#they're so messy they spiralled into this in a matter of hours

[tennant-davids]

OUR FLAG MEANS DEATH Ed and Stede in 2x07 Man on Fire

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmdedit #ofmdsource #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #usereena #userkristi #userisaiah #userleila #userelio #*laurengifs #ed x stede #userbbelcher #chewieblog #consistent colouring? not here! #they're so messy they spiralled into this in a matter of hours

[ofduskanddreams]

Truth or Dare, Azriel?

For @panicatthenightcourt :) The request: Gwynriel and Elucien. Tipsy truth or dare and maybe things get a little bit messy? I chose to make this a modern AU since it wasn't specified hehe.

A/N: It's implied that they've been drinking but let me assure everyone that they're still fully in control of themselves. There is no infidelity in this fic, everything is consented to by all parties involved.

Gwynriel & Elucien ✦ Rated M ✦ 1.3k words ✦ on AO3

Azriel dropped his head onto Gwyn’s shoulder, closing his eyes and inhaling the scents of sunscreen and lavender shampoo.

The bonfire was crackling merrily and carving a pool of orange out of the deep violet night. Crickets chirped, frogs trilled, and the lake water lapped gently at the sand.

He was tipsy.

Gwyn smelled fucking amazing.

There were still four days left of their vacation.

He was at his favorite place with his favorite people.

It was too….

No. 

Azriel sat up, blinking against the firelight and reminding himself that he was allowed to have this without the constant fear of it being stripped away.  

Some things were truly good. Other shoes didn’t always drop.

“Everything alright, Az?” Elain asked. She was curled into Lucien’s side across the fire from them.

“Yeah, fine. I just spaced out.” He hoped his face betrayed nothing. The last thing he needed was for Lucien to spend the rest of their vacation calling him Sadzriel again. 

“Okay,” Gwyn exclaimed with a clap of her hands. “We are going to play a game because it’s too early for us to be getting tired. Besides, we need to give them—” she jerked her head toward the house on the hill “—more time before the cabin will be safe.”

Half an hour earlier, Nesta had dragged Cassian away from the fire claiming she was “tired.” Rhys and Feyre made their excuses not long after.

Gwyn had a point. Even if they wanted to go to bed right now, Azriel knew none of them would be able to fall asleep due to the volume of the others' activities. It was the one downside of this pine-sheltered haven on the lake. 

“What kind of game?” Lucien asked.

Azriel turned to his right. The flames danced tangerine in the teal reflection of Gwyn’s eyes making them gleam with a devilish light. 

His girlfriend shot him a sly smile. “Truth or Dare.”

Elain grinned, “I’m in.” 

“Me too,” Lucien said with a huff of laughter. 

“Az?”

His past experiences of Truth or Dare weren’t what Azriel would call fond memories. Then again, maybe that was an unavoidable consequence of playing with Rhys and Cassian instead of being the fault of the game itself. And the way Gwyn was looking up at him all wide-eyed and lower lip caught between her teeth the way she knew drove him crazy….

“Fine, I’m in too.”

“Don’t sound so excited about it,” Lucien chuckled and Azriel threw an empty beer can at his head.

“If you had my memories of Truth or Dare, you wouldn’t be so psyched about it either,” Azriel grumbled. 

It didn’t take long for the game to spiral in the direction that Azriel had been dreading. They made it once around the circle and then it was Elain’s turn again. He knew it was going to be bad no matter which option he chose. The world may think Elain Archeron the epitome of sweet kindness, but those close to her knew better than to fall to that facade. Elain Archeron could be the devil in disguise.

“Truth or dare, Azriel?” she asked, her tone intentionally disarming.

Knowing Elain for as long as he had, he knew she knew things about him that few did—that Gwyn didn’t. Not yet, at least. They’d been together for a year but some things he wanted to share were so weighty that a year might not be strong enough to hold them. To choose “truth” would be too risky.

“Dare.” Azriel leaned back, leveling Elain with a look of challenge to belie his fear of her next words.

“I dare you to kiss Lucien. For at least five seconds. With feeling.”

And Elain looked so smug at that, Azriel couldn’t help but laugh. Lucien was very attractive. Had they met in a bar and weren’t attached, he’d waste no time. “What do you say, Lucien?”

Lucien wore a smirk as he pushed off the log to stand. “If the ladies want a show, and you are willing, who am I to deny them?”

Azriel rose, moving until they were standing nearly chest to chest. “Oh, if it’s what the ladies want, I’m all in.” 

He shot a questioning glance toward Gwyn over his shoulder. It was only a fun game if everyone thought so, if she didn’t want him to do this he wouldn’t. But Gwyn was smiling, and she waved her hands as if to say by all means, please continue.

So, Azriel reached and tangled his fingers in the thick red hair at Lucien’s nape. He winked at Gwyn. “I always have had a thing for redheads,” and then he stepped into Lucien’s space.

Lucien was slightly taller than him. Azriel had forgotten until he had to tilt his chin at the last second. The kiss started out questioning: hi there, hello—drawing back, a second chaste brush and press—we’re doing this, yes we are.

Then it turned exploratory: how good of a kisser are you?—adding pressure—very good I’ll have you know—Lucien’s hands on either side of his jaw, tipping Azriel’s head as he took control. Azriel nipped Lucien’s lower lip in response to the challenge.

Someone wolf-whistled. Probably Gwyn. Azriel took that as his cue to slow, and Lucien did the same.

The kiss ended sincerely: that was rather nice—a strong press—it was, wasn’t it—parting, then coming back for one last peck, featherlight and lingering.

They stepped away from each other, smiling. Lucien offered Azriel his hand, “Nice work.”

Azriel shook it, “You weren’t too bad yourself.”

Lucien rolled his eyes and went back to sit beside Elain. “Was it everything you hoped for?”

Elain, whose red cheeks (though not as red as Gwyn’s when Azriel looked) were answer enough, but she huffed a laugh, “And then some. I don’t know what I expected but that was… something.” 

Lucien arched an eyebrow, glancing between Azriel and Gwyn with a silent question. Azriel couldn’t deny that the idea intrigued him, but that was something to think about for another night. Now he needed revenge.

“Elain—Truth or dare?” Azriel already knew which one she would choose, but they had to play the game. 

“Dare.” 

Just as he had hoped.

“I dare you to ask Gwyn to go skinny dipping in the lake with you right now.”

“Oh,” Elain feigned surprise. “So that’s how it’s going to be? What do you say, Gwyn, should we give the boys a taste of their own medicine?”

“Now hold on. That wasn’t—” Azriel’s half-hearted protest was interrupted when Gwyn stood up and tugged off her (it was actually his, but she’d stolen it) hoodie.

“There is nothing I would like more,” Gwyn replied with a wicked-looking grin aimed at Azriel. 

Elain and Gwyn walked down the beach, a trail of discarded clothes marking their path to the lakeshore. 

Slowly, Azriel and Lucien rose and turned as one, as if there were little more than puppets on strings. 

Inky water swallowed pale limbs and soft curves as they walked further out. The two women seemed to glow in the light of the nearly full moon reflecting off the breeze wrinkled surface of the lake. They were ethereal, otherworldly, like nymphs or sirens.

Azriel glanced at Lucien to find the man already looking at him. They exchanged nods, starting to follow the trail their girlfriends had left behind.

Gwyn and Elain stopped when the water was just below their shoulders. He wasn’t sure who moved first, but the next thing he knew their hands were in each other's wet hair and they were kissing. 

“Fuck me.” The words sounded like they’d been punched out of Lucien’s gut.

“Yeah,” Azriel breathed. He shared the sentiment.

“Well boys,” Gwyn’s voice carried over the water. “Are you going to just stand there or are you going to join us?”

✦ ✦ ✦

tagging: @damedechance @talons-and-teeth @krem-does-stuff @iftheshoef1tz @thelovelymadone @mmiscbutterflies @shadowriel @foundress0fnothing @sunshinebingo @octobers-veryown @areyoudreaminof @moonpatroclus @separatist-apologist @kingofsummer93 @velidewrites @wittyrejoinder @bagelfyre @itsthedoodle @sv0430

#kate's celebratory drabbles series #gwynriel #elucien #gwyn x azriel #azriel x gwyn #elain x lucien #lucien x elain #with some #azriel x lucien #gwyn x elain #luzriel #gwynlain #gwynriel fanfiction #elucien fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #acotar drabble #acotar au

[bellysoupset]

popping in with a prompt/suggestion for vince cause i love me a lactose intolerant boy with lil tummy and his gf is also very hot so it’s a win win :) i was thinking it’d be fun if they were staying in a hotel for the weekend (maybe for a medical convention that wendy is going to?) and so they go to an unfamiliar coffee shop and the barista makes vince’s drink with regular milk. as the hours tick by and the convention draws closer, he’s miserable because his tummy is getting more and more upset and he doesn’t know why. he doesn’t want to disappoint wendy but he really doesn’t want to go because he’ll just end up spending the whole evening locked in a bathroom stall :(

Alright, this spiraled out of control. Anon, have some Vince and Wendy in NYC, him meeting her parents, having a lactose intolerance episode in the most inopportune moment and learning more about Wendy's past.

TW: discussions of transphobia and mental health issues, but nothing actually happens in the fic.

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Vince wasn't a heavy sleeper, he had never been. He was an insistent sleeper, meaning he refused to open his eyes at every little noise that woke him up.

Like the thunders that shook the structure of the building or Wendy's little rushed whispers. He rolled on the bed and let out a happy noise when his cheek met her thigh. Vince snuggled closer, wrapping an arm around her waist and felt her gentle fingers stroke over his cheek, then start playing with his hair.

He wasn't paying any attention to what Wendy's whispered conversation on the phone, so he was genuinely lost when she leaned in and planted a kiss on his forehead, saying just a little louder, "what do you think?"

"Uhm?" Vince forced his eyes open and then opened a smile when he met her face leaning over his, "hi..."

"Hi," she smiled, leaning back against the pillows, "what do you think?"

"About?" Vince yawned, rolling around so he could bury his face on Wendy's stomach. She giggled, starting to scratch his naked back instead of his scalp.

"Going to NYC this weekend," Wendy answered, "there's a medical convention on neurology and Jon's got tickets, but he doesn't want them anymore."

"Sounds boring," Vince scoffed, giving up on sleep and sitting up, rubbing his eyes.

"Well, duh, but it's only going to be one evening... We could go to the Broadway, you like theater..." Wendy said, her voice gaining that whiny consistency that worked so well on him.

Vince rolled his eyes, he knew how to pick his battles and this was not even a parking lot fight. She'd get whatever she wanted, no matter how boring the convention sounded... "Wait," he interrupted his own thoughts and Wendy raised her eyebrows, almost as shocked as him that he hadn't folded immediately.

"Yeah?"

"Aren't you from NYC?" Vince frowned, "am I meeting your folks?"

She blushed, shrugging and avoiding his eyes, "if you want to meet them, sure..."

"Do you want me to?" he grabbed her chin, forcing their eyes to meet and Wendy shrugged again.

"I guess...? I don't know, I want you to meet them, but they also... They're not a good time, Vin," she bit her lip, seeming torn, so Vince made the executive decision for both of them.

"I don't care," he said, pushing a strand of messy hair away from her eyes, "I wanna meet them, alright? It can be just a dinner."

"Just a dinner sounds fine," Wendy agreed eagerly, cheeks turning even redder, "it kinda sucks that your parents are just... So amazing. They make mine suck by simple comparison."

Vince rolled his eyes, shutting her up with a kiss, "they're not that awful, I'm sure. Besides, I don't care even if they are... It's about getting to know you better, not them."

"Uhmmm," Wendy mumbled, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him back, "so NYC this weekend?"

"Sure, sure, sure," Vince said barely paying attention, pushing her back against the pillows.

----------

"You look fine, stop fiddling with your blouse," He said, wrapping an arm around Wendy's shoulders and tugging her to him. His girlfriend let out an unhappy noise, once more pulling on the front cords of her top.

It was rare he got to see Wendy be this out of sorts, normally she was so sure of herself. Not today. She had been on a manic state since morning, despite the flight between Maine and New York only taking an hour and the convention starting at midday, they had left to the airport at 7 AM. She had picked his clothes, she packed and then re-packed at least twice and no amount of flirty banter had won Vince more than a lukewarm smile.

"Hey," he sighed, pressing his lips to the top of her head, "it's going to be fine, honey. I'm great with parents."

"You are not the one I'm worried about," Wendy groaned, sinking in his embrace, "I'm sorry, I just... I just don't want them to scare you away, that's all."

"They couldn't even if they tried," Vince squeezed her against him as they approached the convention center where the event was being hosted, "I'll meet your back here in five hours?"

"Are you sure you don't wanna stick around?" Wendy sounded all hopeful, but as much as Vince loved her, a neurology convention was not his idea of a good day. He shook his head.

"I love you, but absolutely not. Google Maps says we're close to the Cloisters, so I have my plans laid out for me," Vince said, pecking Wendy's pout, "honey, I'd be a cardboard cut out in a neurology convention."

"I know," Wendy sighed, nodding, "don't cheat and visit the Met without me."

"I wouldn't even know how to get there," Vince lied cheekily and she rolled her eyes, tip toeing to kiss him again.

"I'll see you in five hours. Text me if something happens or you get lost."

"I'm not gonna get lost," he huffed, biting her bottom lip and pulling back with a wink, "have fun looking at brains, weirdo."

"Have fun looking at old bricks, nerd," she answered, smiling as Vince turned around and left her.

The Cloisters were more than just old bricks, although it had its fair share of those too. It was the US' only museum dedicated to Middle Ages art and architecture and Vince was almost bouncing on his feet as he got to indulge his nerdy side.

He was a sucker for medieval history and Vince was completely sucked in as he followed the tour guide around, enjoying the role reversal of him being the visitor instead of the one talking endlessly.

The building had a Romanesque section that had him almost vibrating with excitement and snapping a million pictures, bombarding their friend's group chat. The Early Gothic Hall had him tripping over himself to catch up with the tour guide, as Vince got lost gazing at the mosaics.

Finally, after a two hours and a half long tour, he hit the gift shops and cafe.

He ordered a croissant and a latte, then happily went to inspect the overpriced gifts the museum offered. Vince wasn't much of a gift giving person, but he knew Wendy loved all sorts of trinkets, so he bought her a Tudor decorated fountain pen and a silk neckerchief with a Degas painting printed on it.

Deciding he'd buy other trinkets for their friends once the trip was over, Vince happily took his order from the cafe and started walking back to the subway station.

By the time he reached the convention center, he had long finished his food and was starting to not feel so hot. He wasn't sure if it was motion sickness from the thirty minutes long journey from uptown to midtown or if the cafe food hadn't been good, but regardless his stomach was feeling iffy.

He grimaced as a cramp hit him just as he entered the convention center, showing his ticket and ID to the lady at the entrance. It was a big place, with three different floors and Vince let out a sigh of relief as he felt the freezing A/C cool him down.

Maybe it was just some weird motion sickness, he sure as hell wasn't used to subways back in their town.

He fished out his phone, shooting Wendy a text and then wandering around, trying to find a water fountain. There wasn't one, of course, but there was a vending machine, so he bought a can of tonic water, which he was still sipping when he spotted Wendy's dark head among the crowd that was just leaving one of the lecture rooms.

Vince let out a sigh of relief, power walking in her direction, ready to ask if they could cut the trip 30 mins shorter so he could go to their hotel and just rest a bit before dinner with her parents, when he realized Wendy had company.

She spotted him the minute he stopped walking, opening a big smile and gesturing as she exclaimed, "Vince!"

He knew exactly who her companions were, before even being introduced.

Wendy's mom had wavy honey colored hair reaching the middle of her back, with dark eyebrows and lashes, so he knew she wasn't a natural blonde. She was shorter than her daughter, but not by much, and she was pale, wearing impeccable make up, with the same heart shaped face as Wendy.

Next to her, Wendy's father was completely bald, with his daughter's striking green eyes. He also had Wendy's bright smile and looked friendly as he zeroed in Vince.

"You must be Vincenzo," he presumed, raising a hand for Vin to shake, as if Wendy hadn't just said Vince's name, "I'm Sheldon, this is my wife Lydia. We're Wendy's parents."

"Nice to meet you, sir," Vince shook the man's hand, noticing just how tiny it felt in his. Both her parents were shorter than Vince by a lot and he felt all the more out of his element, the stumbling giant compared to these tiny, polite doctors.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Lydia said, stepping forward so Vince could shake her hand too.

There was a brief, awkward pause, that Vince quickly ended by asking, "I thought we were meant to meet you for dinner?"

"I just ran into them!" Wendy answered, moving away from her mom so she could take Vince's hand in hers, "I should've guessed you'd come to the convention."

"You'd have known if you had asked," Lydia answered and although she didn't seem to be antagonizing Wendy, her voice had none of the warmth either. Vince opened an uneasy smile.

"I thought it was a neurology convention? Wendy told me you're a dermatologist, ma'am. And you're an... Anesthesia doctor, right, sir?"

"Anesthesiologist," Sheldon nodded, seeming amused, "not half as glamorous as a dermatologist."

"But any hospital would come to a halt without one," Vince said, winning a genuine smile. Lydia crisped her lips.

"Yes, but some of our family friends were lecturing today," she explained, "we had to congratulate them."

Wendy squeezed Vince's fingers tightly between hers, "alright, uhmm... Mother, did you pick where we're having dinner?"

Lydia frowned, light brown eyes turning into little beads as she squinted, "pardon me? We're having dinner at home, of course."

Vince caught Wendy's grimace before she quickly covered it up with a polite smile, "I thought you said you were craving french food..."

"Yes, one of Michel's specialties," Lydia rolled her eyes, "besides, your boyfriend's never been to our place, it's only polite."

Vince wasn't so sure about polite. If he could take a hunch, he'd go with intimidating. As Sheldon led the way and Wendy squeezed his arm, looking vastly uncomfortable, he knew there was no way he could take a detour at the hotel. He'd just have to suck up his stomachache and gobble up whatever fancy food her parents put in front of him.

Instead of getting the subway again, they got into an SUV and Vince grimaced as he slid in alongside Wendy. Despite the spacious car, he could never sit in a backseat, since he was too much of a giant. He felt even more trapped, his knees up to his chest and Wendy muffled a chuckle, planting a small kiss on his bicep.

"I'm sorry," she whispered and he shook his head, smiling at her, but keeping his eyes in the horizon. The last thing he wanted was to get carsick on top of the already uneasy ache in his belly.

Wendy's place, or rather, her parent's place wasn't that far from the conventions center. Only twenty minutes, painful twenty minutes where Vince was acutely aware of the car's heavy silence and the fact his guts were being very vocal. He wasn't sure if he was the only one hearing the noises or not, but to him they were very clear.

It was so weird the fact these people didn't talk.

Their place, a parisian style townhouse in Carnegie Hill, was simultaneously underwhelming and overwhelming. Vince wasn't sure what to do with the information that this house that was upper middle class for sure, was probably worth up to millions because of its location alone. To him, it seemed like a regular 4 rooms house, if a little fancy.

"C'mon," Wendy tugged on his arm, circling the car. He tried to imagine her living there, walking to school... A much younger version of herself. He couldn't.

Lydia walked ahead of them, dropping off her coat with a maid who rushed to open the door and Vince cringed. Even in Italy, where he was aware they had been at a very expensive place, he hadn't seen any staff. Be it because Luke's house was abandoned or not, Vince preferred it that way.

He wasn't sure what to do with himself, if he should hang his jacket or hand it to the poor girl who was looking at him with a puzzled frown. Wendy solved it by grabbing the jacket with a yank and handing it to the girl, all the while smiling, "Hi Mary! How are you? How are the kids?"

Vince studied her, feeling like he was watching a movie. It was Wendy all right, friendly and extroverted, but... More quiet. Her gestures not as dramatic, as if she was holding herself back.

He turned away, while her parents disappeared inside the house. There were only art pieces in the foye, no pictures, so he had to pretend he was very interested in the messy red painting and not dividing his attention between overhearing Wen's conversation and focusing on his upset stomach.

A gurgle ran down his tummy and he pressed his eyes closed, gulping down. It was starting to cramp.

"I'd hate to interrupt your art nerd moment," Wendy whispered, bumping her arm against his, clearly reading right through his pretense, "but do you wanna maybe take a look around the place? I can show you my old room."

"Please," Vince said, relieved. Standing still was just making him hyperaware of how awful he felt.

Wendy grabbed his hand, pulling him forward. He couldn't pay attention. Vaguely Vince heard "this is the reading nook" and "mother's office" and "dining room", but all he could think about was the fact that sweat was starting to run down his back.

She pulled him up the stairs, bouncing on her feet, "and here to the right is my old room, unless they converted it into a dance studio," Wendy said with an eyeroll, before pushing the door open.

It was nothing like her.

Vince would know, he was well versed on her decor tastes by now. Instead the whole room was in shades of beige and cream, with wooden details. It was delicate, but there was no pink, no lilac, no flowers or busy wallpaper or anything that remotely reminded him of his girlfriend.

"Are you sure we're in the right room?" Vince frowned, following her in and looking around. It was a really nice, spacious room, with a small walk in closet and a suite. Still... "Where's the color?"

Wendy snorted, fiddling with the books in the shelves near her big bed, "my parents would have a stroke if I had a bubblegum pink bedroom... What would our relatives think?" she rolled her eyes and Vince frowned.

Back at his parents home, his room was still the same. Messy, with his three motorcycle posters up in the walls, his pile of books and all the nerdy shit he had collected over the years. Wendy's room felt like it was ready to have its picture taken for some decoration magazine.

"Have your parents been to your place yet?" He asked, moving around. She had almost no books, the few he could see were about high school biology or chemistry...

"Could you imagine them there?" Wendy snickered, hugging him by the middle, "my mother would implo- Aww honey, you must be starving."

Vince grimaced, sure she had felt the upset rumbling of his stomach. He made a noncommittal noise, still hellbent on pretending it was fine. It was fine, even if he was feeling more than a little nauseous and shaky with all the cramping.

"Oh look at you..." Vince cooed, instead of addressing what she said, reaching forward to grab a pictured frame. He could easily identify Wendy between two other girls, even if she was different. She was much skinnier in the picture, the dress hung awkwardly on her and there were no boobs, her brown hair twice as long and draping on her front, with heavy bangs, "Joni Mitchell herself."

"Oh shut up!" Wendy squealed, her whole face ablaze. She bit her lip nervously, "I look terrible..."

"No, you don't," Vince rolled his eyes, studying the little Wendy in the picture, "alright, where are the baby pictures?"

Wendy rolled her eyes, turning around in the half hug so she could press her cheek to his chest and Vince winced when that pushed a queasy burp one, that he swallowed back down. He pressed his eyes closed, forcing down a moan over how disgusting his mouth felt, the latte from before creeping up his throat.

"I'm glad you're here with me," Wen whispered, blissfully unaware of his conundrum. Vince grimaced, running a hand up her back and feeling a twinge of self loathing. He hated that his belly was acting up in such an important moment for her.

He knew by now that surely the food at the museum had been bad, his best guess being the barista had used whole milk in his latte and not oat milk.

Unable to answer her, Vince opted for kissing the top of her head and then they peeled apart.

Dinner was hellish. He didn't expect it to be remotely enjoyable, but he didn't expect it to suck so badly. Wendy had warned her parents he was lactose intolerant, so there were plenty of options for him to eat from, much to Vince's absolute horror.

He almost gagged at the creamy sauce that was planted in front of him, his stomach churning and intestines squeezing as he kept a painful smile on and tried to listen to her parents weird overly polite conversation.

The Marshalls were weird people, Vince thought bitterly. Wendy's mother barely spoke, only made little disdainful noises and wrinkled her nose at every single answer Vin gave to Sheldon's questions.

What's your major? What do you work with? Where is your family from?

"Oh you're an immigrant?" Was the first thing she said after at least thirty minutes of painfully awkward silence and Vince silently praying for his death. He hated the silence above all, because he was sure everyone could hear the upset gurgles in his tummy.

He jammed his fork through the fish he had been pushing around his plate for the past half hour, fingers squeezing the metal and forced his voice to remain steady as he said, "yeah, we moved here when I was ten."

"Legally?" Lydia raised an eyebrow and Vince glared at her, the fork sliding on the plate with how much force he was applying and almost sending his fish flying.

"Yes, legally, ma'am," he answered through his teeth, letting the fork clank back down on the porcelain plate and deciding that there was no way he could pretend to be feeling fine, not with these questions, not when it felt like his body was trying to explode on him, "excuse me."

He pushed back from the table, avoiding Wendy's worried gaze and hearing her exclaim "mother! What the fuck was that question!?" and her father scoff "oh great, he's bulimic too," as Vince sped down the hall.

He didn't remember the bathrooms downstairs from Wen's tour, but he did remember her room was a suite, so Vince all but sprinted up the stairs, as fast as he could on shaky legs.

A fierce cramp went through his intestines just as he burst in her room and he clutched his tummy, folding forward and letting out a choked noise as vomit flooded his mouth, dangerous gurgles warning him he had even more pressing issues than that though.

Vince barely had time to shove the bathroom door locked, before collapsing on the seat, pants pooling around his knees, frantically looking for the trashbin as he couldn't manage to swallow the foul liquid in his mouth.

Why didn't rich people ever have visible waste baskets!?

He couldn't find it and another gag made his spine roll, his stomach squeezing again - He reached forward and grabbed a towel, holding it like a cocoon on his lap and finally opening his mouth.

It was humiliating and painful. His intestines were cramping like hell, it felt like there was an iron hand squeezing his insides like a squeak toy. His stomach churned as more of the dinner he had forced down came up, barely digested, staining Wendy's fluffy white towel.

Vince coughed and whimpered, unable to keep the tears at bay. He felt horrible and horrified he'd have to face the Marshalls after this... Vince groaned out loud, struggling to breath, bent in half over the mess, unable to close his mouth with how queasy he felt.

His belly let out a sad whine, cramping and churning, but also feeling hollow and raw. Vince spluttered for air, dry heaving for another handful of minutes before he managed to get his stomach on check.

There was a little knock on the door and then Wendy's voice traveled through, "Vin, can I come in?"

Fuck no.

"No," he answered roughly, glaring at the mess on his lap and folding the ends of the towel, the movement causing him to feel just how sore his middle was. It felt like he had done a million abdominals... The mere act of moving making him pause and breathe through it.

There was another timid knock, "okay... Can I call the car to get us back to the hotel? Or do you need more time?"

He wasn't sure. Vince wanted to get the hell out of this house, preferably before her parents saw the mess, but he also wasn't sure if he trusted his belly to stay in check. He leaned over the towel again, bringing up a small, wet burp and gulping down the bile with a shudder.

"Vin?"

"Just give me a minute!" Vince snapped, before promptly sniffling, swallowing the knot in his throat. He didn't want to yell at her or be sitting on the toilet with a puddle of his own vomit or to be in her parents fucking house where he was so out of place. He didn't want to be there.

Crying — or trying his best not to cry — was not a good added strain on his belly and soon he found himself heaving over the towel again, trying to cough up his stomach lining. His lower belly was still gurgling bloody murder, even though he felt wrung dry, fruitlessly trying to get rid of anything else.

Vince straightened up as best as he could, spitting a pathetic amount of frothy saliva and unsure of what to do with himself. He wiped at his face, brushing away the tears and the drool still clinging to his lips, clearing his throat twice before croaking a pathetic, "Wendy?"

"Yes?" it sounded like she was glued to the door, which was both heartwarming and mortifying. Vince's shoulders fell in defeat.

"Can you help me?" He needed to clean up, but he was afraid of moving with the soiled towel on his lap and cause an even bigger mess. If he dripped vomit on the ground or her ridiculously fancy bathmat, Vince decided he'd jump out of a window.

"Of course," she pushed the door open and Vince looked away immediately. He didn't want to see a disgusted frown or her gagging on instinct because of the smell and the visuals.

Instead her cold hands came to cup his cheek, thumbs rubbing in circles before she dropped her hands to his shoulder, pushing him back slightly, "aw, my darling..."

"I'm so sorry-" Vince groaned, his eyes stinging, "I swear I tried not to make a mess, I just- I don't know where the trash is and I was feeling so horr-"

"Honey, I don't care about the towel," Wendy scoffed, planting a kiss on the top of his head, "you poor thing..." she rubbed his back up and down and Vince leaned forward, hiding his face against her stomach and trying not to break down crying.

"I wanna go home," he groaned and yeah, he meant home, but the hotel was good enough. Wendy let out another sympathetic coo.

"I already called the car," she undid his loose manbun on the base of his neck, pulling his curls up and tying them back again, "lean back, let me handle this..."

Carefully she grabbed the ends of the ruined towel, balling it up and quickly moving it to the sink. Vince heard another loud growl coming from his stomach and cursed, hugging his middle.

"Wendy... I need you to get out. Please, get out-"

She opened her mouth to complain, but it was already far too late. With another loud whine, his intestines finished emptying in the bowl, all the while Vince's blushed cheeks turned white to match the rest of his face and he gagged against his hand.

"Here, here, I got you," Wendy hurried, leaving the towel inside the sink and opening the cabinet. Instead of it opening to the side, it opened forward, concealing a bin shutter. One she promptly grabbed out of it's placement and held under his chin to catch a little dribble of vomit and a load more of empty heaves.

"Shhhh," she held his forehead with one hand, the other one supporting the bin, "honey, you need to breathe..." Vince was a trembling mess under her hand, tears leaking from the corner of his eye.

He let out a pitiful moan, head handing and now openly crying, "this is so gross and humiliating and- I'm s-sorry..."

"It's not your fault, Vin," Wendy scoffed, running her free hand under the tap and pressing it back to his forehead, hand wet and cool, "are you done?"

"I think so... I need to clean up, can you step outside?"

"Yeah," she put the bin back in place, stepping back, "don't worry about the towel, I'll get it to laundr-"

"No, your parents-"

"I don't care about my that, just focus on cleaning up so we can get back to the hotel, alright?" Wendy rolled her eyes, grabbing the ruined towel and rushing out of the room.

Vince met her back in the bedroom a handful of minutes later, face milky white and hunched onto himself, one arm wrapped around his stomach as if to protect it.

"Where are your parents...?"

"Upstairs," Wendy rolled her eyes, wrapping an arm around his back, "sulking. They'll get over it," she guided him to the first floor, "really Vin, I swear it's all fine... I'm the one who's sorry."

"Whatever for?" His voice sounded like he had gargled with glass shards and Vince winced, massaging his throat and following Wendy out of the house, breathing out in relief at the cool air.

"I didn't realize you weren't feeling well, if I had known I would've come up with an excuse so we didn't stay for dinner..." Wendy held the backseat door open for him and he slipped inside the car, relaxing against the leather seats, mumbling a small "good evening" to the driver.

"That's not on you," Vince groaned, pressing his forehead to the cool glass and muffling a small belch as the car started back up, the driver checking the address with Wendy, "it's my fault for not speaking up."

Wendy sighed, leaning in so she could rub his arm and planting a kiss to his shoulder, "you wanted to impress them and me, I don't hold it against you either..." she moved her hand to his belly and Vince let out a groan, leaning back on the seat and closing his eyes and she rubbed small, discreet circles on his tummy.

He must've dozed off, because next he opened his eyes, they were parking before the hotel and Wendy was ushering him out of the car. She didn't say anything as he hugged her closer, like a teddy bear, during the entire elevator trip and not even when he beelined to the bathroom and locked the door.

Vince came out almost an hour later, face flushed from the hot water, with a towel wrapped around his hip, wet hair dangling on either side of his face. He sat down on the bed with a sigh, with no energy to dress himself and Wendy crawled on the bed, draping herself on his back.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He leaned back, opening a little smile as he felt her fingers untangling his hair.

"Your dad said something," he said slowly, almost melting under the hair pets, "when I left the dining room."

"My dad said a lot of things," Wendy teased, but her voice was suddenly tense. Vince rolled his eyes, collapsing back, so he was half lying down, head on her lap.

He played with her hand, giving her time, "he said something about me being another bulimic."

Wendy's hand froze in his and Vince winced, knowing he had heard that right and assumed it correctly. He intertwined their fingers, "Wen?"

She shrugged, looking away as if his knee was suddenly the most interesting part of the room, "it was a long time ago, my parents just seem to think I'm eternally sixteen."

"Can you tell me?"

She hesitated, seeming to think about it, before carefully saying, "before I transitioned, before I even realized I was trans, things were... Weird. Well, bad. I knew something was different and I knew something was different with me. I wasn't like the other boys... My parents definitely could tell I was different, they sent me to an all boys school, probably hoping it would stop me from being gay."

"Sounds counterintuitive," Vince said lightly and she chuckled, moving on the bed so his head was resting on her thigh, but she could drape herself down and look him in the eye.

"I know, right? So they just started to cut all of my interests and hope they could fix me, which obviously they couldn't because there was nothing broken to begin with. Eventually mom even came to terms with I was possibly gay. Except I wasn't," Wendy rolled her eyes, "when I realized I was trans, I told them."

"And they weren't cool about it," Vince guessed and she shook her head, playing with one of his curls.

"Not in the least. So I spiraled... I spiraled bad. It was one thing to know something was different about me, it was another to know what I needed in order to be happy and have it denied and them calling me crazy. I hated my body and I hated my life and it snowballed... Bulimia, self harming, my journals were... Well, much worse than teenage drama. I was hopping from therapist to therapist, because my parents still thought I was straight up delusional, I was dropping weight like crazy, I was drinking..."

Vince frowned, looking at her, "and how did it stop?"

"...I downed one of my mom's bottle of pills, on my sixteenth birthday," Wendy said with a grimace, watching Vince's eyes widen in horror.

"Wendy..."

"I know," she sighed, "so that gave them quite the scare and they stopped being fucking assholes... I got therapy, real therapy, not conversion therapy. I got on antidepressants and had a nutritionist and all that... And then I left for college and I got gender affirming surgery, that helped like a fuckload, and I got to legally change my name and change universities... And things got better."

"I'm so so sorry your folks are such asses and that you went through all this, honey," Vince pouted, tugging her closer, "thank you for telling me, though... For trusting me."

Wendy opened a teary smile, looking away to get herself in check, before she scooted even closer. She traced a hand up and down his naked chest, biting her lip, "I was scared of telling you."

"Why-"

"No, not this," she shrugged, "before, when we first started flirting. I was sooo scared of telling you I was trans and you ruining things. I mean, you're a football player, Vince, I was expecting to get hate crimed."

He flinched, while she rolled her eyes, causing Vince to pout.

"I'd never-"

"I know," Wendy smoothed a curly chest hair back down, straightening it under her fingers, "but you can't blame a girl for looking out for herself."

Vince let out an unhappy noise, before squinting, "is that why you kept vanishing whenever we sexted...? And then texting back the next day?"

Wendy's whole face turned red and she pinched his side, causing him to squirm, opening a smug smile at her reaction.

"I thought you promised to never mention that again!"

"I'm just wondering!" Vince giggled, grabbing at her wrist and pulling her closer, "viene qui — viene qui, amore mio," he scoffed, forcing Wendy to close the space between them and kissing her, "you're amazing and I love you."

"Yeah?" she bumped her nose with his, "e ti amo... too?"

His face lit up at the broken Italian, "close enough," Vince sighed with a big smile, pulling her back in for a kiss.

#i had to end this somewhere #vince monacelli #lactose intolerance #i am literally so nervous about this fic #mywriting

[definitelynotshouting]

Oh is it litd/ tj appreciation hours?

I think one of the things I love most about hungar au is that it's so real with grians support group. He has people that will be there for him no matter what but there isn't the sense of "oh I could never be mad at you". His friends are furious. They're angry, and sad, and confused and hurt and they're still there for him but it's so clear that THEY are hurting too.

A support group is so important to getting better, and many times you'll here "oh its no trouble, I'll always be here for you" but being that support group isn't easy. Being someone's caretaker can be draining, and exhausting, and borderline soul crushing sometimes.

So many times it's overlooked how much recovery is painful for the support group, and no body ever wants to talk about it because they never wanna make it feel like it's about themselves and it sucks.

Litd doesn't shy away from that. Pearl is angry, confused, and probably filled with a dozen other emotions I can't put into words (in not a writer lol).

Ahhhh, I could literally scream about this for hours and even then I wouldn't be able to express how happy and SEEN these characters make me feel.

Sincerely, someone who spent years as someone's sole support group and eventual caretaker. -🌺

this is actually something that is SO important to me and something i really didnt want to shy from in the fic, which is that being someone's support system is incredibly hard, and it does hurt to see someone else spiraling. There are a lot of messy and confusing emotions in this kind of situation, and i really wanted to showcase that. Its rare to see any kind of recovery fic focus on the caretaker as much as the person going through it, and i personally find a lot of merit in it-- im really glad it resonates with you, because from the start i've always wanted this to be a major focus.

It's something that's gonna continue cropping up a LOT as the fic progresses-- especially with regards to the people who end up being Grian's primary longterm caretakers until he gets to a point where he can function by himself again. I have quite a few arcs im really excited to go into once we get back to Hermitcraft, and one of them specifically addresses the burnout associated with that concept. Honestly, i just really wanted this narrative to be clear about how there are no bad guys, only a messy and painful situation with hurt on all sides, and im really really glad i seem to be pulling that off so far :]

#shouting speaks #asks #hunger au #compliments #IM SO GLAD YOU LIKE THIS AUAGHJ #and yeah its like!!! everyone is feeling some type of way about this !!!! mumbo and pearl are the most noticeable rn #bc their reactions involve ANGER #but tango xisuma and scar are really going through it too-- they just show it in different ways. everyone is so so stressed... #also scar.... my gods i have some juicy stuff in store for him. rn he is on lock and in crisis mode #but when that wears off.... ohhhh man. im so excited #txt

[jjk-anime-horray]

I'm The Real Getou!!!

Suguru Getou x Reader (Jujutsu Kaisen Au)

18 year old Y/N, a not evil but registered curse user knows to stay out of Jujutsu business. However, what can someone do when they stumble across a Jujutsu sorcerer stripped of their powers, and have a ancient spirit imposter of themselves running around murdering people under there name. Let's just say things get messy very quickly.

Warnings: Strong language, Suggestive themes, and Kenjaku/Psuedo. Reader is Fem! Reader (Sorry).

Premiere/Part One: (Hope you like it)

Waitressing fucking sucks sometimes. You have to work late nights, odd hours, and deal with all sorts of crazy people that you honestly sometimes want to stab with the pen you write down there orders with. However, there was one sole reason why you worked at a late night restaurant/bar, have to deal with perverted men that don't get the point that being friendly is part of your god damn job, and occasionally having to watch drunk people start fist fights with each other:

Tips, and lots of them.

Currently slipping out of the pretty heels you wore to also help with you making said tips you changed out of your work clothes into some joggers, a sweatshirt, and sneakers because honestly who doesn't like comfy clothes.

You know that walking alone at night is usually pretty stupid, however, you also weren't like other girls. But not like pick me bitch I'm not other of girls type "I don't wear make", "I only hang with the bro's", casual misogyny shit. You go on tiktok, cry when any dog dies in movies, and watch whatever the hell you want just like almost anyone else on the planet. The difference between you and the next person over is that if someone tries to mug you, they're getting a black flash or maybe some curse energy embedded keys to the face.

You weren't a jujutsu sorcerer per se, but you did have cursed energy. You were just able to hide it from everyone else because you innate. technique nulls out anyone else's technique activated, and hides your cursed energy because it kind of nulls itself. You don't have a name for it, but it's really useful if you just want to mind your own business.

Street lights completely illuminated the way to your comfy apartment, so you didn't even have to worry about people popping out of dark corners.

But the "AUGHHHGG......HMPH......YOU MOTHER FUCKER!!! BOOM." that you heard followed by completely inhuman noises followed by more cusses, and blasts of cursed energy. That is something you might have to worry about.

And while you would normally just mind your own business and stay clear of the sight like anyone else with common sense, you couldn't in this situation because the obvious signs of conflict were coming out of your apartment building. Great, what could be better than dealing with curses after a brutal shift?

"Oh fuck me why is it always the perfect fucking time" You grumble to yourself.

You quickly run towards the building holding all of your possessions, wanting to prevent the most property damage that was yours as much as you could.

Dashing up the stairs with your backpack bouncing with each step taken.

With more booms coming from even closer to your complex, you dash faster down the walls, and were surprised that more people didn't notice the commotion.

But finally when you made it to your home sweet home, you calmed down as you unlocked your door and flung it open to find it completely as how you left it.

"Phew, at least is wasn't my stuff being smashed."

But before you could even settle in two bodies crashed through the sealing above you down to your apartment. Causing you to have to dive out of the way to avoid being completely crushed, but unfortunately you weren't in complete luck as your legs got partially. trapped under a beam.

The sight in front of you was something to behold. A faceless curse pinned down a raven haired man, and started to morph him?

Getou's POV:

When I felt a surge of cursed energy being release about a half hour ago I had no Idea it would spiral into this madness.

Now currently I was in a full fist fight with a faceless curse? that was so strong it put my special grade status to shame.

Why a fist fight you may ask? Well that's because it's technique stole my cursed energy, the second it emerged from it's boxed seal that got broken, it latched onto me and drained my powers and became more human.

White, faceless, sexless, with stitches and a tongue on it's forehead it was complexly ugly, but I shouldn't really be thinking about why it's ugly considering that it may have me dead. The weirdest thing was that after it got my cursed energy, and technique. It decided to talk to me. It even fucking introduced itself as Kenjaku. It spoke from the forehead on it's mouth, and proceeded to say this:

"Before you die, I should have you know that your abilities will be sacrificed and used for a great cause. Japan will rule them all."

It lunged at me, throwing the two of us through the floor down a level, as it tried to kill be by absorbing the rest of me. I don't know how he was going to do it, but I knew that I was currently choking the bastard with all of my might trying to get him off me.

But in this position all I can to is pray that I can pry him off of my neck, but when the being transformed it self into me. I couldn't get myself to not look in shock.

Y/N's POV:

You couldn't help but watch in complete utter shock when the white being took the form of the raven haired man underneath him. Everything about it was unnatural. But one thing's for certain, that thing was wrong, and you couldn't just let this happen in your damn apartment.

Looking down to the beam on your leg. Not completely crushing it, but making it stuck, you look around you to find anything you could use as leverage. Scoping the area you see something metallic, a part of a metal pipe! Quickly you use it to pry the wood off of your leg as quickly as you can, relieving some of the pain.

You scrabble from out under the debrie, pushing off all of the pebbles and splinted that adorned your sweatpants. You look over to see the thing and the man still in a stuggle, and the guy clearly losing.

Quickly you rush in with the lead pipe in. hand, and start to use your anger to conjure your cursed energy to imbue it in it.

"Time to die." The now duplicate said over the initial man. "Once I absorb your body, you'll become a complete part of my-"BAMM

The make shift weapon collided with the imposter, sending him across the room, tumbling into the white's wall of the room now covered in dust. Leaving you in-between the man and the thing with the pipe in hand embedded with your energy.

You watched to see the completely formed thing, started to make it's way back to it's feet. Shifting its weight it slowly made its way to i's knees. Unnerving you in the process as it replicated joints that got moved in tumble.

"What sort of low life are you to try to interfere with my--" The imposter stopped itself mid sentence. While speaking it tried to ready an attack (most likely a cursed energy blast of some sort) , but fell short as it realized that it couldn't.

"What did you do to me?!?" The spirit raged angrily in, at its now nulled abilities.

"That's none of your business, and what makes you think I would tell you anyway?"

You knew exactly what you did to him. You see the thing is with your cursed energy, anyone who comes in contact with it cannot activate there own cursed energy until your nulling wears off which varies form person to person. On top of that anyone who touches your body also gets there abilities deactivated as well.

"Well that doesn't matter anyway because I have a back up plan anyway."

"Wait what?"

"GET DOWN"

With that the intial black haired man tackled you to the ground, getting you out of the way as giant vines came crashing through the exterior walls into the heart of the building. Pulling the curse away in a grovey wake, and causing the two of you too crash into the far wall, and small pieces of debris to fall on the both of you.

Shakily you got to move after the crash, but then you immediately halted. Your body being pinned in place by not wood and rock, but muscle and flesh. Quickly your eyes snap to readjust so that you can interpret the sight.

Long muscular legs adorned with baggy pants were wound in-between yours, a solid stomach covered in a black rodlike shirt flung next too yours, and a god like upper body entrapped the rest of your body, and there was no denying that the man was tall and built. The icing on the cake however was the angular, slender eyed, gorgeous face that you finally get to have a good look at panting into your ear from exhaustion.

Slowly with a low grown of discomfort the body connected to yours shifted so that his eyes could meet your gaze head on.

"Are you alright Miss?" He said in a tone as if he wasn't talking to you with both (beefy) arms next to both sides of you head.

"Am I alright? Of course I'm fucking not!!!!"

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen au #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #fanfiction #x reader #anime #weeb #manga #getou suguru x reader #getou x you #getou suguru

[elishamanning]

Kramer: "Well, with us... we ask ourselves, how can something like (the Leverkusen game) happen, and we notice our surroundings asking that, we on the inside ask ourselves that, sometimes we come to a weird conclusion, what, do we have two faces? But we only think that because we only look at ourselves. But what do the Dortmunders think, winning 5-1 against Frankfurt, thus German champions obviously, then they lose 2-1 in Freiburg and everybody's thinking, well, they're not that good, are they. Will Bayern show their Supercup face, or their face-against-us, or against 1. FC Köln? The Leipzigers, do they show their Mainz-face or that outstanding show they put on against Stuttgart? These "problems of consistency" when you're a Gladbach fan, or a Gladbach player, you think 'these are Gladbach-only problems', but the others have them as well. It's always a matter of how you handle it and that you don't let it... well, tear you down emotionally. The important thing is to avoid a negative spiral, mentally, because, as everybody who's ever played football will know, in the end the decisive issue is always in your head (((aaaah, that's a bad translation. It's a mental issue, is what he says.))), and it always will be." Knippi: "Completely agree. And by the way, that's not limited to football." Kramer: "Well, exactly. It's not even worth discussing, when you enjoy doing something, when you're positive about it - it's not exactly a brand-new psychological finding - it'll always turn out better than when you're negative about it. So let's not, after the second matchday, tear everything down, and let's not, after the first matchday, praise everything to the heavens." Knippi: "Did you expect that? Becoming professional footballers, all that stuff that comes with it, besides playing football, all that stuff raining down on you?" Neuhaus: "Well, it just happens, it just all happens automatically. In the end, you become a footballer because you have fun playing football, and you don't much think about that kind of stuff that comes with it. You grow into it and you learn to handle it." Knippi: "So you're not actively getting prepared for that? Because in the last podcast you (Chris) said 'that's the guys from the NLZ' So it's not part of your training there?" Neuhaus: "No, it wasn't a subject in mine." Kramer: "Well to be completely honest, looking back, I thought football would be funnier, or at least less serious, and a bit more honest. That's also why I like this club so much, because I know that here at least you get an honest basis, like, I feel understood here, I have a certain relationship of trust to, for example, Max Eberl, but I wouldn't have imagined, without spilling any beans now, that football's such a not-really-nice business. So this is one of the best things here, for me, knowing that I have an honest and trustful basis that can be built on. And I really wouldn't have ever imagined it all to be so grossly serious. Sometimes I think inappropriately serious, because football is such a beautiful thing and when you get to do it as a profession, plaiyng football, there's nothing easier than joyfully going somewhere every day. These are the best conditions to have, the working hours, just turning your hobby into a profession - everything about football is 'geil', but still you get this completely inappropriate seriousness about it making you go, aw, it's tough. That's a shame I think, I wouldn't have thought so when I started out. I always wanted to be a footballer because, well, for one it's my passion, but also I thought every day would just be fun, and I think it should be, and that in the end that would be performance-enhancing, I'm quite sure about that. (laughing, saying that)." Knippi: "What do you think?" Neuhaus: "Always hard to disagree. The gist is we're all playing football because it's great fun being on the pitch. Of course there are always periods when it's a little harder but all in all and especially looking back you always regard things much more positive

than maybe you felt in that particular moment. (I don't really understand what he's saying there), but anyway the positives should always be front centre." Knippi: "What you just said, Chris, the seriousness, I also think it's too much sometimes. For example if a team's not playing well and the people on the pitch get personally attacked/insulted. I get to witness that when I'm down there, and sometimes I think 'what is wrong with you?', like, I get being unhappy when the team that has your heart isn't doing well, being unhappy, or sad, or disappointed, I get that, but not attacking the players personally. Well thank God that isn't an issue currently, and there's no reason why it should be." Kramer: "No, I don't think that's happened to me in my career... Well, once, playing with VfL Bochum in Aue, I was pelted with snowballs by our own fans but, in retrospect, that was quite funny." Knippi: "Like how?" Kramer: "Well, because we lost 6-1 playing in the snow. I'd say I'm a good player on snow, but, well, Ronny König is the best snow-player on this planet. He (literally he says 'he put four cherries into our basket', meaning he scored four goals... as you probably would have guessed.) So then our own fans, who'd travelled to Aue on a Monday night, threw snow balls at us, and we completely deserved it. And I do think every fan is right, and has the right, to use this outlet, that they're paying money for, to let off steam. Because football, in the end, is entertainment. Only, it doesn't help. What I meant with the seriousness is the whole stuff around it as well. Football is just a game. It's supposed to be fun, but sometimes I think, looking at the newspapers, all the sociopolitical issues, and seriousness... it's still football." Knippi: "Did I just understand you correctly, you're saying it's a fan's right to pelt you with snowballs?" Kramer: "Well... it gets its down dynamic, and it's not too bad. If someone insults me, say, I don't really have a problem with that. I don't take it personally because I don't think it's meant that way. It may not be the right approach and I may not understand their motive, but... that person is angry, they've had a bad week at work, then they come here, and we play badly ("nur hintenrum" - too defensively) so they have a right to...-as a fan, of course, you have to question whether that's doing any good. We've not really had that here in Gladbach and when there were beginnings of it, we had talks with the ultras, and stuff, we're quite close to the fans, so we don't really have that issue here, but you do see it with other clubs, and close friends of mine, they have had situations where I'd really say, now this is too much (I wonder if he's talking of Leon/the end at Schalke here), and that's just not on, but generally, we are an outlet for many and football is entertainment. When you're not being entertained you're entitled to boo. I don't mind. There's just this double standard - look at me, talking again for ten minutes straight (Knippi and Flo laugh), and you have to cut it all afterwards- once again I take ten minutes to get to the point, but you can't - you want to play with a young squad, and they'll make mistakes. You can't boo them. Or you can't say you want to play with a young squad. Very simply put." Knippi: "Tommy Schmitt, your successor at 11Freunde put it quite well there, I thought. It's very counterproductive to boo and whistle." Kramer: "Yes, well, you have to ask yourself, no matter what you do - I mean when you get to the office and everybody's scowling at you, thinking 'what an idiot!', you'll feel that as a person with empathy, like every footballer, and when you're booed, that does something to you... I can promise everybody: booing a player will never make them better, not ever." Knippi: "'Snow-player' you just said. You're not a good 'snow-player'." Kramer: "I'm a GREAT snow-player!" Neuhaus: "They lost 6-1, I don't think he's that great. They wouldn't have lost 6-1, would they?" Kramer: "Well Leon, Leon Goretzka

and I, we still talk a lot about that day. I'd say, Leon and I, we both have these long levers, we really are good snow-players, on a proper layer of snow, like there in Aue. But Ronny König! He's Messi on snow. Awesome, really." Knippi: "Wouldn't it be better to have short legs and a low centre of gravity?" Kramer: "I don't know. I don't think so. I mean, looking at Leon, and myself, AND Ronny König you can conclude the tall ones with the long legs are good on snow." (very scientific, this.) Knippi: "What kind of a snow-player are you?" Neuhaus: "There weren't any snow-games anymore in my time." Kramer: "NLZ, dude!" Knippi: "I know but..." Kramer: "No!" Neuhaus: "Climate change." Knippi: "But in your youth you must have played on snow once, haven't you?" Neuhaus: "Hardly." Knippi: "You're THAT young?!" Neuhaus: "At 1860 we had astroturf with undersoil heating." Knippi: "Did you ever play on clay?" Neuhaus: "...and anywhere in the stadiums today. There just aren't snow games like that anymore these days." Kramer: "He's from Bavaria, they don't have clay. They just have meadows and pastures, they play on the most beautiful pitches. Here in NRW when you're playing Galatasaray Mühlheim you know what's going down? You know what's going down, playing on clay?" Neuhaus: "I can just imagine." Kramer: "You take two weeks before you can go back to school because your legs - you simply can't walk anymore..." Knippi: "You've never played on clay?" Neuhaus: "No, never." Knippi: "You don't know that feeling when your grazed-open thigh is stuck to your jeans?" Neuhaus: "Yes, well, as a little child I played on the street..." (It goes on a bit yet, but I've already fallen asleep twice and I'm not sure these "translations" are making much sense anyway, so I'll leave it at this, now, alright? Flo played on asphalt, so he knows about open wounds from football. And Knippi claims he's still got remnants of clay in his thigh from decades ago. Hehe. I'll do the rest another time.)

first of all THANK YOU SOOOOO MUCH

it's always interesting to hear about a player's mindset

it's really interesting to see how an athlete's relationship with their changes over time. like to have something that was for fun and a hobby turn into your job is a pretty incredible transition. it's something a lot of people experience to an extent, but to have it on this high a level is pretty unique.

Kramer: "No, I don't think that's happened to me in my career... Well, once, playing with VfL Bochum in Aue, I was pelted with snowballs by our own fans but, in retrospect, that was quite funny."

chrikra???? please??? what is this... snowballs???

i also agree that while fans are allowed to show their discontent, it does often cross a line. idk if he was referring to something like leon's ending with schalke, but that instance of schalke fans chasing and attacking the players is something that definitely comes to mind here. i think i actually draw a shorter line than chrikra here.

Neuhaus: "There weren't any snow-games anymore in my time." Kramer: "NLZ, dude!" Knippi: "I know but..." Kramer: "No!" Neuhaus: "Climate change." Knippi: "But in your youth you must have played on snow once, haven't you?" Neuhaus: "Hardly." Knippi: "You're THAT young?!"

omg flo please

i do love the idea of chrikra and leon reminiscing about their old games together... my heart

anyway i love this podcast and i hope they do more of it

and thank you again SO MUCH

#answered #anonymous #christoph kramer #florian neuhaus

[tobiosmilktea]

Hello! I really love your writing and I just saw your requests are open yay 👏🏻 So my idea is that the reader (female or neutral, as you prefer it) is a third year who takes art lessons as an extracurricular subject or something and the teacher ask their students to draw posters of the sport teams, and the reader got the volleyball team. The thing is the reader knows the third years but they're not really close, so they talk just a bit. (Part 1)

paint the clouds — tendou satori

4.7k words | genre/s: fluff | warning/s: possible ooc on everyone tbh | pairing: tendou x f!reader

↪︎ in which you painted a muse who always wanted you too

a/n: definitely not my best work and im super sorry for that, but i hope you still enjoy it 👉🏻👈🏻

a warm spring breeze blew strands of your hair in front of your face, laying against your rosy cheeks as you watched the horizon. the bright yellow sun teased the sky with hues of pink and orange, bound to mix into the darkness of the sunset. school had ended a few hours ago and now you were sitting in your art club waiting for your teacher to dismiss you. she was in a middle of a spiel explaining your next art project, but your brain struggled to follow.

your hand ached from drawing for hours, your wrist tender from constant pressure, and now you could’ve sworn you were going to get carpal tunnel sooner or later. it was worth it, anyway, you were doing what you liked doing as you honestly felt being an artist was your only talent. it was merely the only thing you focused on besides your academics. dating was certainly out of the question.

instead, you watched the birds fly past the open classroom window as your teacher explained the assignment something along the lines doing sports teams posters.

“i will be walking around the classroom with a box filled with names of sports clubs,” the teacher starts, pulling you out of your train of thought as your attention was finally set on her. “you will pick a random piece of paper from the box and that will be the sports team you will be making a club poster for.”

whispers erupted in the room as others verbalized which team they wished to get.

“i hope i get the volleyball team, they’re literally iconic.” you heard one girl say.

another voice exclaimed, “drawing the equestrian team sounds super fun too!”

the murmurs continued to the buzz even after the majority of the class had already picked out their sports team from the box. you were the last one to choose as you opted to sit in the back of the class.

“and last but not least,” said your teacher as she serpentine through the desks towards your sitting figure.

your hand dug into the small cardboard box only to feel one last piece of paper. you wanted to scoff slightly, but you stopped yourself the moment you grabbed the last slip of paper and read the messy handwriting. it took you a good second to even understand what it said as it was complete chicken scratch (no offense to the teacher).

“(y/n), what did you get?” your friend who sat in front of you turned with a smile on her face.

"i got the volleyball club,” you answered, eyes widening when your friend gasped.

“that’s literally the best one to get! i’m so jealous,” she sighed as if she just inhaled a rose scented breeze.

perhaps you were lucky to get such a sought after sports team as your main focus for the assignment, but you couldn’t help but feel an overbearing weight suddenly falling upon your shoulders. shiratorizawa’s volleyball team was the epitome of the academy. they were the ones who brought a significant name to the school with only the smartest of intellects but one with the best athletes. depending on how well you created this poster could potentially make or break your reputation. it was a visual representation of the team, anything less than iconic would dig a deeper hole for you.

it certainly doesn’t help the fact that you actually had to talk to the volleyball team now that you were in charge of their school poster. you internally groaned. you barely interacted with the third years, let alone being completely enamored over a familiar red-head.

your after school activities had ended in the midst of your running train of thoughts as you absentmindedly gathered your things and walked out of the classroom. you gripped the handle of your bag as you strolled through the near-empty hallways of the academy, your mind in a complete spiral as you had already tried visualizing what the end product might look like.

it was common knowledge to everyone who had known about you was well aware how amazing you were at art. no matter what medium you were given, you were known to be the girl who had magical hands that could create even the most beautiful things out of ash and smoke. you had this some innate, almost magical ability to have others stop in their tracks just to admire your works.

perhaps that you were too caught up in your own thoughts and the hypnotic tapping rhythm of your loafers clicking against the school floors that you hadn’t even notice your arrival towards the gym.

even the loud shouts of volleyball players from the ongoing practice wasn’t enough to pull your gaze away from the ground and towards the flying volleyball hurdling towards you.

“(y/l/n), watch out!” you heard a familiar voice shout out, immediately pulling you out of your own jungle-like psyche and into the real world.

everything had happened so quickly, all you knew was a blur fly past you to retrieve the ball before it knocked out of conscious. semi eita quickly turned to you, his figure greatly towering over you as he gave you a reassuring smile. “are you okay, (y/l/n)?”

you gulped, nodding almost too quickly. “yeah, i’m okay.”

“good,” he mutters as his brows slightly furrow in confusion. there was a thin blanket of awkwardness hovering above both of your heads as you both stood there in silence for a good five seconds—five seconds too long that is. “so what brings you here?” he finally breaks it, scratching the back of his head in the mean time.

right, you had almost forgotten why you were here in the first place.

“it’s about the art club, we’re doing sports team posters and i was wondering if i could talk to the third years for ideas.” you asked gently.

semi’s eyes immediately widened, the already prevalent smile on his face only increased at the statement. “that’s cool! come with me, i’ll show you to them.” he quickly motioned you to come inside the gym, feeling the brisk air difference of the air conditioned gymnasium to the warm spring breeze outside.

a shiver flowed down your back. not from the sudden influx of cold air surrounding your body, but the fact that towering volleyball players and their ever-so-intimidating nature causing nervous habits to take over you. soekawa jin, the vice captain of the team quickly flickered a look towards you before tapping ushijima’s arm for his attention. turning to see what his teammate wanted, soekawa swiftly pointed at you and semi approaching.

“it’s a surprise seeing you here, (y/l/n).” ushijima greets you in his deep, guttural voice. it caused you to gulp nervously, struggling to even put on the tiniest of smiles as you meekly muttered a ‘hi’ to the rest of the third years. however, it seemed as if the one you were most familiar with was not in sight. it did seem a tad bit quiet in the gym now that the practice game was on a time out.

“um,” one of the wing spikers approached you, ohira reon was it? “sorry for almost hitting you, by the way.”

you swiftly shook your head, “no, it’s okay. i was the one who wasn’t playing attention, so that’s on me.” 

“so, you’re here for the poster?” ushijima cut into it like a sharp knife, bold and straight to the point.

“yeah, um, i just stopped by to ask if you guys had anything ideal you want to see on your club poster.” your voice was softer than you hoped it would be when you spoke. 

eyebrows furrowing, ushijima glances among his teammates as provocation for an option saturated his hums of curiosity. 

semi then clears his throat, “we’re not really sure if we have any input for you, (y/n). besides, i think your poster will be amazing nevertheless.”

“that’s still a lot of pressure,” you mutter, “considering i would be mauled to death if this poster isn’t amazing.” sarcasm drenched your words like saccharine, hoping that the tall athletes would at least get your banter and share a laugh with you.

but they didn’t. instead, they stared with wide eyes at you in a mere worrying glance. perhaps the joke didn’t exactly translate well.

god, this is so awkward.

however, it wasn’t like you were exactly lying. as the face of shiratorizawa academy, you were aware that they needed to look good and if it were any less than that, you might never see the light of day ever again. not to mention you always liked adding twists to your artwork, which was technically the only reason why you were so infamously known to have such amazing works. but in the past half hour, you’ve came to the conclusion that it possibly isn’t the best option in this case.

“i’m kidding, by the way,” you let out a light huff.

“well, if it helps you in any way, you could always focus on ushijima as he is our ace.” soekawa cuts in, patting the captain’s back the moment he braided his arms over each other.

any form of leftover conversation (or lack thereof) was sliced—cut off from the sudden opening of the gymnasium doors and the (quite obnoxiously) loud middle blocker. tendou satori entered the giant gym with a bright beaming face of glimmering lights and cherries. tendou was perhaps one of the first people to talk to you the moment you entered this academy, eyes glazed in a honey-like optimism with every bright ‘hello.’ you always tended to be the quiet and secluded one in your classes with him despite being known to be infamously sardonic, you seemed to be the only one to which his overly comic ways of banter didn’t annoy you like it did with others. he, himself, was a sunray, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to expose that thought as your eyes fall onto the approaching boy.

out of all the third year volleyball players, you and tendou had talked the most, yet considering you two as more than just mere acquaintances was a bit of a reach.

“yo!” the redhead’s loud voice thundered throughout the gym and you could already feel it echo within your heart.

“you’re back,” mused ohira with his hands on his hips. “are you okay?”

“yeah,” tendou says, fixing the loosened athlete’s tape over his fingers. “but the school nurse was already gone by the time i got there, so i had to fix myself up—oh hey, (y/n)!” he had cut himself off the moment his eyes fell upon yours.

your breath had hitched the moment he greeted you. it was as if your heart had immediately jumped into your throat and prevented you from even muttering a word as you can already feel your palms getting clammy. “hey,” you mutter almost in a whisper.

“so what are you doing here?” questioned tendou as his eyes suddenly widen the moment the words came out of his mouth, “uh-that sounded really rude, um—i actually meant that in the nicest way possible, by the way.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle at his sudden burst of scattered thoughts, noticing a faint flush of pink upon his cheeks. 

“she’s here for the club poster,” ushijima answers in your place as you seemed to not answer even after a beat had passed.

“oh nice! i’m sure it’ll look really cool!” the middle blocker grinned at you to which a sudden wave of monarch butterflies attacked your gut. you could even feel the heat coursing through your cheeks and all the way to the tips of your ears until they were as red as tendou’s hair.

“hopefully,” you modestly commented, eyes then falling upon tendou’s wrapped wrist and couldn’t help but be filled with curiosity. “what happened to  you?”

the middle blocker shook his head dismissively. “i tried blocking one of ushijima’s spikes again, but as you know, it is a bit impossible and i ended up hurting myself. it’s no biggie, though.” he shrugs.

“t-that’s amazing.” you breathed out before you could catch yourself. and you swore, you saw the light pink hues of blush upon tendou’s face had darkened.

how cool, you thought with the stars in your eyes. the thought was a bit controversial, but you couldn’t but find tendou satori cooler than ushijima at that very moment. the fact that he knew very well how difficult and painful it was to block his spikes, tendou still attempted it to the point at the cusp of being injured. you began fiddling with your fingers for far too long as you’ve come to realize how long you were standing there for no more reason. you mentally face palmed as you cleared your throat, “anyway, if you guys do have any preferred ideas let me know before friday.”

before the boys could even say a proper goodbye, your legs were already carrying you towards the exits of the gymnasium as if it was running on autopilot. she did hear their shouts of good lucks from across the room as your long strides pushed you to quickly leave.

why was i so awkward for?

in retrospect, perhaps you were more nervous than you thought. it had been an entire week since you had received the assignment to create a club poster for the volleyball team and there hadn’t been a night filled with peaceful sleep. instead, they were brimming with 2am moments of inspired antics. working on the large poster filled you with nothing but utter confidence even after it was finished, but now that you were actually at school with the rolled up poster of the incredible volleyball team, you couldn’t help but feel waves of reluctance and insecurity.

it was always like this with you. where everything was fine and your confidence within your works were expected, but the moment you did have to present such things, you couldn’t help but think of what you should’ve done differently. you assumed that you could’ve improved your mixed media skills by a little bit as there wasn’t much you could’ve done either way in that murky little head of yours that obviously lacked sleep.

the hallways of shiratorizawa were still pretty empty as it was still quite early in the morning. most of the students were outside anyway, so you quickly took this chance to unroll the large poster. taking some push-pins from the side pocket of your school bag, you hung the poster up in it’s place. 

you breathed out one last sigh of ichor before picking up your bag and walking away from the masterpiece.

throughout the entire day, you had come across dozens of stares of others as you walked through the hallways, bringing your endless sea of nerves to heighten until you were dragged upon its tides. there were whispers everywhere. they were probably talking about your poster for the volleyball club and immediately you felt drowned in sorrow.

within a snap, had already thought of the worse possible outcomes that others were talking about how terrible of a job you did. perhaps that leap of faith, that tiny step out of the box when creating your poster was too much of a risk that you ended up falling to your own demise.

“(y/n)!” a voice called from behind you.

turning over your shoulder, you saw a familiar redhead making his way towards you in a bright amble. you immediately felt your heart drop as you whip your head back around and started to walk away. 

shit, shit shit. you thought, tendou was definitely not the first person you wanted to talk to you when the possibilities of what he had to say to you was tangling in your psyche. as if they were tangled vines yearning to be untangled for his closure and yet, you refused.

your shoes clicked rapidly against the floors of the school when suddenly your wrist was pulled back, turning towards his familiar tall figure.

your direct gaze was on his chest, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look up upon his eyes. you couldn’t, at least. as if you were, your face would resemble something similar to a tomato.

“listen, tendou.” you muttered, still not attempting to meet his gaze. “i’m kind of late for class, but if you want talk later then we can—”

“no, i want to talk now,” he stated seriously, almost too seriously as it caused you to look up to him in surprise.

your mouth gaped to say something, yet nothing seemed to come out.

“i just wanted to say thanks for the poster.” tendou says as his breath almost hitched from the mere sight of you. he could recall the rushing feeling of blood coursing towards his cheeks and ears the moment he stepped upon school grounds and saw your poster. there his painted figure was, stood more prominently than the rest of his team. it was as if he needed the taste of sweet-tongued cough syrup just to ease his aching cheeks from smiling so hard.

the feeling was amazing. that from the smallest little action of you focusing on him rather than what he thought was going to be ushijima (like always) it was you who chose him. the loud middle blocker over the incredible ace of shiratorizawa. he knew validation wasn’t everything, and yet, his immense feeling of being at the top of the world certainly didn't help the fact that he had always been in love with you. you and tendou had the same class each and every year, that each first day of school, he would always sit giddily at his desk just so he could watch your angelic figure walk in.

in spite of it all, from his loud and upfront nature, he could never bring himself to even talk to you everyday besides an occasional ‘good morning’ whenever you would walk in. perhaps seeing this poster of himself was a little push into the deep end—to finally grow the guts to spill his unspoken epiphanies of built up feelings for once.

“usually, it’s ushijima who’s the face of the shiratorizawa team, but it’s nice seeing a change.” continued the middle blocker on the cusp of rambling, “i really didn’t expect you to focus it on me though, so that was a surprise... which by the way,” he hesitates as if he was do embarrassed to even ask. “why did you choose me?”

you pursed your lips the moment your breath was snatched from your lungs. “um,” you sighed, your mind speedily trying to come up with a plausible answer—something other than perhaps inevitably revealing you feelings for him, “i just think you’re really cool.” was all you could come up with and quite honestly, you wanted to face palm yourself for how stupid it probably sounded.

but to tendou, it was an absolute godsend. his heart thumped rapidly against his rib cage as his cheeks reddened into crimson wine. he didn’t know what else to say afterwards as that was his final push. it was then the idea popped inside his mind. a cheeky smile melted upon his lips as he patted your head gently.

“you’re an amazing artist, (y/n).” he complimented, amused by the fact he was the one who caused your reddening face before turning his heel and waving, “see you tomorrow!”

“u-uh, see you?” you stammered over his sudden departure, briefly waving before hold your hand to your chest. you felt as if your heart was to inevitably combust at the sudden overflow of ardor and vehemence of tendou satori’s actions. 

a sigh left your peachy lips, why am i feeling like this?

tendou could’ve sworn he had enough time to make it back to practice before stirring up any suspicions from his team, but the unfortunate tides have come across and drenched him in ill-fate—all gross and sticky.

ever since seeing your poster of him the day before, the thought of you had been on the middle blocker’s mind enough that even ushijima noticed his change in demeanor.

“what’s up with him?” the captain asked semi as they watched the redhead stumble into the gym.

“i think it’s about (y/l/n),” he answers in a hushed voice in case the disorganized tendou somehow heard. “he’s been in love with her since first year and seeing the poster of him is finally forcing him to make a move.”

ushijima refrained from chuckling, “so all it took was a poster with him as the center instead of me?”

“yeah, pretty much.” says semi.

tendou had been non-stop running back and forth between his classroom, the gym, and the art room after that burst of serendipitous ideas clouded his brain until it was all he could focus on. he had already missed the beginning of practice just so he could do something special for you for when he does muster up the courage to confess.

it was something along the lines of returning the favor of what you did to him, but he was well aware of the fact that he was a volleyball player for a reason and not an artist. honestly, most of the work was done with the help of you friend from the art club to which she basically did the drawing and tendou just colored it in. however he liked to think that it was the thought that counted, either way.

“sorry i’m late,” the missing middle blocker finally appeared. he was trying to catch his breathe as he rested his arms upon his bent knees. perhaps he quite disliked how gigantic the shiratorizawa campus was when it came to this. “i had to take care of something.”

ushijima gave semi an amused look before hardening his gaze on tendou, he tried not to laugh as he cleared his throat to hide that fact. “what’s more important than volleyball practice?” perhaps in the ace’s rarity, he was in the mood to tease the guy. “a girl?”

and immediately, the look on tendou’s face—of complete and utter fear that his captain would potentially punish him with extra conditioning was going to be the death of him—was instead replaced with chuckles him ushijima and semi.

“i’ll leave you off the hook as this was your first time missing a practice, not to mention you missed it for a girl you’ve liked for three years now.” said ushijima surprisingly out of character, than even he found himself shocked by saying it. “but if you miss another practice for (y/l/n), you’ll have extra conditioning everyday before and after school.”

tendou nods rapidly, “yessir!”

the rest of the day was filled with the sound of firm volleyballs being hit and slapped across the gym before falling to the floors with a coupled thud.

and despite trying his very hardest to focus his mind upon the practice game, he couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander to you in your bright enormity. his mind was on you, and yet he was playing the game harder than ever with each and every block he endured. perhaps it was the nerves, the aching adrenaline that flowed through his veins at the mere thought of  confessing to you by the time practice ended fueled his fire.

even if this was just a practice game against his own teammates, he was going to win for you and leave the gym with a confident aura enough to give him the guts to walk up to you.

the thing is, the game had already ended before he knew it. his side of the court had won and reached 25 points before he could even blink with the fact that he was in a ready stance even after the whistle had been blown.

“tendou,” ushijima called out to the redhead. “good luck.”

with that, the middle blocker’s head had cleared as he gave a smile to the setter. he walked over his bag, snatching it up and over his shoulder as he grabbed the rolled up poster within his clammy hands.

god, i’m was nervous. he thought to himself as he walked out of that gym.

the loud, boisterous guffaws from the rest of his teammates faded and echoed into oblivion as he walked the opposite way from everyone else. as the rest were going home, it was him who was on his was to your classroom. he had heard from your friend that you had cleaning duties today after school and it was the perfect time to just swallow his pride and just say.

but his actions were definitely faster than his thoughts as he had impulsively slammed the classroom door open without thinking.

you had thrown a shocked glance at the redhead at the sudden harsh action as he had thrown an embarrassed smile at you. chuckling at that adorable look on his face, you quickly set you mop aside. “tendou? what are you doing here? is your practice over already?”

the redhead nods, “yeah, just a couple minutes ago—um, i-uh just wanted to uh—”

he sighed frustratingly. this was the first time that the tendou satori—the third year infamously known for his innate way of speaking to others in such bright confidence for once, had his tongue tied. the reason why was obvious. it was because of you and your beaming eyes and that godforsaken smile of yours that made him go utterly crazy.

he was still trying to find the right words to say when your gaze fell upon the rolled up poster within his shaking hands. “what’s this?” you asked innocently as your hand reached for the poster and took it out of his hands without much force.

“w-wait! that’s—!”

you unrolled the poster, honey glazed your irises as your mouth gaped slightly.

it was you. a painting of you sitting under one of the large trees on one of the campus’s courtyards, sketching who knows what along with tendou’s large handwriting sprayed at the top:

WILL YOU GO OUT WITH ME, (Y/N)?

you breath was snatched out of your throat as you flickered your widened eyes up to him. red and pink hues adored tendou’s cheeks and ears, scratching the back of his head as his chestnut eyes refused to meet yours. if he were to look at you then and there, he would immediately melt into a puddle of blossoming cherries.

“did you make this for me?” you asked gently, still absolutely moonstruck at the poster. it was a simple painting that was definitely not drawn entirely by tendou as you could tell your friend had something to do with it, but you couldn’t help but be absolutely astonished that he even went out his way for this. “i love it,” you whispered, capturing tendou’s attention.

“y-you do?” the redhead huffs in disbelief.

tendou was closer to you, more than you were comfortable with, but you didn’t fight it off. you didn’t bother giving a little space between you two. “i was serious when i always thought you were cool. you were the only one out of that group of popular kids to talk to me and was actually nice about it.” you suddenly professed. your consciousness mentally slapped you over and over again from the embarrassment of saying such a thing. and yet, the signal in her mind didn’t releasse itself until the moment you felt your eyes fall upon tendou’s chamomile lips. and to your peachy ones, did tendou even dare to think of the impossible, of the serenity that filled them under your blushing cheeks,

“i really like you, (y/n)... and i have for a while now.” he muttered.

you bit your lip at the sudden downpour of feelings that you didn’t even notice yourself clutching and perhaps accidentally crumpling the poster he made. “me too,” you said in a mere whisper, your gaze flickering back down to the floor. “and to answer your question... yes, i will go out with you, tendou.”

the redhead felt his breath hitch in his throat, pausing with his eyes almost wide and doe-like when he looked at you underneath the last rays of the setting sun. he let’s out a bright chuckle, “cool.” he attempted to act casually only to break the moment he found your embrace.

you gently laughed as it muffled within his chest, “cool.” you repeated.

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu oneshots #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #tendou satori #tendou x reader #tendou fluff #tendou imagine #tendou oneshot

[lalka-laski]

Don`t you hate waking up to a phone ringing? That never happens since my phone is always on silent Who`s better: Luigi or Mario? I have no preference Are you scared of flying? Surprisingly, no Do you get bored easily? As long as I have my phone with me (which I always do) then I can stave off the boredom just fine What colour is the computer you`re using? Black

Do you spend money too often or are you really stingy? I'm a little too loose with my spending. Which is how I landed myself in some credit card debt :/

What was the last thing you ate / drank? I'm drinking coffee now and the last thing I ate was I think some pretzels last night

Does it bug you when people go ‘Mhm’ all the time when you`re talking? Not really

What`s your least favourite accent? Or favourite, if you don`t have one. :P (American) Southern accents grate me. So do Australian ones.

Do you get all sad when you see roadkill? Yeah. Especially if it's a deer

Who was the last person you hugged? Glenn

Do you give money to those people with collecting tins? It depends what they're fundraising for

Do you know anybody who you secretly hate but pretend to like? I could think of a few people at work I dislike but I don't outright HATE anyone

What`s a book that you strongly recommend? Out of Love by Hazel Hayes

What can you hear right now? My desk fan

Do you always go 'What happened to your hair?’ to people who`ve had it cut? That's rude hahaha

How many people do you have on your MSN / AIM contact list? Oh lord, how old is this survey?

Did you ever have to make beanbag frogs in Home Economics? I don't even know what those are

Speaking of school, what is / was your favourite class? Creative Writing

What does your favourite t-shirt have on it? I opt for plain stuff more

Don`t you just hate visitors who won`t leave? Yep!

Do you prefer taking surveys or making them? I only ever take them

What`re you really looking forward to right now? The weekend! Even though I don't have any plans yet. I'm just looking forward to some time to chill.

What did the last text you received say? I don't feel like typing it

Did you ever collect those troll dolls with the fluffy hair? Nope, those were a little before my time

If you could go anywhere, where would you go? Poland

Have you ever camped out in your garden? What in the hell

What`s something you keep putting off doing? Dieting :D

Do your initials spell anything cool? Nope

What do you do when you get really worried? Obsess, spiral, cry, rinse and repeat.

What`s the first recommended video for you on Youtube? "Darkest Dungeon #2- Bites & Blights" As you can tell, Glenn and I share an account...

Do you have a messy bedroom? Nope, hardly ever

How long does it take for you to get to sleep at night? I take a sleep-aid almost every night and can usually be out within an hour

What was the last thing you bought? Pepcid

Do you keep old shoeboxes? I used to

What colour is the bin in your room? The trash can? I don't have one

When was the last time you played hopscotch? Decades ago

What`s your ideal job? Author What pattern does your duvet cover / bedspread / whatever have on it? It’s just plain white

When you need comforted who, or what, do you go to? Glenn

Do tests stress you out a lot? Always. I'm an overthinker and therefore a horrible test taker

What`s a song that can always make you happy no matter what? I have many!

What expression do you have on your face the most? Probably confusion

Have you ever joined up your freckles? No??

What`s one website you`re constantly checking? Facebook and Twitter

Do you like stickers or stamps more? Stickers I suppose

Is it your birthday soon? Not 'till July

Do you like fireworks and sparklers? Yeah! Although they frighten me a bit

Do odd numbers bug you? No?

What`s a word that makes you go 'ew’? Pretty much any term for genitalia