t make sense, but they’re loves not meant to last.”

Hawks blinked.

“What?”

His sidekick chuckled, hands rubbing at his eyes as he peered out the window again, his sullen eyes looking even more tired.

“Have you never learned the different types of love before, Hawks?” the sidekick teased as much as he was curious. “I figured a pro as popular and smart as you are would know the different types of love.”

Hawks feathers fluttered in his inability to keep his lack of knowledge to himself.

“I don’t.”

“Wow, finally something Hawks isn’t aware of!” the sidekick laughed, and his hand opened his phone, fingers hitting the screen before shoving the device into Hawks’ chest. “I’m sure you’ll find that you can understand at least one love.”

Hawks grabbed the phone, head cocking to the side in his curiosity as he scrolled down through the phone.

There were eight different types.

Eight different ones that he could have experienced within his then twenty-one years, and he found himself unable to look away from one.

Agape: universal, selfless love

“Hawks, they’re moving!” the sidekick squawked, and Hawks handed over the phone, and with nothing on his mind, burst out the window, ready to take down this organization.

Hawks had to admit that later that night, when he was finally able to sleep in his own bed, he felt selfless love. It was for the people of Japan. The many citizens who needed his help and the heroes of the country who rose to the demands of the job. Maybe it wasn’t the type of love depicted in anything he’s ever read or watched before, but that was okay. It was love.

The love he has for the citizens is enough to keep his head afloat.

This is the only love he needs in his life right now, the only love that matters.

But he’s no longer twenty-one, he’s twenty-five, and the wings on his back that feel practically invisible to him, are hurting. His back is in pain, his quirk almost gone, save for the smallest, insignificant feathers perching from the stumps of what was his beginnings of a wingspan. It still burns, phantom singes and phantom heat whenever he thinks about his nearly gone, never to be grown again, wings.

“Well, Hawks, you already know that this is going to happen,” comes the cold voice of one of the board members of the Hero Commission. A man who had practically raised (see managed) him. 

Today was the end of Hawks life, more or less.

“AFO, Shigaraki Tomura, and the well-known former members of the League of Villains were finally stopped,” Hawks speaks with a nod. He knows, even though he could not be a soldier, he had been around to see the young UA students, Endeavors Interns, bring them to justice.

The biggest names of evil were dead, and Hawks already knew he was over.

To be fair, he was glad it was over.

But still, it hurt to hear the indifference in his voice, the apathy, the tedium.

“Operation: Fierce Wings - Hawks is officially over.”

“I could’ve figured that one out pretty easily,” Hawks jests, unable to show the way his heart twisted and withered under the knowledge that he was no longer a hero. His love, his agape, for the people were still there. Still, just as he recognized in his colleagues who were experiencing the different forms of love, it didn’t matter how much love you held for someone, something, for the innocent, helpless people…

Life takes, it destroys, and love doesn’t seem to have a chance.

“Thank you for your twenty years of service. I hope you find the freedom you had been looking for.”

P H I L A U T I A

It’s been a week.

Seven days, twenty-one hours, sixteen minutes, and thirty-four seconds since Hawks was fired (see Honorably Discharged) as a Pro Hero.

Hawks has always felt that the world moved oh so slowly behind him. It had been his wish that heroes be able to relax, laze around because society had evolved enough that criminals knew better, were treated better, and could integrate into a truly peaceful society.

It had been his dream.

But right now, he was bored.

B o r e d.

“Fuck, I don’t care,” Hawks grumbled, face smooshing into a pillow as he watched the Netflix Series Bridgerton drone on the screen. “Dump his ass.”

His apartment, it was safe to say, was a mess. There were cups, bowls, plates, and chopsticks everywhere. His hair was ruffled, stringy, held back by a hair clip he had stolen from Miruko. His beard was nearly fully grown in, and there were bags under his eyes despite the fact he was sleeping for more hours of the day than staying awake. He was sore, tired, bored.

So bored.

He didn’t think being bored was going to suck this much, going to hurt him like this.

Fuck.

“Open the damn door, bird boy!” came a sharp scream and powerful kick from the front door.

Hawks glared at the door, the tiniest of feathers he had been able to regrow, trying to pathetically open the lock on the door. A sheen layer of sweat pushed against his forehead, and Hawks grunted, trying to lift the heavy lock.

BAM.

The door swung open, forcefully kicked open by none other than Pro Hero Miruko.

“Yo!” Miruko waved, lips pulled in a fierce grin as she entered through the broken doorway with nothing but a bag of unknown items. “I figured you were here!”

“...you broke my door,” Hawks pointed out, eyes narrowed as dust and destruction danced within the air.

“You took too long,” Miruko breezed, slamming her plastic bag on the kitchen island. “It’s a fucking rats nest in here, birdbrain; I thought you were somewhat organized?”

Hawks groaned loudly, sinking further into his couch as Miruko began reorganizing his kitchen area — dumping the dirty dishes into the sink and throwing things away in fast, practiced skill. “Life is too boring, and I’m too bored to do anything about all of the mess,” Hawks exaggerates partially, hand twisting and dancing as he speaks. “Thanks for cleaning up the mess.”

“I’m not cleaning up your damn mess, birdbrain,” Miruko barks out a laugh, her hands slamming against the now, somehow, clean surface. “I’m just making my life easier!”

Hawks looked over the top of the couch with a semi impressed, semi uncaring look and shrugged.

“You seem to have a great handle over those robot limbs now,” he points out.

Sure enough, Miruko had two bionic limbs, limbs that she had finally managed to work into a fighting career. After spending two years on the sideline, relearning how to walk and then fight, she was back on the field.

She was a hero again, despite it all, unlike him.

“Damn right, I’m amazing!” Miruko preened, chest puffed, and bunny tail wagging excitedly. “But anyway, I figured your dumbass would be depressed, so I brought you some shit.”

Hawks watched with a curious gaze as Miruko quickly hopped once from where she was in the kitchen to a place on his couch, landing on Hawks' legs unintentionally.

“OW!”

“Look at what Rumi brought you,” Miruko laughed, slapping Hawks on the back as he cradled his legs. “And yes, I just referred to myself in the third person, so shush.”

Hawks grumbled, lips in a half pout, half frown.

Taking the opaque bag from Miruko, Hawks pulled out the many items in the bag.

Carrots, a KFC gift card, Korean skincare products, a movie about Miruko’s recovery process, and a 1001 Things to Do (A Book on Finding Self Love).

Hawks stares at the book.

“The perfect items for a self-care, self-love spa day,” Miruko nods, once again slapping Hawks on the back. “Some old sidekick of yours told me that you don’t know what love is, so I figured that I would help teach you the most important one! Self-love! Truly the hardest one to master, in my opinion, but damn if it isn’t a good one.”

Hawks feels transfixed almost, unable to look away from the book as Miruko slaps him on the back yet again as she moves to leave. He hears her yelling about forwarding the bill to fix his door to her, her agency would pay for the damage, and how she’s off to train with some bunny hopping boy from UA.

Opening the book, Hawks looked at the number one thing to do on the book and sighed.

#1: Look in a mirror and name five things you LOVE about yourself.

Well, it’s not like he has anything better to do.

-

Hawks is on number thirteen (Stand at a bridge and scream into the void about the things you love at dusk) when he realizes that maybe… he doesn’t love himself. 

It is without saying that he loves people; agape, after all, is the only love type that made sense to him, but philautia, self-love, was way lost on him. Objectives 2 - 12 on the book were entertaining to do! They had Hawks going outside of his house much more than his week trapped indoors, and for the first time since the day his wings had been burnt off, his house was spotless.

But it was clear to Hawks that he didn’t feel love for himself.

Whenever he tried to convince himself that he should love himself, that there were terrific qualities in himself, he thought back to the dirty, burnt room. 

“I still gotta protect their happiness!” the phantom in his mind screamed, the broken sob collected in his throat.

Hawks shivered, unable to let himself recognize the pain and hurt in the phantom's eyes, or the way that he now wished he had never done that… why had he done that?

What a mess…

The small chirping of Hawks phone interrupts his morose thoughts. He looks at the screen, eyebrows raising in slight mirth and caution as none other than his former intern was currently calling him.

“Tsukuyomi-kun!” Hawks laughs into the receiver, the weight of his past for a moment forgotten. “How are ya?!”

“Hello, Hawks-sensei,” Tokoyami’s calm tone fills Hawks' ears. “I was calling because I have a request to make.”

“Name it,” Hawks spoke immediately, slouching against the cold bars of the bridge, eyes closing as he tried to relax. “You need a letter of rec or something?”

“Nothing of the sort, actually,” Tokoyami says. “We third-year students are graduating in a few days; I was inquiring if you would attend on my behalf.”

“Wow, Tsukuyomi-kun, no need to be so formal with me!” Hawks laughed delightedly, his hands carting through his feather-like hair, “I’d love to come and watch you guys graduate! Is it true that the finger-smashing boy is the valedictorian?”

“That would be false, Midoriya-kun has nothing on Yaoyorozu-san.”

“What a bummer, you’d think he’d be first after how he helped win the war for us, huh?”

“You’ll find that Yaoyorozu-san is highly gifted and undeterred by most things,” Tokoyami sighed. For a moment, Hawks chuckled at the melancholy tone to his old intern's voice. It sounded as if he had been striving with great difficulty to reach the highest marks as well. 

Hawks began speaking to his rather odd ex-intern with great curiosity with the blanket of the night surrounding him. His defenses and thoughts whittling away the more they spoke, the later it got in the morning.

“Ne, Tokoyami-kun, I have a question?”

“Concerning what?”

Hawks pauses, his brows furrowing as he looks up into the still dark sky, “Do you know how to love yourself?”

Silence.

Had it been anyone else, Hawks would have panicked at the lack of noise. Still, his already less than chatty intern typically took to not speaking much to begin with.

“Self-love is difficult,” Tokoyami finally spoke, his words slow, carefully chosen. “We humans are flawed; we all have demons. Most of the time, we only recognize and see our demons, oftentimes forgetting that being human also means being weak and at times immoral. Loving oneself is a hard task because we know ourselves better than any other. It’s a work in progress for everyone to love oneself, it's a type of love by the Ancient Greeks, but it’s not always everpresent. One must accept all flaws to love oneself, and remember that flaws don’t make you less, even if you believe otherwise.”

“...wow, I asked for a sentence answer, and you gave me a speech. Who would’ve known you were so in check with your emotions, Tokoyami!”

“You knew, I’ve already revealed this side of me before. You laughed last time too.”

Hawks finds himself home thirty minutes later, and he stares up at the ceiling, fingers drumming against his chest.

Self-love… it seems like an ever-evolving type of love, but it’s there. He knows that even if he has regrets and hardships and things he hates about himself, deep down, self-love exists and that it will exist. 

Patience.

Even the fastest man in the world could demonstrate patience.

L U D U S

“What can I get for ya?”

“I have no idea honestly, do you have any recommendations?”

Hawks could say with complete honesty that he felt entirely out of place.

He was at a local bar. The bar was semi-busy today. Most young adults dressed in an arrangement of clothes, each on a different level of soberness as they cheered to this and that. 

Why was he at a bar even though he was slightly uncomfortable? Well, you can blame #73 in the book for that.

(#73: Enter the first bar you find, order a drink, and flirt!)

“What type of liquor do you like? Hard or soft?”

Hawks blinked; he didn’t know.

“Hard?”

The bartender looked a bit unsure of him for a bit before nodding and turning his back to him.

Did hard liquor mean he was going to get an iced drink? He’s never consumed alcohol before.

“Here you go!” the bartender sang, slamming two shot glasses before him. “Two shots of Bacardi.”

“Oh, thank you?” Hawks tilted his head as a small cup of OJ was placed in front of him (“That’s your chaser,” the bartender had laughed). Bringing the small glass shot glass up, Hawks looked around at the throngs of people surrounding the bar and looked at you. You were cheering loudly as you raised your own shot glass in the air with a whoop and, in a fast, fluid motion, brought the shot glass to your mouth and took the liquid down easily. Hawks was definitely unimpressed now; that looked entirely too easy. “Here we go, cheers to me.”

Imitating your own actions, Hawks shot back the liquid in his shot glass, and immediately his entire body tensed.

EW.

NO.

EW.

OH GOD, NO!

Spitting out the sour, bitter, disgusting — dear god, how do you even describe this taste?! — liquid, Hawks, chugged the OJ, his lungs and throat and tongue burning from the shot.

“That was disgusting!” Hawks spat to absolutely no one, his hands covering his mouth as he stared at the other awaiting shot of ‘Bacardi.’ “Why would anyone drink that?!”

“Only madmen drink Bacardi while sober,” a voice joined in on Hawks' one-sided conversation. “Or bitches who are self-sabotagers. Never trust a hoe who says Bacardi is their favorite drink.”

Hawks turned around to see you, the girl he had regrettably underestimated for taking the shot, smiling at him with a not entirely sober look to your face. 

“You look like neither. That and the way you took the shot obviously means that you had no idea what you were drinking.” Hawks continued to stare at you, completely perplexed by your casual conversation, the dress on your body that was twisted a bit, screaming wonders about your level of sobriety. You took to the empty barstool beside him with a grin and a calculating look, “You’re Hawks, right?”

“Yeah, Hawks,” he spoke, his tongue feeling weird in his mouth as he bowed stiffly in his chair. You were beautiful, fuck.

“I’m y/l/n, nice to meet you!” you speak easily, fingers grabbing at his other filled shot glass with a concerned look. “I have a feeling you shouldn’t try to take this other shot.”

“Dying of alcohol definitely isn’t in my vision of ways to go out,” Hawks grins. Pushing through his haze of awkwardness as you shift in the barstool so that you’re now facing him entirely, knees pressed to his thigh. “I’ve never actually drunk before?”

You inhale sharply, your eyes going wide as you break all levels of personal contact that’s acceptable of strangers in Japan and grab his cheeks.

“Alcohol virgin?!” you gasp, the sweet smell of some liquid drafting from your breath. “I’ll teach you everything that I know, don’t worry!”

You let go of his face, neck turning away from him, looking for the bartender to flag him down.

“Don’t you have—?”

“They can wait,” you wave at the bartender before turning back to Hawks with a confident grin on your face. “I have my favorite Pro Hero right beside me; I think they’ll understand.”

“Alright, what is it that I need to know?”

“My full name,” you breeze with a wink. “Y/l/n y/n.”

“A beautiful name.”

“I am a beautiful woman.”

Hawks chuckled good-naturedly, his head nodding in agreement, “I think we were talking about the alcohol, though, not your attraction as a female.”

“All in good time, all in good time,” you laugh, taking to the bartender and ordering two drinks, both of which were entirely foreign to Hawks.

Hawks would not consider himself to be an expert at flirting. He was attractive, a great conversationalist, and did have a type of edge to his words that often seemed playful or a warning, depending on how you looked at it. But it appeared that his natural way of speaking was more than enough to make him flirtatious enough to match the way you spoke to him.

You had introduced him to a single mixed drink, telling him that getting drunk by yourself at a bar typically wasn’t a smart thing, so keep to something with a low alcohol percentage. Just enough to make you loosen up, but not enough that you were incapable of getting home. Hawks liked the way your hand rested on his forearm. How you smiled and laughed at something to show your interest but not at everything to show that you weren’t faking your amusement at what he was saying.

You matched his every word, not backing down from his bluffs. Soon enough, Hawks felt his cheeks warm when he finally looked directly at your smiling face (he wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol or not). 

Eventually, though, the night ended, and you shimmied off the bar stool as your friends had come to collect you to leave.

“Can I get your number?” you ask, eyes mostly entirely sober as you handed him your phone. “I know you were the man who was just a bit too fast, but I think I can handle that.”

Hawks snorts, his eyes rolling in his amusement, “That was horrible.”

“I’m drunk, I have an excuse!” you exclaim with a pout that quickly turns into a giddy smile as Hawks enters his number to your phone. “Don’t worry though, once I’m sober, I’ll flirt your eyebrows clean off!”

“That sounds painful!” Hawks yells as you wave goodbye, your arms linked with a line of other girls as you leave the bar with teasing laughter and undecipherable words.

It was with you that Hawks realized that he had come to find a new type of love.

Ludus, the love of flirtation and playfulness.

Damn, who would’ve known.

P H I L I A

Hawks was having a pretty bad day.

It wasn’t anything super terrible happening, all things considered. It was a lovely day out; the sun was warm, the sky so blue, and the birds chirping. Nothing on the news to be concerned about and all his precious people were safe.

But it was still a bad day because instead of being out and about with you, his now borderline best friend/girlfriend, who he was stupidly having a crush on, he was stuck at home.

Hawks was sick.

Deliriously, stuffy nose, goopy eyed, chapped lips, and feverish sick.

You: Are you sure you’re fine????

Hawks: Im perfectly okay. Ill go with you to the park next time sorry

You: Thats not what im concerned about stupid!!!!!

Hawks: Bye have fun!

You: I knoW YOURE SICK ASSHOLE

Hawks chuckled, rereading his messages with you.

Blowing his nose for what felt like the umpteenth time, Hawks resumed the movie on the screen that you had recommended him to watch — Disney’s Chicken Little — because it reminded you of him, or something like that. The TV droned on with the movie, and Hawks found it hard to keep focused as the Sandman danced on his head and whispered in his ear.

He hadn’t noticed he had fallen asleep until a loud banging was heard on his door.

Shuffling towards the door, Hawks opened the still slightly broken door with bleary eyes and a stuffy nose.

In front of him was none other than you.

You… with a basket full of things.

“Hi!” you greeted him, pushing past Hawks easily and walking into his apartment. “You look worse than I thought you would be!”

“That's hurtful,” Hawks pouted, closing the door behind you, sneezing, then following after you. “Why are you here? I thought you w-were — achoo — going to the park?”

“I was, but we were supposed to go together to check off number 184, and I wasn’t about to go alone to complete a list meant for you!” you exclaimed, dumping the overfilled basket on the kitchen counter.

“Mm,” Hawks hummed, his voice dry and cracking as he pulled the blanket closer around him. “What’s this?”

“A get well care basket,” you say in an unmistakable like tone; you glance at him, smiling widely, and gesture dramatically to the basket. “Follow along, if you can.”

“Pfft.”

“So first, I have some sleepytime tea; I swear to the gods and back that this tea will cure you and knock you the fuck out,” you say, pulling out the thing on top of the basket and putting it to the side. “Next, we have some tissues because you obviously need them.”

“Hey!”

Hawks watched through red-rimmed eyes as you carefully and thoroughly explained what and why you had brought him. Fuzzy socks, a blanket, his favorite snacks and drinks, medicine, DVD’s to more movies you told him he had to watch, an embarrassing childhood picture of you that he had been wanting and swore he would never expose least he wants to die, more oils for his diffuser, and a signed Endeavor poster he had been wanting.

Safe to say that after he had been drugged up, eating some soup and drinking some tea on the couch, wrapped up in the blanket you had bought him, laying between your legs, Hawks was feeling much, much better. It had been hours since Hawks had coughed or sneezed, and he was talking with you about how Disney movies were being produced less and getting sort of worse with each one. The movie titan slowly losing its ground.

“Okay, it’s almost eleven pm; I have work tomorrow, you are still sick, let's pack it up!” you eventually say during a moment of comfortable silence.

“I can’t believe you have to work,” Hawks sniffled, standing up off the couch so that you could get up. “Seems like a crime.”

“It’s not so bad! Being a celebrity PR manager is a million times easier than a hero PR manager. At least we can help decide what's seen!” you laugh, helping to clean up his living room of the bags of chips and drinks.

“Sure, sure,” Hawks grins, keeping the trashcan open for you so that you could place the trash in. “Thank you.”

Walking you towards the front door, Hawks comes to the sudden and almost alarming realization that he doesn’t want you to leave. He wants you to stay. He thought this was a friendship, and it was one, a good one at that! For about a month now, he had known that there was a type of love he had for you, one of friendship.

It was called philia. 

So why did he want to keep you wrapped up in a hug, to pull you close and press a gentle kiss to your forehead, to your cheek, to your lips?

“—I’ll be back tomorrow to check up on you during my lunch break,” you say, slipping on your shoes as you pull on your jacket. “If you need anything at all, call or text—”

The words on your tongue die immediately when Hawks still slightly chapped lips press against yours. The sick must that was present earlier on the day is no longer there, and you can feel heat and fire bursting from your cells as Hawks pulls away from you.

“I’m sorry,” Hawks breathes out, a small smile on his face, a daze in his eyes that tells you he definitely was not completely sorry. “I couldn’t resist anymore?”

“W-We will talk about that later!” your voice squeaks, your heart hammering in your throat because fucking Hawks kissed you. “If I-I get sick, I’ll rip out your eyebrows!”

“Will you go out with me? On a date?” Hawks continues on, leaning on the doorframe you’ve yet to pass.

“...I hate you, yes,” you warble, hands pressing against your burning face as Hawks grin grows.

“Perfect, I’ll text you,” he allows you to pass through the doorway where you feel both entirely light and giddy yet awkward and mechanical.

“Hawks, I swear, if your stupid kiss got me sick!”

“You’ll rip out my eyebrows,” Hawks laughs, waving a hand. “If you rip out my eyebrows, I demand a kiss for every hair you pluck out.”

He laughs at how he can basically see the heat rising from your ears as you squawk and run away.

Looking at #184 of his book, Hawks smiles as he crosses it out (#184: Ask out your crush!) and sighs. Philia was love between friends, but it was also, if he remembered correctly, one of affection. And it was without saying that he held a deep affection for you.

E R O S

As much as Hawks claimed he knew about the world, he was as clueless as a newborn baby when it came to the topic of love. Reasoning? Well, today marked a year of being together. It had been a year since Hawks had kissed you when he was snot-nosed kissed (you did get sick, by the way, and while you didn’t rip out his eyebrows, Hawks had kissed you plenty in apology), and then took you on a date where you went to a trampoline palace.

He was clumsily romantic. More often than not, he wasn’t actually romantic. Still, the sincere thought and emotions he put into it made his actions seem so thoughtful and sweet.

You’re not sure why you actually believed that on your year anniversary, he was going to plan something for the two of you. So the reaction he had when you showed up on the year anniversary, armed with a bouquet of flowers and a small personal gift for him, Hawks looked deeply confused.

“This is still not bad!” you exclaim, watching as Hawks attempts to redecorate his apartment from the messy bachelor vibe into something of romance. It was easier said than done, especially as your boyfriend had no decorations in his house that wasn’t fanboy or bird material.

“I didn’t realize that one year anniversaries were meant to be out and about!” Hawks yelled back, failing to nail the fairy lights onto the ceilings. “I knew you wanted to do something, but I thought it was going to be like ‘let’s go get some KFC!’ sort of thing!”

“Definitely not,” you laugh, sitting on his couch with the take out food sitting on the table. It had just arrived, and Hawks was still not accepting the lack of romance in his apartment. “But it’s okay, really Hawks! I didn’t tell you, which is entirely my fault! Come on, let's watch something together, eat, and relax!”

Hawks sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

He should have known that one year anniversaries were a big thing in dating too. They sure were in businesses; what a rookie mistake. Not satisfied with the lack of romance in his apartment but also unable to do anything more to it, Hawks sulked over to the couch and sat beside you, grabbing his dinner plate.

“Thanks, dove.”

“You’re most welcome, baby vulture. Thank you for the food!” you grin, breaking the chopsticks and digging in.

The food is eaten with a mirthful conversation, the TV playing the 100 Funniest Hero Fails playing on Youtube. Eventually, the purples and pinks of the sky became dark.

Night is here.

Hawks went from sitting right beside you to lying on the couch and having you snuggled into his stomach at some point in the night. YouTube is no longer playing Hero Compilation videos. Still, it is now instead showing a chef with a giraffe quirk demonstrating how to make your very own pancake treehouse, no clickbait!

Hawks is transfixed on you, watching the way your eyes sparkle and shine as you stare up at the screen, your lips moving as you give your side commentary, but he can’t hear a thing.

Five weeks ago, on this day, was the day that Hawks realized that the philia love he had for you had evolved once again. It had become one of eros. Romantic, passionate love. He loved you; he loves you. Anything you wanted or needed in the world, Hawks would do anything to give it to you. He had yet to tell you said realization; after all, he needed to make sure it wasn’t some fluke but found himself chickening out each time he wanted to confess.

Gliding his thumb against your cheekbone, Hawks stared adoringly at you, head tilted as you laughed at the video before glancing up at him. It was evident that you hadn’t been expecting him to be staring at you so intensely. As soon as you glanced back at the TV, you snapped right back, curiosity blazing off your gaze.

“What’s up?” you asked, hands pressing to his chest as you lift up a bit. “Do I have something on my face?”

“I love you,” Hawks whispered, the words coming out so much easier than he thought it would. “Y/l/n y/n, I love you.”

Your eyes widen significantly, your jaw dropping as your eyes grow just a bit watery.

Hawks smiles softly, knowing that for so long you had told him you loved him without a single moment where he returned the affection. It hadn’t bothered you. Obviously, you knew why he didn’t say it, but finally hearing him say it seemed to break you just a bit in the best of ways. He kisses you softly, fingers wiping away the single tear that fell.

“I love you,” he repeats.

“I love you too, Hawks,” you blubber, your smile so bright yet wobbling with your heartfelt emotions.

“Takami Keigo,” Hawks corrects. “My name is Takami Keigo.”

Hawks watches as you process his name, and a wet laugh bubbles from your throat as you nod your head, hands reaching behind his neck to pull him close for the first soul-consuming, fiery kiss of the night.

“I love you, Keigo.”

If this wasn’t eros, well, then, Hawks didn’t know what it was.

P R A G M A

two years later, valentines day

Keigo sits on the bed, fingers adjusting the tie around his neck as he stares at you doing your makeup in the bathroom. Your eyes intensely concentrated on your reflection as you painted dark red lips on yourself.

To sum up the last two years in a single, simple phrase, Keigo would say that love now made even less sense to him.

It wasn’t precisely that it made perfect sense before. Some days he still argued and wondered about how love could exist in specific scenarios. Or why, after you stole his final KFC chicken leg he was saving, he could always love you after such betrayal. It made no sense to him, but also made perfect sense, hence the complete confusion.

But it was without saying that as you twirled in your outfit in front of him, a grin plastered so large and lovingly on your features, that it made sense.

How could he not love when he had someone like you.

The walk to the restaurant was perfect; he had even taken a moment to slow dance with you when you came across some performers. Your sweet smile meant just for him made Keigo hum contently as he kissed you gently.

Dinner was amazing. The food rich and luscious, entirely to die for that had the both of you moaning about how great it was before laughing because the waitress definitely heard that. After dinner was over, you and Keigo were now waiting on desserts when he simply grabbed your left hand and slid a simple ring over a very important finger before placing a kiss on your palm.

“I know I was at one point too fast, and maybe I think I was too slow to ask this, but would you like to wake up and have chicken with me every day?” Keigo asked, watching as your face went through a million stages of understanding, processing, internalizing, accepting, and pure emotions.

The kiss was sloppy and wet, the tears streaming down your face beautifully, like diamonds in the dark sky.

It was today that Keigo unlocked the last love he ever thought he would have.

Pragma: committed, enduring love.

#hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #hawks fluff

[can-u-like-stop]

Secretly, I want you close to me

Bucky Barnes x Sam Wilson

5 times Bucky touches/thinks about touching Sam and the 1 time he realises what it means

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31958725

-----------------------------------------

1.

The day Sam told Bucky that he shouldn’t hold back when they were sparring was a day Bucky would surely remember. Well, the exact words were: “If you think just ‘cause you got steroids on steroids running through your blood that that means I’m too easy for you then I hope you’re ready for a reminder once I beat your ass”. Nevertheless, sparring sessions with Sam always have Bucky in a good mood. 

On account of the serum, Bucky ends up winning a fair amount of the fights. On those days, Sam taps out and Bucky extricates himself from the hold with care and gives him a pat on the back, suggesting they go again.

“Don’t gimme that tone,” He gripes,

Bucky laughs, “what tone? I asked if you wanted to go again.”

“I know you think you’re hot shit, just wait ‘till we get in the sky then we’ll see who's the reigning champ.” Sam says, taking a swig of water before getting set up again.

It’s a reliable pattern that they follow until they have something else to do or they get bored.

But every now and then Sam would get Bucky in a hold of some sort or maybe throw him down, making the wind knock right out of his chest. And Bucky would have to reach out and tap Sam’s shoulder or thigh or any available part, the release brings both relief and disappointment. He then has to deal with Sam gloating for the next few minutes, until he manages to convince Sam to have another go.

“I stepped on a leaf, it wasn’t fair.” Bucky says, smirking as Sam takes his baited argument.

“Uhm, okay tinman, get up and we’ll see if you can blame this,” he gestures to himself, “on a leaf.”

As the rounds go on and on they get more tired, Bucky’s attempted punches pull back covered in sweat that he can’t identify as his or Sam’s. Eventually after another round has them laying panting next to each other, Sam gets up.

“Alright, that’s it for me. I gotta contact Joaquin, he told me he might have something for us.” 

“Sure,” Bucky gets up, “it’s been too quiet lately anyway.” He throws a smile at Sam and puts a hand on his back with a wet slap. He quickly retracts in disgust. 

“Ugh, gross.” He whines, earning him a laugh from Sam.

“Yeah, I’m also heading in to shower.”

“I got dibs.” Bucky rushes out, starting a jog to the house.

“C’mon man!” He hears behind him but he just throws a smirk over his shoulder as he heads into the house. He feels light and there’s a warm smile stuck on his face, as there usually is after he and Sam’s sparring sessions. Bucky pays it no mind, however, and heads to the shower.

2.

The ride back from their mission was filled with somber silence. The plan was to apprehend people involved in the development of a chemical weapon. They had information from a person on the inside but they got caught right before Sam and Bucky had arrived. 

Bucky found them first and the scientist was threatening to blow the whole building. Sam wasn’t able to get there in time and Bucky couldn’t talk them out of it. The building went down and Bucky managed to make it out but the informant had been killed.

Joaquin was looking into the scientist to see if he could find who now had the plans for the weapons, Sam and Bucky were sitting beside each other on the helicopter back to the USAF base. Both of them were staring at the floor, struggling to find anything to say.

“You okay?” Sam eventually asks, causing Bucky to glance over at him.

“Yeah, why?” Bucky says, even though ‘okay’ is debatable.

“You just watched two people get crushed in a building that you barely escaped from. A normal person might be a bit shook up from that.”

“Well I’m not normal,” Bucky mutters, looking back at his hands. “I’m just sorry that I couldn’t get him to put the detonator down.” 

Sam scoffs, “Buck, you couldn’t even get close to him there was nothing you could do,” he reassures. 

There are a few moments of silence.

“I wish I could’ve gotten there in time, I could’ve taken him out.” Sam sighs,

“What?” Bucky asks incredulously, “that’s bullshit. You were on the wrong side of the building, you couldn’t have got there in time.”

“I could’ve gone faster.” Sam argues,

“I could’ve stalled for longer, so it’s my fault that you didn’t get there.”

“It’s not your fault, Bucky.” 

“Well, it’s not yours.” Bucky says, lifting his face to stare at Sam’s defiantly. Sam cracks a smile first and it breaks Bucky’s stern look as well. 

Bucky reaches out and puts his arm around Sam’s shoulders. “Sometimes missions go south,” he says, rubbing Sam’s shoulder, “it sucks but I’ve been told by therapists to not think too much about what I can’t control.” 

That gets a chuckle out of Sam and Bucky’s chest warms, thank god he’s cheering up. 

“It does suck…” Sam says absent-mindedly, bringing his own arm up to pat Bucky’s back.

The tense, suffocating silence gives way to a comforting peace between the two of them, until the phone in the helicopter rings and Joaquin answers it. He pokes his head out a few seconds later,

“Sam? They want to talk with you.”

Bucky shoots Sam a reassuring smile as he gets up to walk over there. Joaquin walks away from the phone and over to Bucky.

“That was a tough mission today.” He remarks.

Bucky offers him a grunt and a nod.

Joaquin gives a nod back and reaches out to give Bucky a reassuring pat, Bucky reacts on instinct and backs up. Joaquin’s hand jerks back in surprise, confusion and apology written on his face.

“Sorry, I just-” Bucky tries to explain, “I’m just not really comfortable with… like touching.” 

“Oh shit, sorry man,” Joaquin says, “I just assumed ‘cause of you and Sam, but I shouldn’t have, sorry.” 

Bucky offers a tense smile and Joaquin seems to accept it and he turns around to head back to doing whatever it is he does after missions. Bucky relaxes back in his seat, thinking.

‘I just assumed ‘cause of you and Sam’ Joaquin had said, Bucky frowns to himself. I guess I’m a little bit more touchy with Sam, he thinks. He considers doing what he just did with any other person and comes up blank. Maybe Steve, if he were still there, but that’s because Bucky’s known him his whole life. Sam is… different.

Touching people usually ends with Bucky feeling like his skin is crawling. If it’s someone he already knows he doesn’t mind it as much but he’d never initiate any kind of touch with people. Except for Sam. 

Why? Bucky thinks to himself, furrowing his eyebrows together. Sam’s presence is just calming, Bucky feels like he can trust him and let his guard down. But he also trusts people like Ayo and Shuri, and it doesn’t feel the same as Sam.

Bucky’s saved from having to think more about it when Sam calls out for him.

“They wanna ask you about the mission.” Sam holds out the phone.

Bucky sighs, not looking forward to whoever he needs to talk to and whatever he needs to say. He tucks his deliberations to the side for now, maybe he’ll think more on it later.

3.

Voices from people talking in various conversations float around Bucky as he eats at the Wilson’s neighbourhood cookout. He’s sat with Cass to his left, Sam at the end of the table on his right, and Sarah and AJ across from him, their usual seats. Sam’s telling a story from one of their previous undercover operations to Sarah.

“Now I’m pretty sure they got some messed up stuff going on there ‘cause the halls were actually changing.” Sam says, causing Bucky to snort. 

“What’s the matter?” Sam asks, smiling over at Bucky.

“The halls didn’t change,” Bucky punches Sam’s shoulder then turns to Sarah, “he got lost.” 

“I was not lost! I swear to god the hallways changed! I went in one hallway and then immediately went out and I was in a completely different place.”

“Sure, whatever you say.” Bucky jokes, patting Sam on the shoulder and Bucky notices Sarah eyeing the movement. Sam swipes his hand away,

“Don’t patronise me! I know what I saw.” He turns back to Sarah to continue the story, leaving Bucky thinking about the look on Sarah’s face. 

She didn’t seem confused but she did look surprised at Bucky’s eagerness to touch Sam. Unlike Joaquin, Sarah knew that Bucky was pretty averse to touch. The people in the town were endlessly friendly and often Sarah took it upon herself to turn down hugs for him because he always felt bad for doing so. Bucky considers the question again, why does he touch Sam so much? A lot of the time the reason he doesn’t touch people is simply because he doesn’t feel comfortable around them, giving Bucky an answer that doesn’t quite seem to fit with Sam. It’s not just comfort, Bucky thinks, there’s something else.

He considers Sarah. He’s hugged Sarah before and didn’t hate it, and he wouldn’t shy away from Sarah giving him a comforting pat on the back or a side-hug. But Bucky imagines reaching out and patting Sarah’s shoulder like he did with Sam just now and that simply seems odd to Bucky. Why? Bucky asks himself. Because I don’t want to, he answers his own question. And with Sam, I do? he thinks. He looks over at Sam,

Yes, he answers. Something about Sam just makes Bucky want to reach out and touch him. Even now, when Bucky pretends to be listening, he can remember the feel of Sam’s shoulder, he remembers how it feels to have an arm around him and what it’s like to feel the rumble in his chest when he laughs or the steady movement of him breathing. Bucky wants to feel it again.

“Right, Bucky?” Sarah asks, shaking Bucky out of his thoughts.

“Huh?” He says, “sorry I wasn’t listening.”

“I said, Sam’s always pretty stubborn, right?”

“Oh, definitely.” He says, turning to look at Sam who looks back with betrayed eyes.

“Coming from you!” Sam throws back and Bucky chuckles, looking back at his plate. Bucky’s pulled into a conversation with Cass about the book he’s reading but at the back of Bucky’s mind is the heat coming from Sam and how much he misses the feeling of it under his hands.

4.

All this thinking about touching Sam must have gone to Bucky’s head. Bucky’s standing behind Sam who is addressing the agents going with them to collect the chemical weapon plans and hopefully put an end to the threat. But all Bucky can think of is how hunched Sam’s back is and how he wishes he could rub the tension away by placing a palm right in the middle.

This is not the time nor the place, Bucky tells himself, trying to force what Sam is saying into his mind. But then Sam’s putting his hand on his hip and Bucky wants to walk over to stand next to him just so he can tap Sam’s waist to get him to move over. 

He doesn’t, though. He wouldn’t want a repeat of what happened with Joaquin. He doesn’t want people to get the idea that he’d be alright with just anyone touching him, and he doesn’t want to have to explain that Sam is the only one he wants to touch. All the time, it seems.

A bump to his shoulder makes Bucky look up from staring at the ground, Sam’s standing beside him now.

“You ready?” He asks

“Yeah,” he says, sighing. 

“Hopefully this is the last we’ll hear of them,” Sam smiles and places a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder. 

Bucky’s shoulders fall from his ears and he rolls his neck, “it’d better be.” He grumbles, forcing a scoff out of Sam.

“Is this too hard for you, old man?” He teases, and gives a slap to Bucky’s back. Bucky doesn’t grant that an answer, shooting Sam a soft glare. Bucky’s gotten used to the light feeling in his chest after Sam touches him and instead of being caught off guard by it, he now depends on it. An announcement rings out from the speakers of the helicopter and people start moving into their drop positions, Bucky’s able to use brushing past Sam as an excuse to nudge his arm and that’s all he’s willing to allow himself. Now he needs to focus on the mission.

5.

Bucky’s never been good at fishing. Sure, he can do it, but he couldn’t remember a time when he’d caught anything. So when Sam had offered for them to head out to fish, Bucky had told him as much.

“Well, I’ll just have to show you how it’s done then,” Sam had decided, “come on.”

Now they were sitting in some random body of water with their lines in, and Bucky was soaking up the breeze. He was sitting on the side of the boat, with Sam on the side across from him.

“It’s not a lot of action, is it?” Bucky mentions, causing Sam to turn to him.

“Were you expecting action?” Sam chuckles,

“No, but… “ Bucky thinks, “just didn’t realise it would be this quiet.” 

Sam frowns, “I mean, we could talk if you want?”

Bucky shakes his head, “nah, it’s… it’s a good quiet.”

It’s the right kind of quiet that doesn’t make you think. Bucky can hear birds from afar and the sound of water hitting the boat is steady. The sway from the water rocks them slightly.

Bucky makes the mistake of looking over at Sam, who’s looking out into the distance. He sees Sam’s shirt flapping slightly in the breeze, exposing the shirt underneath it and Bucky wants to place a hand there. He sees Sam turn his head to look back at the front of the boat, arching his neck, and Bucky wants to hold it and drag his fingers across his defined jaw. When Sam turns back Bucky can see his lips slightly open in concentration, they look soft and Bucky wonders what they feel like.

Sam suddenly turns to Bucky and he almost startles. Instead, his eye just twitches as his heart rate jumps.

“You’re staring again, Buck” Sam says softly as a smile reaches his face.

Bucky cracks a smile as well before he turns back to look at the water, praying his heart to calm down. 

A yelp from Sam gets Bucky to look back at him in time to see him reeling in a shiny white fish.

“Get the cooler!” He orders, making Bucky hurriedly put down his fishing rod and rush inside the cabin to grab their cooler.

“First of many, baby!” Sam says excitedly and Bucky’s face breaks out into a smile that he couldn’t stop if he wanted to. 

+1

Yet again, Bucky and Sam are alone together. Every now and then Sam checks on how the fish are cooking before leaning back against the side table where he gutted them, Bucky stands to his side. 

Night fell a little while ago and the bugs are out, their noises fill the air along with the sizzling sound of the fish.

“Our catch was pretty good today.” Sam mentions, turning over to Bucky.

Bucky laughs, “you mean yours, I caught like, one, and we had to throw it back.”

“Oh that’s right, isn’t it” Sam smirks mischievously.

Bucky pushes Sam away as he starts laughing. “Whatever,” he says, unable to stop himself from smiling yet again as Sam checks the fish.

Sam yelps in surprise and Bucky quickly looks over to see him stick his finger in his mouth.

“I burnt my damn finger.” He complains before putting his finger back in. 

Bucky nods understandingly but his eyes are trained on Sam’s mouth. He’d been distracted from thinking about them earlier but now his gaze seems to be stuck on them. Sam’s finger retracts and grazes his bottom lip, Bucky wonders what it would feel like to brush his own finger against them.

Before he’d joined the army, Bucky had his doubts about his attraction towards men. He hung around with many people who were interested in their own gender but never thought of him to be one of them until just before he got sent off to war. By then, he decided that he didn’t have time to worry about it and that he was probably just confused.

But there was nothing confusing about what he felt when he imagined kissing Sam right then and there. To feel his lips against his own made his heart beat faster but not in a scary way. Bucky imagined kissing Sam would be just like touching him; calming, soft, perfect. 

Bucky’s gaze trails away from Sam’s lips and lands on his eyes, which are looking right at him.

“I thought I was the one with the staring problem,” Bucky jokes, embarrassment creeping into his chest. 

“Maybe I get it now.” Sam mutters, his eyes moving to Bucky’s own lips.

Bucky’s heart thumps against his chest as Sam takes a step closer, his eyes not moving from Bucky’s face.

“The fish…” Bucky mutters dumbly, not sure what to do as Sam hovers his mouth over his.

“They can wait,” Sam whispers.

Bucky holds his breath, waiting for Sam to close the gap. 

“Aren’t you gonna kiss me?” Bucky mutters when he starts getting impatient.

He feels Sam’s smile when their lips finally press together.

It’s exactly how Bucky predicted, every sensation he feels from the gentle movement of their lips makes him fill with a kind of peace he’s never felt before. Even the harsh brush of their stubbles send tingles down his spine.

Sam brings a hand up to cup Bucky’s chin and Bucky almost moans. Finally, he thinks to himself and his arms move almost desperately grabbing at Sam’s waist and neck.

Sam smirks against his lips, “I didn’t think you’d be this handsy,” he laughs.

“I’m not, just with you.” Bucky mutters before going back for another kiss.

It’s a while later before they break apart, panting against each other.

“God, I’m gonna get an earful from Carlos and the guys for this.” Sam laughs to himself,

“Why?” Bucky asks, smiling as he rubs a thumb over Sam’s neck.

“They were insisting we were into each other and I kept pretending I wasn’t, and being like ‘you’re crazy!’” 

Bucky smiles, “to be fair, it took me a while to realise,” he starts, “so it wasn’t your fault. I was just a bit slow.”

“Well you are old,” Sam says.

Bucky pinches his side and Sam jumps.

“Hey! You little-” Sam cuts himself off as he sniffs the air then turns around quickly.

“Fuck-” Bucky says once he follows Sam’s gaze,

“The fish!” Sam yells and quickly takes the burnt pieces of fish off of the grill.

Bucky huffs a laugh that earns him a stern look from Sam.

“This is your fault, asshole!” Sam snaps,

Bucky gapes, “what the hell? I literally warned you about the fish!” He counters,

“Well you didn’t try to remind me or anything!” Sam shoots back as he starts cutting the charred pieces off of the fish.

“Sorry doll, I guess you’re just too distracting.” Bucky says sarcastically but the way he looks at Sam shows it really isn’t sarcastic at all.

“There’s no time for any more distractions,” Sam nudges Bucky towards the house, “go tell Sarah what you’ve done to the damn food.”

“Probably sparing some details, right?” Bucky quips before he heads out, smiling at the flustered muttering Sam does as he leaves.

That night, as they’re eating the dinner that Sarah cursed them out for messing up, Bucky finds his eyes landing on Sam, naturally. This time he doesn’t stop himself from reaching his foot out to lock with Sam’s. Sam’s hidden smile is as soft as Bucky feels; how Bucky has always felt when he touches Sam. Only, now, Bucky understands exactly why.

#sambucky #sambucky fic #bucky barnes #sam wilson

[unholyhelbig]

Triple Treble High school AU??

Read on AO3 | Request prompts here

The darkroom wasn’t originally in the blueprints for the high school. It was a small space that was wedged between the back stairwell, something that still smelled so thickly of drain cleaner, and sawdust, that the developer only added a twinge of vinegar to the mix.

Beca had pestered and persisted until the school board agreed to convert the unused storage area into a place for the yearbook committee to soak and hang their film. It could fit about four people at a time and left her blinking away the red light when the bell rang, load and enough to vibrate the whole room.

She leaned against the table that woodshop had constructed, mindful of the surface that could splinter at any moment. She was putting the finishing touches on her book report for Mr. White’s third-period English. She was cutting it close, but the photos from the pep rally the day before still had a good three minutes left of the egg timer.

She twisted the dial and listened to the satisfying click that accompanied it.

Beca had learned a long time ago that it was better to be unseen than seen by the whole world. There were no standards that way, if this batch of photos didn't turn out, or darken fully, that would be okay- because it wasn’t like they had noticed her, other than the small flashes of light, or the click of her Nikon.

She scribbled the finishing touches on her interesting take of “To Kill a Mockingbird” and shoved the crinkled lined paper into her backpack. She hadn’t put much thought into it- having read the novel more than once and never finding it as moving as it was intended to be.

The timer sounded off and her heart caught in her throat. It always did, even though she was the one that set it. She knew it was going to hiss eventually, and her hands moved before her mind could catch up. She peered over the edge of the basin at the photo that developed fully.

Chloe Beale beamed charismatically, her arm around Kaylee Eli, brow glistening with sweat. The logo of the cowboy shining under the lights. Beca was a damn good shot, but Chloe was an even better model. She stared right into the lens like she actually saw Beca- she noticed and posed and smiled with the same type of vigor as always.

The second warning bell sounded off and Beca fished the photo from the solution with her tongs. She shook it once, then twice, before clipping it on the line. She shouldered her bag and then emerged into the hallway, breathing in to clear out the sharp acidic scent from her lungs.

She nearly collided with a warm body, also trying their hardest to get through the hallways and into homeroom in time for the third and final bell to sound. Her sneakers squeaked against the floor, and her shoulder did make contact with something soft, and hot, and she stumbled with an apology before even realizing who it was.

Posters, and buttons scattered across the floor with a deafening clatter, and a pile of books were soon to follow. They were obnoxiously red, white, and blue. And Beca was on her knees, very suddenly, scrambling to pile them into a stack that they had once been.

“I’m so sorry,” She said, her own backpack forgotten.

“Were you in a supply closet?”

Beca glanced up, meeting hard and ripe green. The girl in front of her was a mass of blonde hair and lip gloss. She shoved her bangs back and gave Beca an inquisitive look. The posters were stacked now, and the two raised to a standing position.

“No, I mean, yes.” Beca frowned “It’s not a supply closet anymore, though. It’s a dark room. For photography.”

The girl studied her. She looked vaguely familiar. Those posters did too- Aubrey Posen for Student President. She realized she was still gripping them, reading them. She flushed and handed them over.

“I’m afraid I’ve made you miss the final bell.” She said.

“Don’t worry about it. Have a fantastic day.” Beca replied, even if she didn’t’ mean it. She grabbed her bag from the floor and maneuvered her way around the girl and walked off towards her first class- one that she wouldn't be paying much attention to.

Aubrey glared down at her posters. The word Fantastic was outlined in blue and slanted in a way that screamed desperately. She swallowed back the suddenly queasy feeling in her stomach and pulled her shoulders back. It didn’t’ matter if the candy-cane stripes and the blue lettering were tacky. It would win her the vote.

She felt disheveled, the pink late slip in her pocket burned like dry ice. She hated breaking the rules, and even this, even having the permission to skip the first half of the morning to work on her campaign, made her feel like some kind of common criminal.

Aubrey walked all the way to the gym.

She was meant to set up the ballot tables for the three lunch periods. She hadn’t thought that many people would skip out on the greasy scent of fried chicken and the brothy greens that were slopped next to them to vote for student council. Not many people cared about the election, and sometimes Aubrey questioned her own dedication to the cause of no cause at all.

The gym always smelled thickly of sweat and floor wax. It’s bright lights seemed to be the only thing in the school that ran on an automatic timer. The last moments of morning cheer practice had just concluded, and Aubrey waited dutifully by the double doors for the girls to clear out.

Most of them- she knew cordially. She was nod at them and say hello, and even give them a button to strap to their bags. So they smiled kindly as they exited past her, and wished her luck on today's vote. She figured she needed it.

“Are you nervous?”

“Huh?” Aubrey had started to study the sound system in the corner, but her focus was suddenly on the one remaining cheerleader in the gym. Her voice echoed, and her smile radiated. “Oh, uh, no my opposing candidate is a gerbil so.”

“he’s got a solid campaign.” She replied, walking across the seal in the center of the floor. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re going to do great. You’ve got my vote.”

Aubrey hadn’t been this close to Chloe Beale. Not in school- they usually avoided one another after Bumper’s Halloween party, two semesters ago. She didn’t remember, much- the fowl taste of beer, the flashing lights, a kid in a skeleton mask, and Chloe Beale’s lips on hers. Cherry, and tart with alcohol.

Her cheeks reddened at the thought, all-encompassing. “Right, I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to tell me that.”

“Oh?”

Chloe took a few steps backward before turning completely and walking towards the double doors. Aubrey struggled to avert her eyes, knew that she had to, but couldn’t find a way to do it. Chloe could feel them on her- swinging her hips intentionally.

She found herself letting out a trembled breath once she exited into the hallway. Her arms were burning, and so were her cheeks. Aubrey M. Posen had always been intimidating; in her fancy blazers and thick reading glasses. Her lips tingled, and she pressed two fingers against them to quell the sensation. The girl probably didn't even remember her on Halloween night, that stupid skeleton kid, drenched in fake blood, and the flashing lights that spurred her drunken stupor.

Chloe pressed her back against the painted brick wall and let the coolness drip through her sweaty t-shirt. She hadn’t slept well the night before, and practice before the day had even begun made her bones ache and her stomach turn.

She was going to be late for class, she knew that before they had even finished listening to coach Morris reminding them (for the third time that morning) about the pep rally on Friday. She peeled herself from the wall, blinking away the light from the trophy cases, before slinking into the locker room. It was empty now, the remaining scent of body spray and lotion clouding her lungs.

Chloe quickly changed and pulled her bag over her shoulder. She didn’t’ have a pink slip, not as she should, but figured that Mrs. Gordon would excuse her this once. She would slide into first-period Chemistry and try her best not to disturb the room more than she had to.

“Miss Beale,” She felt her heart seize, Mrs. Gordon’s eyes on her, lifting from the workbook that she was struggling to flip through. The rest of the room had taken to staring at her too, roaming eyes and giddy for a distraction, no matter how small. “Take the nearest seat.”

It would certainly be easier than working her way around the room, through the bags and the lab stools. She glanced sparingly at the empty seat closest to her. Beca Mitchell lifted both of her eyebrows and shifted the camera bag to the floor, allowing her to take a seat.

“Flip to page seventeen, The building of Electron’s and Neutrons”

Chloe reached for her bag, but before she could Beca shifted the textbook towards the middle of them, letting her scan her eyes over the annotated version of the paragraphs. She had never expected Beca Mitchell, resident outcast and photographer, to go through the nightly reading and actually absorb it.

She smelled thickly of cloves and chemicals. It was earthy but comforting. It almost relaxed Chloe from the morning, brought her down to a familiar buzz after sharing a conversation with Aubrey in the gym. She blinked through her lack of focus and tried to concentrate on something other than how close the alt girl was, and how their knees almost met under the lab table.

Beca reached up and turned the page, Chloe realized she hadn’t read a single line.

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #Aubrey Posen #Pitch Perfect #Pitch Perfect Fanfiction #triple treble #Triple Treble Franfiction #Request

[where-theres-smoak-2]

This Needs To Stop.

Trigger warning: Sensitive topics, p*dopilia, grooming, mental health and r*cism. 

Ok so this is a bit of a rant so apologies for that, I usually try to stay away from sensitive or controversial topics but this is something that I am passionate about and that I think is important. Also I just want to say that I am in no way directing this to the entirety of the M*lina fandom, I know most are just enjoying their ship, but there are those few who are deliberately seeking out darklina posts or are cross tagging and coming into darklina’s asks and just generally harassing the fandom which sadly I am seeing happen more and more often. Also I do feel like this can apply to all fandoms not just exclusively shadow and bone/ grishaverse, its just this is the one I am experiencing it in right now.   

I’ve seen antis call darkling/darklina fans many problematic things, delusional, mentally ill, ab*se apologists. They also like throwing around words like grooming and p*dophile. The thing that makes me angry about this is that they are taking sensitive topics, topics that many users have been effected by and they are using them to attack shippers merely for liking a character or ship that they don’t. What is even more frustrating is they seem to be throwing these words around without evening fully understanding what they even mean. For example the claim that the Darkling is a p*dophile because Alina is only 17 in the books. Well p*dophilia is a psychiatric disorder where adults are attracted to children and in order for it to be classed as p*dophilia the child involved has to be 13 or younger. A 16 year old can be diagnosed as a p*dophile if they become attracted to a child that is five years or more younger than them. So the relationship between the Darkling and Alina does not meet the criteria to be categorised this way as Alina is over the age of 13. As for it being a case of Alina is underaged, well, for one that depends on where in the world you are. This is based on imperial russia, in russia the age of consent is 16. This means that a 16 year old can have a sexual relationship with a 30 year old, a 70 year old or a 500 year old immortal and in a court of law it is still legal, whatever your own moral issues around age gaps might be. Even then it can be argued that it is irrelevant because, as with most historical literature where young girls marry older men, you cannot put modern day concepts onto them. Like I said this story is based on Imperial Russia, the life expectancy of a person in that time was around 30 years old. That means a 15 year old girl is already half way through her life, she is literally middle aged. It is at this point usually that girls started to prepare to get married and have children and yes sometimes it was to an older man because men were expected to provide for their wife and family which means having a house and job and means to support a family which an older man was more likely to have. My point is a 15-17 year old in say Imperial Russia is not the same as a 15-17 year old in modern day therefore you can’t take modern day laws and morals and place them onto that situation, it doesn’t work, they lived completely different lives. In Alina’s world, she is at the age where girls might get married and her being courted by a man of the general’s status would have been a normal occurrence, for her to have caught the attention of someone with his standing would have been considered very advantageous for her. I mean she literally gets two marriage proposals in book 2, where I believe she is still 17, and Nikolai is talking about how if she marries him it’ll be in name only and they can make Mal her guard so she can do the horizontal tango with him whenever she feels like it, so clearly the characters themselves feel like Alina is at an age where she can, one get married, and two be engaging in a sexual relationship. 

So why does all of this matter? Well it matters because people reading these posts, asks and comments left on posts, may be victims of p*dophilia and grooming. A lot of these comments don’t have trigger warnings and when you are talking about sensitive and triggering topics like this you need to be careful and when you are talking about them without even really understanding them, and where they can’t apply to the characters you are talking about anyway, then you are potentially triggering someone needlessly because you didn’t need to be talking about it in the first place, I hope I am making sense there. I am not saying don’t talk about these subjects if you do think they are relevant, I am saying make sure you do the research, that you understand the subject you are addressing and when you do talk about it do it in a respectful manner, don’t throw it out there in an angry spew accompanied by alot of other derogatory words because that won’t help anyone.     

Another subject I want to talk about is I am also seeing a lot of posts about how darklinas must be delusional or mentally unwell. This, again, is hurtful and harmful. Mental illness for a very long time has had a stigma around it, one that makes the person suffering from it feel weak and ashamed. There was always the attitude of if you are mentally ill then there is something wrong with you, or the attitude of oh just get over it, cheer up, think a different way. But mental illness isn’t just a state of emotion its often caused by hormonal imbalances and chemicals. Genetics can also play a part. There is nothing wrong with someone who is mentally ill their brain is just wired a different way. I also find it problematic when people throw around the word delusional. Maybe its nothing to you, just a word, but alot of mental illnesses have actual delusions as one of their symptoms. These can be scary and upsetting and are outside the control of the person experiencing them. Making the suggestion that liking a particular ships means you are delusional is potentially very triggering to those who do battle delusions and have fought to overcome them. The stigma around mental illness has prevented alot of people suffering from mental illness from seeking help out of shame or embarrassment or even out of fear of being judged and although I do feel like as a society we’ve become alot more open about mental health and alot more accepting there is still a long way to go. When antis start saying things like ‘I can’t believe people ship this, they must be mentally ill,’ or ‘they must be sick in the head’, or ‘if you like this ship than you must be delusional’ not only are they being incredibly prejudice against people who have mental illnesses but it is also so harmful because if there is someone reading that post who is struggling with their mental health and are considering seeking help then you’ve just made them feel more ashamed, more like there is something wrong with them which will make them even less likely to seek out help and as I said before there isn’t anything wrong with a person who has a mental health condition they are just different from you. That doesn’t give you the right to make them feel like they are less capable of deciding what they do or do not like or even what they should or should not like to be classified as a ‘normal’ person. 

The most latest problematic statements I’ve seen have been those accusing Darklina’s of being r*cist. This one I found a bit funny in a it’s not funny kind of way. I just don’t think there is much logic behind this view point. I’m not sure I understand the antis reasoning here. Mostly because I’m pretty sure the majority of the Darklina fandom comes from the books where Mal is described as being a white, brown haired, blue eyed guy. Funnily enough the Darkling is described as being able to pass for Shu, though to be clear it isn’t confirmed that he is a POC, but out of the two in the books the Darkling is more likely to be a POC than Mal. On top of that whilst many darklina fans have made it clear they are not a fan of Mal in the books many have said they like the show version of Mal who, as we all know, the actor Archie is a POC. So by anti logic darklinas are all r*cist because they don’t like book Mal who is depicted as white but we do like show Mal who is a POC. It just doesn’t make sense to me. I do understand that there were some ‘fans’ who made inappropriate and r*cist comments to some cast members including Archie and I would never ever condone that no matter who I ship. But you also can’t condemn an entire fandom just because of the actions of a select few. I don’t judge all M*linas for that one fan who accused Ben of being a pr*dator and p*dophile because of his friendship with Jessie. Once again my point is r*cism is a serious topic and not something someone should use as a retort or comeback to someone not shipping your ship. When we use these words casually it makes it less likely that they’ll be taking seriously when they really do need to be taken seriously, when they really are relevant to what is happening. If we keep using them so casually then when we really do need to talk about them, when it really matters, people will just shrug and go ‘its just antis being antis.’ 

I think it is possible for people to like different things, to debate and analyse different relationships and characters and talk about what flaws they may have in a respectful manner. I wouldn’t say I am anti m*lina but at the same time there are things about them that I find problematic but when I talk about those things I hope I do so in a way that doesn’t demean those who do like the ship. I understand that people will have a different interpretation than me and whilst I might not understand where their thinking comes from or why they have a particular opinion I would never make the assumption that they are mentally unwell or make judgements on their character or morals. I try to think about the words I am writing. I know how easy it can be to just throw a word out there without thinking about it. I used to use the word delusional to describe fans of certain ships, but when I recognised how damaging and problematic that was I stopped and I changed my behaviour because it was never my intention to hurt others. I guess the main message I am trying to convey here is we need to be careful with our words they’re not as insignificant as we might think.                

#darklina #anti anti #anti anon hate #anti anti darklina #excuse the rant

[automaticwombatmugpanda]

10 WAYS MUSIC IMPROVES YOUR LIFE

There's no greater tool for self-improvement than music. Music can relieve stress, decrease blood pressure, increase productivity, and even improve your IQ. Let's face it, if there's one thing we can agree on, it's that music makes life better. Music, it's just what the doctor ordered.

1. MUSIC MAKES THE PAIN FADE.

People always tell us that music can heal. Research is beginning to heavily focus on how music can act as medicine and reduce the pain of patients. University of Alberta publisheded a study that proved that children who listened to music, as opposed to those that didn’t, felt less pain after a procedure! Click here to continue reading about the benefits of music as pain therapy. 

2. MUSIC CAN RELAX YOU.

According to the American Psychological Association, the most effective stress-relief strategies include listening to music. So when you're feeling stressed, turn up the volume, sit back, and let music work its magic on you. Check out the various ways the APA found music can relax you over here. 

3. YOUR HEART LOVES MUSIC.

There’s nothing like a good song to warm up your heart, and scientific research proves that there's more too music than great lyrics and melodies. The University of Maryland Medical Center publisheded a report explaining how music can increase blood flow which allows your entire cardiovascular system to run smoothly! Who wouldn’t want that? Find out more about the cardiovascular benefits of music. 

4. MUSIC MAKES YOU A BETTER PERSON.

The University of Cambridge has developed research proving how music can indeed help people better themselves. Specifically, they found that children who make music together are becoming more compassionate and gaining a key component of emotional intelligence. So give it a try, we can almost guarantee that you'll see positive results. 

5. MUSIC IS THERAPY.

Can music really lift our spirits? A study conducted on the effects of music on cancer patients is suggesting that music can benefit the patient and serve as a coping method. Different types of music will have different outcomes on each individual depending on his or her characteristics. If you’re feeling down and need a pick me up, turn to music as a coping method! Read more about the benefits for cancer patients who grooved to everything from nature sounds to gospel to heavy metal. 

6. START 'EM YOUNG. MUSIC HELPS NEWBORN DEVELOPMENT.

Ever wonder if music is truly helpful for newborns? Well, Beth Israel has conducted research proving that music can indeed benefit newborn development. How does it help? Music exposure results in the benefits of lowered heart rate, improved sleep, and heightened moments of quiet alertness! It’s also beneficial to sing songs to the newborn with family ties to create better bonds. Click here to read more about how live music can stimulate development of newborn babies. 

7. MUSIC MAKES YOU HAPPY.

Is something getting you down? Listen to your favorite feel-good tune and your mood can go from sad to glad! University of Missouri discovered that cheery music can help you become happier! Check out more here about the potential benefits of listening to cheerful tunes. 

8. SING IT LOUD AND SING IT PROUD! SINGING INCREASES HAPPINESS.

Have you ever wondered why people singing together look so happy? Well, singing with a group can increase one’s happiness! Scientifically, it has been proven, that singing with a group releases oxytocin, a chemical that helps with anxiety and stress. So if you ever get bored of belting in the shower and you’re feeling confident, join a singing group and enjoy the benefits it has to offer! More info here on the benefits of going out and joining your local choir. 

9. MUSIC BRINGS PEOPLE TOGETHER.

When people have something that unites them, a bond is formed, even when you’re around strangers. That's why you feel strangely close to people you meet at a concert, festival or even a stranger on the street you see wearing your favorite band's t-shirt! 

10. MUSIC SAVES LIVES. REALLY, IT DOES.

Ever been in a situation where someone was in need of CPR but you didn’t know the correct speed for the job at hand? Well, next time have no fear and keep the song “Stayin’ Alive” by the Bee Gees in your head. Dr. John Hafner of the University of Illinois College of Medicine uses this trick to perfect the 100 compression procedure. For this doctor, and many others using this trick, music is literally saving people’s lives.

#Happiness #Togetherness #One love

[buglife]

Bend and Not Break - Ch 1: A Mark

Anonymous said: Not sure if someone has requested this yet, but I’d love to see how the cast would react to an assassin coming after Ghost or Quirrel. I mean, there’s gotta be some bugs out there who don’t adore the new sovereigns right?

Anonymous said: If your still doing these (if not I’m really sorry and please just ignore me) may I request 17: “Ok, well… Fuck.” With Quirrel and Ghost being his knight in shining armour.

Read here on AO3 :3

Quirrel looked in the mirror, sighing to himself as he regarded his reflection. He was due to make a public appearance today along with Ghost, so he had to look the part of a King. He still didn’t feel much like a king, not really. He felt more like he did when he was helping his mother run the archives, which was a lot of running around and keeping people from losing their fingers to explosives. It wasn’t all about preventing disasters, it was also about fostering the love of learning and the curiosity that makes society better. So in a way...he felt the same now as he did then. There was more paperwork, of course, but he was happy. It helped that he had a spouse to share the load with.

He fiddled with the ring on his left hand, the pale ore gleaming in the light. It had been made from Ghost’s old nail, with them having a matching ring. They had long since outgrown the old nail, and most of it was used in making the pure nail he now carried. Still, it was something special that their rings were made with the metal that helped kill a god and started the rebirth of Hallownest. Smith and Sheo were absolutely delighted to work on them, and now the both of them had completely unique nails and rings that will probably last forever.

Today was going to be a rather emotional day for Ghost. He remembered them telling him snippets about the Soul Sanctum here and there. They could only mention what they were comfortable talking about, and it wasn’t much of it that qualified as such. Sometime during their journey to end the infection, they had entered the Soul Sanctum and put down the mad scientist within along with his equally mad followers. Grandeurs of immortality and power was enough to corrupt any bug, but from what he heard, the ones involved went far beyond corruption. It was evil. Pure evil. Ghost usually stopped talking at around that point, and Quirrel found himself cuddling them as they sought comfort to ease what they cannot forget.

The worst day perhaps, was when the Kingdom had established themselves enough to expand beyond bare necessities. As soon as the funds was available, Ghost had the Soul Sanctum completely stripped down to the bare walls and floors. They had gone that day to oversee it all and when they returned, they could barely hold themselves together. They spent the night crying, mourning the lives lost in the pursuit of power. They had given the dead within rest, but it still destroyed them on the inside to have to return to that place. Quirrel did his best to help, and many a sleepless night was spent together, attempting to heal deep wounds within.

They had recovered, in time. Stripping the place had done a lot to help them move on from the experience, and they had decided to turn it into something new. Something useful that would help bugs and not harm them. Something that promoted life, not take them away.

Its where they were going today, to officially open it up to the public. Quirrel would be there not only as a fellow ruler, but as support for Ghost. Despite it all, it was going to be hard for them.

Quirrel smoothed back his antenna and tied his silk kerchief around his head. It was a necessary habit he picked up while growing up with his mother. After burning his antenna one too many times due to splashes of acid or a chemical reaction gone wrong, he tended to pin them back. They got in the way sometimes, but once in a while he felt safe enough to let them out. The palace didn’t really have acid, or volatile chemicals, but old habits die hard.

He clipped on his cloak, letting the study fabric fall around his shoulders as he pinned it in place. It was a lovely blue, nearly iridescent, and clasped with a pale ore brooch that designated him as king. There was no way he could ever bring himself to wear something as tacky as a crown. Hell, Ghost wouldn’t even be able to fit one on their head. Instead, brooches seemed to fit a whole lot better.

Once he made sure his nail was strapped to his side, he deemed himself ready, and exited the room - only to nearly smack into his spouse, who was opening the door at the same time.

“Oof!” Running into Ghost wasn’t as fun as it was when they were little. Back then their shell was soft and kinda squishy like any other grub. But once stasis ended and they caught up on all their missed molts, their chitin had become tough and hard.

“Are you alright?” Ghost’s telepathy was soft and gently breezed by his mind. It’s just something gods could do, apparently. Their sire could, Quirrel knew that as a fact, but the fact they also ate a god boosted their ability to communicate without relying on sign language. They only ‘spoke’ like this to family and friends, a little too nervous to use it on the public. Quirrel hoped that would change with time.

He didn’t blame them, though. They were terrified of being considered scary. They were certainly imposing, but not as much as their sibling, Hollow. There were those that will always be scared of them, with them being a god and immensely powerful. But enough of their subjects loved them enough to not care. He just wished they could see it. Quirrel considered them handsome and cute, but then again, he was biased.

“I’m okay love, I was about to go and find you.” Quirrel smoothed down the front of his cloak and picked at Ghosts, adjusting it around a little. “It’s nearly time.”

Ghost was silent for a moment, and then leaned down to softly bonk their forehead against theirs. “I know.”

“You’ll be fine. That place doesn’t exist anymore.” He did his best to soothe any lingering nerves. Being around Ghost for so long as alerted him to their various tells. “It’s a better place now. Much better.”

They nodded slowly and let out a deep breath. “You are right. It is just hard to let go of what it was.”

“I understand, it will take a while, but you are doing great.” Quirrel took Ghost’s claws in his and gently squeezed. “Come along then, we don’t want to be late to the dedication.”

Ghost tilted their mask up in a smile, and then nodded. They bent down to steal a quick kiss, one that Quirrel returned, and together, they headed to the Stag Station.

----

The Capital was bustling, like always. It no longer was the City of Tears, not with the new revitalization of Hallownest. The rain had been stopped, redirected with new plant life growing on the ceiling. Lurien himself helped renew the spells that kept the water from outright pouring out of the lake above. Without being constantly rained on, more bugs were out and about. Today however, they were gathering in front of what used to be the Soul Sanctum, waiting around a platform where their rulers would be giving a speech. Most bugs were eager to enter the newly renovated building, because it was for them, and them alone.

The Soul Sanctum, which had brought so much death and misery to so many lives, had been converted into a multi-level communal greenhouse. There, farmer bugs would grow a verity of food, which is then free to be picked and used by the public. Taxes from the upper members of society will be used to keep the place running. That way, no bug would have to go hungry. The intimidating and Gothic architecture of the building had been transformed into a pillar of glass and green. It was now friendly, the oppressive air from before banished into a place of shelter. Not only could you go there to eat, but you can go there to rest among some of the floors dedicated to flowers. It was a gift, from the rulers of New Hallownest to the people, and the people were waiting to be allowed in to enjoy it.

The five new knights of Hallownest stood in various places around the crowd. So far, they didn’t need to do much but remind some citizens to calm down and not crowd each other. With Xena on her beast (named Pickles, but only she can call them that), it was easy to keep everyone in line. Cloth stole a quick moment to wave to Myla in the crowd, temporarily breaking protocol, but it wasn’t like Tiso was going to scold her for that, since he did the same thing. Once he finished his quick wave to his other date friend, he scanned the crowd and recognizing a few folks from Dirtmouth as well. A lot of people showed up to this dedication, hell, he even spotted a few spiders and bees in the crowd. It just made him scan the crowd more thoroughly. Threats could come from anywhere, and he took security very seriously.

It wasn’t long before he spotted the Kings approach the platform and climb on, waiting for the crowds cheering to die down before they began the ceremony. Quirrel was doing the speaking today, Ghost standing beside them and holding his hand. Tiso remembered when Ghost was small enough to pick up and throw. It was lots of fun, but now they were too big for that. Oh well. As soon as the crowd’s noise died down, Quirrel tapped a speaking stone on the provided podium and his voice was projected outwards to be heard by everyone.

“Hello to you all, our dear subjects. Today we continue to do our very best to provide for you, our people, whom we dearly love and cherish. This site was a place of tragedy, and pain, part of the past of old Hallownest that was rife with corruption and oversight. But today we have washed away the dark and terrible past, to bring in the new, which is full of hope and life. We have -”

Quirrel had always been a good speaker. But Tiso wasn’t here to hear a speech. He heard it before, when Quirrel had asked him and his fellow knights to hear it and give honest feedback. Tiso had suggested Quirrel get to the damn point because nobody liked just standing around, so he thankfully cut the speech down by half.

There were bugs everywhere. Bugs in the square, bugs that could climb were hanging on buildings, bugs looking out windows, bugs on roofs, everywhere. Tiso scanned them all, eyes narrowed. It was no lie that there were bugs out there who didn’t agree with the direction the new government was taking, especially having another god as a ruler. Ghost and Quirrel had managed to piss off the right people. They were the folks that enjoyed profiting by gaming the system, and that system came tumbling down once Ghost claimed the throne. It got even worse when they married Quirrel, who was scarily smart. Quickly it became obvious that nobody was going to get away with old hustles anymore.

Quirrel continued talking, and Tiso continued watching. Then, something caught his eye. A glint of metal shined on one of the rooftops, a figure crouched down behind it. The glint moved, and Tiso’s heart went cold.

“GET DOWN!”  He shouted, and with a heft, threw his shield as hard as he could. Bugs instantly dropped to the ground and the knights gathered to the podium. The shield whistled through the air, and with a satisfying clunk, impacted the bug on the roof. There was a brief shout of pain, and then came the thwip as a crossbow bolt lodged itself in the podium. It was obviously aimed for the pillbug’s head, and it missed him by scant inches. Someone in the crowd screamed and it started a chain reaction of panic. Cloth and Ogrim took crowd duty, ushering the crowd into nearby buildings to get them off the streets and away from the danger.

Xena was already heading up to the roof atop her beast, the creature climbing up the sides with frightening speed. Tiso flashed his soul and recalled his shield, just in time to hear the bug on the roof start screaming once the beast reached it’s fanged maw out and grabbed them. He trusted Xena to keep at least enough of them alive for questioning later.

To add more chaos to the mix, some bugs in the crowd dropped their cloaks, revealing nails, and rushed the podium.

“No more gods! No more masters!” Some of them shouted. The sentiment was echoed by the other assassins as they parted through the crowd, not caring about who they knocked over or trampled in their haste. Bugs continued to scream, struggling to get out of the way as some were simply tossed aside to make way. Tiso could hear grubs wailing and the sharp clang of metal as some of the bugs in the crowd took up their own nails. They were valiantly trying to hold back the assassins, who cruelly cut them down and left them to bleed out. Thankfully medics were among the guards, and they quickly raced out to try and save the injured civilians.

So this was a coordinated assassination attempt, usually they were done by singular bugs. They must have gotten a little smarter. Tiso was about to jump into the fray, only to hold back when Hollow sped past him and body checked an assassin so hard that he could hear the chitin cracking from where he stood. Ouch.  He let Hollow do their thing and barked out orders to his guardsmen. They had to get everything under control, and fast.

However, the Kings of Hallownest were no pushovers. Quirrel practically teleported, moving with an insane amount of speed to kill an assassin with a flash of their nail. Since the crossbow bolt was aimed at him, Ghost was especially pissed. They were trying their best to not change into their true, terrifying form and completely destroy the square they worked so hard to rebuild. Judging by the extra three pairs of eyes that opened on their mask, they were barely holding on. Tiso did not blame them.

One assassin got lucky, moving at just the right time to scratch their nail along Quirrel’s side. He let out a hiss of pain and leapt backwards, ignoring the wound for now. He moved to retaliate, only to see said assassin become a smear of hemolymph on the platform. He glanced up to see an absolutely furious Ghost retract a void tentacle back into their body, still coated in a thin sheen of gore.

“Are you okay?” Ghost’s mental voice was now tight, louder. Quirrel could hear the rumbling of the void in behind, overlapping as the power of a god began to leak through Ghost’s control.

“Yes dear, just a scratch.” Quirrel sidestepped another assassin, bringing his nail around to cleanly slice off their nail arm. The assassin screamed, now missing an arm, and was quickly grabbed by Ghost and slammed bodily into the ground. Ghost then proceeded to kick them into the nearest building, cracking the stone slightly and leaving said bug a quivering mess.

As quickly as it all began, it was over. In total there were eight assassins. Three were outright dead, most due to Ghost. The rest were maimed and beaten bloody, but were alive. They weren’t too sure if the ones Hollow got to would survive or not. Either way, they weren’t going to get out of the situation alive, either by the executioner’s axe or dying from their wounds. Tiso had ordered the spare guard out, and there was a city wide search for more conspirators. There was no way to tell how many were out there, at least, until the prisoners were questioned. Something Tiso was going to enjoy doing so very much.

Ghost was panting, trying to calm down after losing their control for the bare moments it took for the fight to finish. Quirrel shivered, also breathing heavily. Adrenaline was surging through his body still and he doubted he’d be able to calm down anytime soon. Ghost had grabbed him, holding him tight as they too, shook. For a being designed to have no emotions, Ghost sure wore theirs on their sleeve, frantically patting Quirrel down for injuries. He knew what they were afraid of, and he stopped their hands with his to prevent their anxiety from taking over their rational thought.

“I’m okay love, it’s just a scratch.” He had time to look at his wound, bleeding blue. It wasn’t even terribly deep. It would just need some cleaning and some shell paste. If anything, it was making a mess of his cloak. The cleaners were going to have an absolute fit about it. He sighed as Ghost moved their hands to the wound, clearly worried.

“Your Majesties!” Ogrim hurried over. “Are you okay?”

“We’re fine, thank you. What of the assassins'?” Quirrel again, moved his hands to hold Ghost’s as he listened to Ogrim.

“Captured. We have guards scouring the city for anything suspicious.” The dung beetle looked about the now empty square, watching the assassins that were dead being dragged away. “Tiso and Xena are going to head an investigation once they interrogate-”

Ghost whistled, stopping Ogrims words. “I will interrogate them.”

“Your majesty, are you sure, you-”

“I am very sure.” They had since hunched protectively over Quirrel, arms like a gate around him. The malice in their 'voice' wasn't hard to miss, something Ogrim picked up on. He was always able to pick out the tiniest of details.

Ogrim bowed his head, but spoke plainly. “With all due respect, as your knight, and as your friend, I urge you to at least let the captain and his lieutenant do their job first before you decide to do anything.”

“Ogrim is right, love.” Quirrel reached up to cup Ghost’s cheek, hand oddly feeling weak. Perhaps he was still worked up? He started feeling a little dizzy, maybe he needed somewhere quiet to de-stress for a little while. He wouldn't mind retreating back to their bedroom to cuddle for a while. That should be able to do the trick nicely. Still, he continued with his advice. “You are too worked up right now. You need to calm down first. We both do.”

Ghost shook for a moment, and then took a few deep breaths. “Okay. Please tell Tiso and Xena to get as much from the prisoners as they can. I will be there shortly.”

Ogrim nodded. “Of course, Cloth and Hollow will be here soon and they will be able to escort you back to the palace.”

Quirrel started to say something and then was hit by a sudden wave of light headedness. He grabbed onto Ghost’s arm to steady himself as he momentarily lost feeling in his legs.

Ogrim and Ghost noticed that for sure. “Your majesty?” Ogrim questioned, reaching out a claw to offer support.

“No no- I’m fine...I’m..” The world twisted and a spike of pain and nausea punctured his gut. He suddenly couldn’t tell which way was up or down anymore. His legs gave out and through an increasing and concerning wave of numbness, he felt himself being caught.

“QUIRREL!!”  The mental shout was loud, and with it came more noises he couldn’t quite make out.

Ok, well… fuck.” The pain seemed to get worse, now a burning sensation that spread from the wound on his side to the very core of his body. His lungs hurt. His heart hurt. A disturbing wave of pain twisted around his limbs and went right into his brain. It suddenly got more difficult to breathe as he clutched his spouse with his claws.

He was dimly aware of someone screaming desperately, echoing around his head as he lost the ability to understand it, he was too busy gasping for breath.

The noises blended together until finally, there was nothing but darkness.

-----

“In you go, ya fucker.” Tiso not so gently tossed one assassin, a particularly nasty looking cricket, onto the stone floor of the dungeon cell. They had given just the bare amount of medical care necessary to keep them alive. The worst injury was the stump where their nail arm used to be, cleanly cut in half by the biggest nerd in the kingdom. “This’ll be your new home for a while, but it can get a little nicer if you decide to talk.”

“It won’t make any difference,” The cricket spat a wad of hemo on the floor. “I’m dead anyway.”

“True…” Tiso mused, leaning on the bars to stare the other bug right in the eyes. “But would you rather prefer a quick death, or being dragged kicking and screaming into the void? Cause let me tell you, I’d rather take a beheading over that. That shit is fucked up.”

“Typical of a tyrant.”

“You seriously calling the squirt and the nerd tyrants? I mean, they literally were about to open a public greenhouse so that everyone can eat before you idiots crashed it.” Tiso tapped his shield against the bars, making the metal ting in the most annoying way possible. He absolutely loved messing with prisoners like that, it made them slip up more often than not. Tiso learned more from pissing off the prisoners than he ever did 'nicely' interrogating them. “I don't know about you, but that don’t sound like tyrants to me.”

“All gods, are tyrants.” The doomed assassin moved to sit up, resting their back against the cold stone walls. Their movements were awkward, now that they were missing an arm. “The Pale King was. The Radiance was. Even the White Lady. Now we have an even more powerful tyrant as our king! We can’t keep letting ourselves become playthings for monsters!”

“Call them a monster one more time and I’ll feed ya to Xena’s beast, and the beast chews slowly.” Tiso narrowed his eyes at the bug on the other side of the bars. He could roughly hear the other prisoners being tossed in their cells as well. Judging by the echoes, they were spouting the same nonsense and getting zero sympathy for it. “You’re a fucking idiot, you think you can just kill our Kings like that? King Ghost killed the Radiance, for fucks sake!”

The cricket smiled through their broken mandibles, dribbling hemo over their cloak. “No, we can’t kill the tyrant, but we can hurt them.”

Tiso stared, shocked by the words. A very bad feeling sat in his gut, and was quickly vindicated when Cloth rounded the corner.

“Tiso!” she shouted. “It’s Quirrel!”

“Yeah?” The bad feeling grew stronger and he desperately prayed to whatever was listening, that the next words out of his love's mouth wasn’t going to be bad news.

“Quirrel...he's...He’s been poisoned!”

Tiso’s world went numb, and all he could hear was the insane laughter of the prisoner behind him.

#hollow knight #fanfiction #my writing #terra lumina #bend and not break #quirrel/ghost #quirrel #ghost #tiso #god tamer #myla #cloth #tiso/myla/cloth #ogrim #hollow #assassination attempt #blood and injury #peril #poisoning #i wrote the thing horray! #will update when i can #hurt/comfort #my jam and jelly

[lethargicsunlight]

'Demon' Chapter 3 : For The Mission Bakugou x Fem!Reader (book 1)

Hello~

First of all, Thank you for reading!

You can also read this chapter and the previous ones here on my AO3.

Or, you can find the previous chapter here.

I will come up with a better linking system soon, but I gotta get back to work real quick :(

WARNINGS: Injury, bodily fluids, angst, SFW

Please enjoy!

👹🖤⛓🔪💣

You knew running was a losing game, as speedy as you could be. He was saving his energy by using his mutation quirk for movement.

You pull loose a throwing knife from the holster on your side, keeping the blade bared outward to defend yourself as you take in your blurring surroundings. You make a turn, decidedly veering away from the direction of the bar you'd just left; the last thing you needed was for your pursuer to call in reinforcements that could teleport.

Despite sliding through sharp turns, you couldn't manage to get far enough ahead to fake him out. With the tough exoskeleton they possessed, he was easily driving his extra limbs into the walls and using them as leverage to fling himself forward--closing in on you much faster than you wanted.

"What is it little Demon?" He screeches, mandibles scratching and gnawing together as his mouth stretches open. "I thought you would be a much more riveting opponent than this!"

...Sometimes, you gotta give them what they want.

Mid-run, you locate a window going into an abandoned office building. Throwing your knife, it punctures the glass and leaves hair-line fractures across the surface--you can see the reflection of Sting's eyes within the shards as you thrust your weight into the opening.

In a circular motion, you manage to unsheathe one of the longer blades at your back and parry  his limbs in the air before you're tumbling over the broken glass. It hurts, but you don't allow yourself to slow down. You roll back up, unsheathing the second blade with your free-hand as you crouch, ready to strike.

Now you at least had one advantage over him. More cover.

"Heh," he seems to hesitate, finally setting his body back upon solid ground as he evaluates you. His gaze is filled with confidence after watching you run away from him. Like prey.  In his pause, you have a few seconds to analyze his structure. The exoskeleton would to be too hard to cut, so your focus had to be the areas you could see flesh exposed. You were aware the legs could retreat into his back, which guaranteed a lack of access there. All you could see was his face and his hands--though peaking out from beneath a tucked scarf, was the smooth skin of a throat.

You had made an oath long ago that you would never kill again. But in defense of your mission... you could manage an exception. It would all be over soon anyway.

Instead of coming at you straight on, he throws another knife at you to get everything back into motion. It has you leaping backwards unto a filing cabinet--and he's charging at you finally with the ferocity of essentially four swords. Due to his extra limbs' reach, you realize you won't get a hit on him this way.

It becomes a tangle of blades as you parry and block and twist around his advances, kicking up papers and folders to distract him as you move up and down over obstacles. The venom in your arm begins to dance through your veins, tingling beneath the skin--you are running out of time.

You can see his face twist into a smile; he's sure he's going to win.

Good.

As he makes the mistake you were waiting for, drawing one of his limbs back for a final attack; his mouth is open to announce his triumph. As the air begins to leave his lungs and form syllables in his mouth, time slows down for you. Your blade held up to parry drops from your hand, sending his stinger forward to scrap across your shoulder; close but not too close to your neck. You grab the knife on his belt that you had been eyeing since his first advance in the alleyway, and slice through the joint.

It brings him to a halt, howling as he moves backwards. Green ichor sprays across your face and drips from his new amputation, his other three limbs curling around his body while his hands grope his shoulders.

You pocket his knife and retrieve your blade from the floor.

"Noo! Nonono..!" He's wailing--it sounds grief-stricken now. While there were questionable 'doctors' among villain society; no one has the ability to bring back a limb. Especially one like that. You had mired him, for the rest of his life.

You prepare for a death blow--but the flash of skin beneath the fabric of his shirt causes your hesitation.

You don't have to kill him. It's relief that floods through your tense and calculating mind; briefly before being replaced with pain. As you had expected, a minute in and his neurotoxic venom has seeped into the muscles of your arm. It feels like a chemical burn--acid turning flesh to sizzling nothing. The arm goes limp, but you force your grip on the blade--you had to appear stable.

"I'm going--I'm going to kill you!" He screeches, and there's a squeal behind it like the voice of the insect part of him was a separate entity.

"...You can't kill me." You say slowly, approaching with your good arm raised. You swallow, then let your voice drop an octave as fear seeps into his eyes. There's a button you managed to press a moment ago, that makes the eyes glow from your mask. A cerulean color--a color that was a remnant of your past. "I'm not human."

From the look on his face--he believes you. Your charade is working. You grit your teeth, forcing your shaking and screaming arm to lift and move to the back of your head. It's a movement that suggests you'll remove your mask.

"N-No, no!" He shifts back again, and unaware of his surroundings he trips and lands among the broken glass. His remaining extra limbs curl in close to his face, leaving his abdomen bare. "You're lying! You can't steal people's souls, you're just--you're like us!"

"Then why are you hiding your face?"

"Wh--" With the distraction of speech, he doesn't block when you throw the hidden blade from your hood down into his abdomen. It's a solemn thwack, and then the harsher crack of his skull when you flip the blade in your good hand and swing it between his stinging limbs to ram into his bare temple.

He's out. He's internally bleeding, and he'll never be the same... but he'll live. Maybe when he wakes, he'll have a different outlook on life. Or, most likely, he'll want to hunt you down.

You suppose that should scare you. But given the note you had received from the hero agency you worked with, your time was going to end anyway. He wouldn't have a chance.

"Hrk--" You crumple to the ground, clutching the arm that felt like it should be bare bone rather than flesh. It's like the nerves are exposed; the grip from your clothed hand sending shockwaves down your spine.

You couldn't help but brood--seeing as how moving was so difficult--at how opposite this situation had been compared to what it seemed.

While you had delivered a blow based on skill--you won the fight by lying. Like an illusion, you'd expertly hidden behind the smoke and mirrors to make him believe you were bigger than you actually were. Like you had won easily, rather than by the skin of your teeth.

You wheeze, tears pricking at your eyes while you force yourself to rise. You needed to get back to base. Especially before he did, and preferably before anyone decides to investigate the noises of your chase earlier.

You stumble out of the building through the window you had broken, and slowly creep through the alleys of Yokohama once again.

---

Every television in the base was alight with the bright colors of the Sports Festival.

You were pretty sure that H.H. kept cameras within those screens, ever watching the faces of his lackeys and agents--judging their actions and expressions. Another advantage to always wearing a mask.

You stood, back pressed to a wall in the shadow of a corner as you side-eye the screen. Watching the students filter out unto the field causes a bitter-sweet fluttering in your stomach.

You remembered the first time you had watched the event. You were much younger, sitting with your knees pressing into the floor and palms crushing a few stray sheets of paper. Really, you had never been all that interested in television, mostly because the other kids at the foster-care center were rambunctious when they sat in front of it.

But this time, the only two souls whose eyes were glued to the flat surface were yours and your new foster brother's, who had been the one to convince you to watch it in the first place.

"You gotta watch it--I'm gunna be on it one day!" He says, arm extending to offer his hand. You stare at it, bug-eyed.

"Oh," you meagerly utter, taking his hand and letting him lead you. He laughs and pulls you along until your both sitting in the living-room floor.

"Don't worry," he leans in towards you, "I'll keep the volume low. Trust me though, kay? You gotta watch it, it's really fun!"

You don't believe him, but before long you're both cheering with the crowd and talking avidly about your favorite contestants. He--

You draw yourself out of the memory as large letters appear in your peripheral. The first game had been announced. A race.

There was a sinking feeling in your chest to know that he should have been there amongst them, maybe a year ago. There wasn't a doubt in your mind that he would have won. Maybe even every challenge.

Even at that young of an age, he had always been so full of righteous fire.

He could have been a hero of heroes...

If not for you.

----

You catch pieces of the Sports festival as you move through the base in search of an old 'escape plan' map. Head Honcho had certainly made modifications since the water-treatment plant had been adopted as his new lair, but you could draw them out if only you had a layout of the place.

Chemical spills did happen, so you could only hope that the escape plans had been forgotten when everything was moving in. In a storage closet somewhere, on the door of an outlet box, above the water control panel--somewhere.

Moving through an old lounge, large screens portrayed the ongoing of the race that had long-since started above the heads of a few agents. They were newer, but they noticed you when you walked in.

The looks in the eyes of those whose faces were exposed was that of mixed admiration and loathing. But, fortunately for you--Head Honcho had made it very clear that you were to be left alone. Treated as exalted, as though separate from everyone else on a holy level. Not that they worshipped you--but that he wanted you to be considered the entity you played as. A demon.

The rumor was as much to his advantage as it was yours.

Their eyes follow you in the dark as you move around them, but something suddenly has their eyes whipping back to the screen as the closer viewers make noises of surprise. You decide to look too, selfishly; and you're rewarded with something familiar.

A freckled green-haired boy. He's flying through the air after a massive explosion, rivaling the two that had been effortlessly charging towards the finish from the beginning. The three of them are suddenly close together, faces etched in the effort to win--and you find yourself openly admiring them.

Beneath your mask, you're smiling. Your heart is pounding and you want to cheer like old times, throwing popcorn in the air and rejoicing--no matter who won. You could practically feel your foster brother's spirit next to you, tugging on your heart. You should be there, enjoying this. You hear him say.

Your breath catches in your throat as there's another explosion--Midoriya had managed to throw the bit of metal he'd carried with him all this way and use another surge of momentum to carry him forward. Everything stills as you wait, holding that breath until finally--finally--it is him that enters the arena in first place.

Adrenaline explodes and rockets around your ribs and your heart--but you're still. You mouth the word 'yes', but didn't dare utter a syllable. Controlling yourself, you make for the exit of the room, intent now more than ever to carry out your mission. To help ensure the safety of those three boys that fought so hard to be recognized as heroes.

For those three boys that reminded you so much of him.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x f!reader #bakugou x female reader #bakugou x fem!reader #katsuki x you #bnha fanfic slowburn #deku

[avversiera-writes]

try again; in every day we breathe life [tobirama senju/you] - chapter 6

Chapter 6 - Now

Summary: Tobirama’s secret disquisition is taking a toll on him. More of a comfort chapter. 

Word count: ~3k

available on AO3. 

Chapter 1 - Now | Chapter 2 - Then, part 1 | Chapter 2 - Then, part 2 | Chapter 3 - Now | Chapter 4 - Then | Chapter 5 - Then | 

Tobirama massages the bridge of his nose as the words on the paper in front of him starts to blur into incoherent sentences. Tremors plague his hands too often now, and his chest often feels tight. He knows these are signs that he is very fatigued and that he lacks sleep–these days, he has simply stopped sleeping altogether. The energy that he rides on is the hope that he can finish his secret disquisition, so that finally he can rest. He just needs to do this one last thing. 

 The events of the year had spurred him on to throw himself on his Edo Tensei . He feels that this is the only way he can cope and handle his troubles in the near future. Especially if his theory about his brother is true: that he is dying everyday he lives.

 He is almost never wrong. 

 He needs a backup plan. A safeguard, among his other collections of safeguards. Someone like him can never have too many. 

 And he believes that the answers lie in his creation. 

Tobirama sighs and he presses his palms into his eyes. Maybe he really needs sleep. 

 The office doors open after a knock, and he looks up to find his brother. He cannot help but notice that Hashirama’s hair is silky and that his face is smooth, free of the blemishes of a wrinkle. There are no spots on his skin, and in fact, his skin seems to glow with youth. 

“Elder brother,” Tobirama greets him, with utmost respect. 

 Hashirama’s face softens towards him. The glaze in his eyes from the other night is gone. He looks more alert. “You called for me?” 

Tobirama tries to hide the way his hands seem to shake and fishes for the papers that he wants his brother to see. He takes his time, in the guise of searching for it, even though he is organized enough to know where each document is. 

 “I…” Tobirama begins, taking his time to form his words. “First, I have told you that this is not a good idea. Despite my best efforts to persuade you, I know you are also quite stubborn. So here. The approval to begin the construction of your precious statues. It commences next month.” 

Hashirama’s eyes widened in surprise. “Brother, I don’t know what to say.”

 Tobirama rolls his eyes, but much to his chagrin, he gives his last sibling a genuine smile. “Don’t flatter yourself. My wife put me up to this.” 

 Hashirama laughs, and Tobirama is glad that it sounds carefree. His eyes form into beautiful crescents, and Tobirama softens. There is his cheerful brother. 

“Give my thanks to her,” Hashirama says. “She is the best of us.” 

 Tobirama nods, and he clutches his hands under the desk. He will always agree to that, because as compared to him, her flaws pale in comparison. 

Hashirama pauses before turning towards the door. “And come visit your eldest nephew and his wife soon. We have heard that they will have a girl in about a month.” Hashirama chuckles giddily. “I will be a grandfather!” 

Tobirama stops breathing, but thankfully, Hashirama has left before he can break down any further. 

 He closes his eyes, and suddenly, he is taken back to a more peaceful morning, as he prepares to travel to Kumogakure. That day will never be erased from his mind, not when he could have connected the pieces that were falling into place that almost cost her life. If he wasn’t so busy, if he just prioritized her a little bit more and only trusted himself to look after her, then maybe he could have been there on time. As the Hokage, it is his job to keep the village safe, but what kind of husband does that make him? When, once again, he has chosen the village over her.

Tobirama remembers her giddy smile, and the warm sensation spreading across his chest as she whispers to him a secret. 

 “ I think it’s a girl ,” she says, unable to control the wide grin spreading across her lips. 

Tobirama feels his heart break further. He hates to see his wife reduced to tears, because those are few and far in between. She is strong, and has always known a clear line between right and wrong. Now, it is almost like she is becoming like him. 

 He was very relieved to hear that she could not ever go through with killing Kimiko, but if he wasn’t there to stop her on time, who knows what could have happened. 

Tobirama does not cry, but if he is going to, this will be the moment he will choose to weep. 

 He feels as if there is nothing he can do, and there is no tangible way to come through on one end in one piece. The gods may just be out there to spite him. 

 Everything is falling apart. He can build kingdoms and construct beautiful castles. He can take dreams and make them into a reality, but they all mean nothing if the people that he centered his life around cannot be with him. 

Being alone has never been a worry for him. Solitude has been his preference for a while now, but being truly alone, and losing those he gave his all for, he would rather lose a limb than bear that kind of loneliness. After all he is human, and not a god. As much as he plays that part. 

//

He finally goes home, having lost his time once again over his endeavours. He trudges up the stairs quietly, and into the bathroom to try and wash up. He feels dirty. There is dried blood caked under his short nails, and he smells like chemicals, ink and death. He carefully peels his shirt over his head, and he stares at his reflection for a moment. 

 He is beginning to resemble the corpses that he hangs out with. 

 He leans over the sink and runs the water. He opts for using the faucet instead of the bathtub, afraid to make loud noises that will wake you. 

“Tobirama?” 

Your husband whirls around, and you give him a once-over. He is trembling a little. You note how messy his hair is–messier than normal–and how his eyes are stark bright like fresh blood, and how his face is becoming knife-like from the days he spends forgoing proper nutrition. Your eyes go to his cheek, where there is a smudge of dirt on it. It almost looks like dried blood, and it makes you swallow your words. 

 You are unsure what to say next, because you have a gut feeling that you should not get closer to Tobirama. He is different from the man you last saw this morning, who was calm and collected. The man before you looks like a stray animal ready to bite the hand that tries to pet them. 

Tobirama tries to get a hold of himself, but his mind and his senses betray him. He feels overwhelmed. 

 "You should be asleep," he mumbles under his breath. 

 "I have been sleeping all day," you reply softly, not wanting to alarm him any further. 

 "Please," Tobirama says. He does not want you to see him like this. You make him feel weak. "Go to bed." 

You ignore the slight hurt that you feel from being dismissed, but this is Tobirama. You have learned how to look beyond what he is saying outrightly. You can sense how freaked out he is. 

 "What happened?" You ask in a low, urgent tone. 

Tobirama turns away and he takes a few deep breaths. He feels like he is about to retch. "Nothing."

 He hears you step closer cautiously, and Tobirama tenses. If you touch him, he will melt and he will let go of any inhibitions he has left. If you touch him, he will want more. If you do, he may also react in a way that may hurt you as he could not bare any human contact on his skin at the moment. Just the thought of it makes his stomach curl.  

"Go to bed," Tobirama repeats and he fills his cupped hands with water. He slaps the water onto his face, but when he opens his eyes, he finds that you are still there. 

 "Tobi," you whisper. 

Water drips from his face and he turns off the faucet. He is not sure what to do next. The two of you have your own brands of stubbornness. 

 The sound of your voice saying his name seems to ground him, and this prompts you to get closer. 

 Tobirama takes the nearest towel to dab his face dry, and when he finishes, you take the towel from him and put it on the pile of used towels.  

"My love," you murmur softly. "Let’s get you dressed for bed." 

Tobirama takes a deep breath, and he turns to you. You wait for him to come to you instead of taking his hand to pull him forward, and from there, you follow him back into your room. Tobirama dresses in silence, and you stand there, your hands opening and closing, trying to figure out what to do next. 

 You are not a stranger to his changing moods, but sometimes they come unexpectedly, and they are not always the same. You know that he has stopped sleeping, and opts to skip meals to attend to whatever it is he’s busying himself with. His silhouette in the darkness is noticeably thinner, and while you are waiting for him to make you understand what he is doing or to let you know what else is bothering him, you are becoming more concerned. 

 You hate to see him like this.  

“Tobirama,” you utter his name, and slowly, you step closer into his space. You see how tense he is, so you make your movements slow and non-urgent. “It’s okay.” 

 You watch him run his fingers through his hair and let out a shaky breath. 

“It’s okay,” you repeat. You try to control the tears that are coming. 

 The shadows of the dark room seem to engulf him, but you will never abandon him and leave him to fend for himself. 

"I'm coming closer," you tell him, and slowly, you slide your arms around his waist from behind.

 You can feel him stiffen, but it does not discourage you. You press your chest on his back and you rest your head in between his shoulder blades, and you hold him. It takes a long time, but finally, his body melts into yours and he gives into your warmth.

 Tobirama lets himself rest in your embrace, and he reminds himself that you are alive, that you are breathing, and your skin has color, not like the ashen gray that dead bodies have. You are warm and supple, not cold and monumental. 

 He is so tired, but there is no such thing as rest for people like him. People like him rest in the battlefield, and it is both their bed and their grave. 

Tobirama rests his arms on yours and he holds your arms. For a moment, you make him still. For a moment, the world falls away, and the races in his mind make its pause. He is not one to ask for much, let alone look for comfort, but for now, he lets himself be held. 

//

After ushering him to bed, Tobirama is silent. 

 You sense that whatever thoughts that are swirling in his mind have settled like dust. He is not trembling anymore, and the natural paleness of his skin has returned, not like the pale green hue that he seems to embody earlier. The two of you face each other, hands entwined on your pillows. Sleep is a faraway thought, but you are glad to have him like this. 

 Tobirama watches you intently as you press a kiss on his knuckles, and then rest his hand under your cheek. 

“I love you,” Tobirama murmurs. He rarely says this, but it always rings true. He feels ashamed for saying this to you after hiding so many secrets, but he never lies about what he feels towards you. Those three words taste gritty on his tongue, but he thinks you must know. Just in case your perception of him changes.

 He doesn't deserve you, and inside, his heart clashes on trying to be worthy of your love and trying to be the leader this village needs. He is always sure of his ways, but when he sees you teetering between black and white, he questions his path because he sees a part of himself in you. 

 Perhaps, you do the same. 

“You have to rest,” you tell him. “Send a shadow clone. Or give yourself a full day-off. For your sake.” 

 “I don’t know how to stop,” he tells you bluntly. “I must remain steadfast.” 

 “Can you really do this for long?” 

“I have to,” Tobirama says. “There is no other way.” 

 Your eyes swim, and the pace of your heart starts to pick up. Those words scare you. 

  Your Senju husband will fail , Madara once said in your dreams. He will do everything right and what he is supposed to do, but in the grand scheme of things, he is nothing. 

You close your eyes, feeling dread creep under your skin. 

“You know I am right,” Tobirama continues. 

 “No.” You bite your lip. “Sometimes your right does not mean it is right.” 

 “I know,” Tobirama says and his eyes refuse to meet yours. 

A tear escapes your eye, but Tobirama is quick to wipe it away with his free hand. 

 “Do not cry for me,” Tobirama says. 

 “How can you say that?” You say with disbelief. “I have the right to cry for you.” 

Tobirama sighs, and rests his palm on your cheek. The two of you begin a staring contest, but you win when Tobirama finally looks away. 

“We’re becoming ridiculous, aren’t we?” 

 “Quite,” Tobirama yawns. 

 “You still have me.” You lean towards him. 

Tobirama pulls you closer, and he holds you to his chest. You close your eyes as you feel his heart underneath your ear. He still holds you as strongly and certainly. 

“I will take your suggestion tomorrow,” Tobirama finally says. “One thing at a time, right?” 

 “Good enough for me,” you murmur into his chest and you press a kiss on it. 

“All right,” Tobirama mutters, and his arms tighten around you.

To be continued...

Chapter 7 - Then >> 

#angelica writes #tobirama x you #naruto #Tobirama Senju #Senju Tobirama #tobirama x reader #tobirama senju x reader #senju tobirama x you #senju tobirama x reader #naruto fanfiction #'til death do us part #you never said goodbye timeline/au

[amphii-writes]

Random Haikyuu Head Canons I Have

these are all taken from my discord server cause i remember to write them there, if you want to request fanfics, my requests are W I D E open! there is also nO order! these are just all the headcanons i could find tbh

warnings: mentions of blood, and just overall wild times, swearing

Asahi loves knitting sweaters because his shoulders are broad and he also loves seeing the reactions from his teammates when they get a sweater from him! He says he buys them but he doesn’t

Aone likes knitting socks because he has big feet and he loves fluffy knee high socks but his team will never know

Asahi and Aone regularly hang out and knit together! (after asahi wasnt scared of him anyways)

Nishinoya gives you shiny rocks he finds because “your eyes shine like them!”

Yamaguchi likes to have your head rest on his chest while cuddling!

Aone likes to bake

Aone dressed like a polar bear because koganegawa told him to- halloween was amazing

daICHI HAS A KISS THE COOK APRON

Daichi secretly can make some kick ass steak and is amazing at grilling sorry

Okay but real talk, Kenma and Yaku swear like sailors and it scares everyone because they always whisper the most foul, insulting things under their breath. Hearing it is like seeing a cryptid

Speaking of cryptids, Fukunaga and Shibayama are THE most true crime, mythology, and mystery obsessed fanatics on the team and often fanboy about it together 

Fukunaga’s obsession with moth man has gotten to an unhealthy stage

Kenma absolutely had a vampire phase and has read twilight. Only Kuroo knows and has sworn to secrecy via blood pact

Kuroo’s a musical nerd. Knows all of the lyrics to Hamilton, BMC, DEH, Heathers, Rent, Beetlejuice, Etc. Kenma considered dropping him because of it

Iwaizumi tells the worst dad jokes and Kyotani, wanting to beat him, started doing it too and it drives everyone insane

Yahaba and Matsukawa get along surprisingly well. Both are true crime freaks and bond over their forensic files obsessions

Matsukawa didn’t really like his thick eyebrows so he got one of his female friends to pluck it for him, but almost cried and gave up after the first hair. Oikawa called him a pussy for the next year

Hanamaki jokingly flirts with everyone on the team so most of them just got used to it, but it still confuses Kindaichi to the point of mental breakdown

Makki called Kyotani ‘puppy’ as a joke once and now mad dog is truly terrified of him

Kyotani’s dog absolutely ADORES Oikawa and it’s the funniest shit to the rest of the team

Mattsun and Makki play DnD and once convinced Yahaba and Kyotani to join. Kyotani kept rolling to fight everyone and Yahaba was a bard that kept rolling to seduce everyone. They kept yelling across the board so they had to kick them out

Outside of his school uniform, Goshiki specifically wears only plaid

Tendou makes little chocolates for the whole team every once in a while so they don’t think he’s scary

Semi and Shirabu once had a fistfight in an abandoned McDonald’s parking lot while Tendou filmed and Goshiki cheered them on

Everybody makes fun of Shirabu’s haircut but nobody dares to say it to his face. its gotten to the point where they say he got it done by a blind old lady

There’s a running joke about Shirabu also getting his haircut from prison but Goshiki is starting to suspect that it may not be a joke

Yamagata and Tendou are good friends with the mutual goal of collecting as much blackmail on their team as possible

Tendou loves animals generally considered to be ‘ugly’ like rats, crows, reptiles, etc.

80% of Goshiki’s playlist is shit overplayed on the radio. Him, Shirabu, Tendou, Kawanishi and Ushijima have a permanent ban from the aux cord

Nobody watches YouTube with Ushijima because he never skips the damn ads (other than tendou)

Suna once said y’all’dn’t’ve unironically and made a first year cry

Akagi once said UwU unironically and had an identity crisis.

Osamu has one of those rainbow gaming keyboards and is constantly on a discord call. Atsumu always yells weird shit in the background to embarrass him and once pretended to be him

During Seijoh group chat arguments. Hanamaki and Mattsukawa like to drop facebook minion memes in just to piss everyone off even more

mattsun and maki both have separate photo albums in their phones labelled ‘minion memes to piss everyone off’

Hinata carries a pocket knife and no one has no fucking idea why

mattsun and maki both have matching rat fursuits that look like they actually where in a sewer- they chased oikawa around

For all his talk of plant analogies and metaphors, Ushijima cant grow shit

Goshiki’s Bangs are the way they are because his favorite character was Rock Lee from Naruto

Oikawa has watched Ouran High School Host Club front to back so many times and he can quote all of Tamaki’s lines by heart -He keeps bothering Iwaizumi to “be his Haruhi, since you’re shorter than me”

Koganegawa has definitely gone as an Angry Bird for Halloween

Fukunaga has those reflective cat eyes, and he has terrified Yamamoto on several occasion

Hanamaki and Matsukawa have a teddy bear that they pretend is their child and they share custody

Suga always sprays whipped cream straight into his mouth whenever he sees a can

Nishinoya definitely bit people as a kid

Nishinoya would be the guy to wear shorts all year round and even if it's snowing, he'll insist he's not cold

Tendou is still stuck in his emo phase and would fangirl over Creepypasta with me and I appreciate that (me too buddy, me fuckin too)

Kyoutani LOOKS like he’d listen to viking death metal, but in reality he listens to Mother Mother and knows all the words to Ghosting

Sugawara would definitely encourage me to dumb shit and not stop me, and you’re all dumb for thinking he wouldn’t 

KENMA IS NOT ‘uwu owo’ SHY, HE IS ‘your fucking gross’ SHY SO LITERALLY STFU

Bokuto listens to Nicki Manaj. And knows all the words. To every. Single. Song.

Ushijima for some reason knows an odd amount of 90′s-2000′s R&B and he will hum along to the songs if they come on the radio (he also loves Dolly Parton) ((he says he relates to her music))

Bokuto once ate instant ramen for an entire month

TERUSHIMA DID TRY TO FUCK A PLANT WHILE SHITFACED AND GOD I STAND BY WHAT I SAID

atsumu let’s you put makeup on him and pretends to eat the brushes (do yk what im talking about- like n o m)

tendou ran for school president as a joke but actually won

i 100% believe that all of karasuno’s third years apologize when they bump into inanimate objects, but when suga is really tired or stressed out, he’ll yell at them instead.

Tanaka, Nishinoya, and Taketora have a group chat called "Bros who want sum hoes" and they send each other hypebeast memes and shit

Sugawara knows how to do a bunch of flexible shit because he sometimes goes to yoga with daichi and asahi's moms, its fucking hilarious

tanaka and noya both breakdance- they work as a team and sometimes go to tokyo for underground competitions- saeko drives them

Daichi knows a little ballet- nobody other than Kiyoko knows because they saw each other at the ballet class and had to work together- dont tell tanaka and noya that he lifted her though

Osamu once put glitter on Atsumu's pillow- he still finds hot pink glitter on shit

kita knits and crochets with his grandma

Kita's grandma knows everyone's names because kita talks shit bout them, her favorite is Aran

Kuroo has burnt his eyebrows off doing an experiment. His goggles didn't cover all his brows,,, so he just showed up to practice like that. No eyebrows and a chemical burn

kenma has played all kinds of games, but he was dared to play corpse party by kuroo. He wasn't scared because of the gore, he was thinking about the trauma the characters went through. Punched kuroo the next day because that game was fucked up

Lev isn't a strong swimmer, so he often grabs people by the head to keep himself up. happened with kenma and lev couldn't walk due to the force of kenmas suprised water kicks

akaashi has those fancy pens that you have to dip in ink and they're so nice

Bokuto has and will eat pencil erasers again

Daichi once almost lost his shit at his team but instead he lost his shit at the door that decided to stub his toe on the way out of the gym. not the best thing to be found yelling to.

Yamaguchi for sure has been dragged to one of terushimas parties because he didnt wanna say no. oh and terushima has like frat boy level parties too. Yams has for sure had some wild nights and doubts anyone other than Tsukishima and the party-goers will ever know

Akaashi can actually flirt very well! He reads romance novels sometimes and has analyzed any and every book in his possession! so he's actually quite charming

Daihsou unironically posted on twitter after mika broke up with him "I still see her shadows in my room"

Mattsun and Maki run a fake oikawa account; its been going ever since twitter even started getting popular and they even started sending messages in spanish. The posts would range from "I love all my fans!" to flirting with them :) Oikawa is pissed cause the account got verified before he did and most of his fans also follow the fake oikawa. Tooru has no idea who runs it JUST IMAGINE OIKAWA JUST LIKE RANTING TO THE SEIJOH 3RD YEAR ALUMNI AND JUST "no Iwa-chan, you dont understand! they run a fake account and pretend to be me!" while makki and mattsun laugh their asses off

Oh, kenma for sure has pretended to be a girl on discord and has gotten someone to buy him stuff. after they do he says in his normal voice "fucking simp" and then hangs up and blocks the other persons discord

Yamamoto, despite his rough appearance, loves kids and has and will be a human jungle gym

suna in middle school had a game with his friends about who could make kids cry the fastest

The twins switched places back in middle school and nobody could tell because of how great they are at acting like eachother

Daichi once arrested coach ukai for public intoxication after a game :|

Daichi has arrested many people from his old volleyball team but the most memorable case was when he arrested tanaka and noya for reckless driving. poor idiots got so scared when they saw their old captains face in their mirror and started to pray

tanaka, while trying to intimidate someone, once said "You dont gotta tell me twice, i may be straight but these hands are bisexual" and he often cringes at night thinking about it

Kageyama, as a comeback to Tsukishima, said "one thing about us royalty is that we love to feast" and he also fuckin hates what he said

the third years made a cult for Kiyoko. they chant every wednesday "i'll do anything for kiyoko, she makes me go loco"

oikawas fangirls are known to be fucking rabid

yAMAMOTO AND KENMA AFTER THEIR FIGHT WERE FORCED BY KUROO TO MAKE IT UP: so they dyed their hair together

Makki and mattsun sang two trucks in front of the entire team. everyone was so confused. Makki: "twO TRUCKS HAVIN SEX!!" Mattsun: "oH yEs!"THEY'D SWITCH OFF AND HAVE LIKE CHOREOGRAPHY TOO LIKE THEY'D DO A TANGO WHILE THE SONG IS LIKE "two beer trucks, making love"

tendou once called Oikawa "mr. no-nationals" and got kicked in the shins before iwaizumi could save him

Tsukishima had a my little pony phase

you work with matsukawa at a morgue and he makes dead people jokes while you fix some dead guys face with wax and makeup he'd be like "so didnt he like,,, stick his head out of the sunroof of a moving fuckin car??" he'd be singing dumb ways to die the entire day

i feel like Kuroo has one crazy accident a year. like it might not be deadly but its fucking crazy like for example: Kuroo for sure has ridden in a shopping cart at past midnight with kenma (who pushed him down a hill) causing Kuroo to get scratched up hella well. he lied and said he spent the night with a girl and kenma fucking hated himself cause he would be the girl if that was true

Mattsun has flirted with the 4th years moms before (AS A JOKE), and because of this: he is known as “fuckin milf hunter” sometimes by the team

Warning, this next headcanon is talking about cannabis, weed, mary jane, the zoink root. so if your uncomfortable, please dont read below :)

dude i wanna get high as SHIT with Asahi 

i think Asahi would be one of those mfkers who takes one hit and is gone 

ASAHI ACCIDENTALLY GOING TO PRACTICE ZOINKED 

IMAGINE HIM SEEING TSUKISHIMA AND JUST "he looks so judgemental,,, im scared" 

OR LIKE A MAD DAICHI AND JUST "i'm gonna,,, im gonna go jump out the window now" 

Noya and Tanaka would know tho, i feel like they'd have a 6th sense when it comes to weed. they probably get some from Saeko cause she'd rather they do it in the house. they'd smell asahi like fucking dogs and just so,,, big guy had fun without us huh? 

DAICHI WOULD KNOW ABOUT ASAHI BEING ZOINKED, SMASH HIS FACE INTO THE WALL, TURN AROUND WITH A RED MARK ON HIS FOREHEAD AND WITH A BEAMING SMILE AND FEUX ENTHUSIASM SAY: "YOSH, LETS WARM UP!"

#haikyuu #hq #haikyuu!! #haikyuu crack #haikyuu boys #haikyuu x reader #haikyū!! #haikyu x reader