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#hope ur reading that haha
astrobei · 1 year
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for @quinnick: kiss prompt #4 - lips barely touching
The car is out of gas. Will is about ten seconds away from maybe-dying (again). Mike Wheeler has been abnormally quiet today.
At least of late, one of those things is more abnormal than the others. 
The car is always out of gas. Will doesn’t know when the last time they’d filled it up was, but he does know that it’s not his problem trying to figure it out. That’s Hopper’s deal. Or his mom’s, maybe. Or Nancy’s, or Jonathan’s, or–
Whatever! The point is that the car is out of gas, Mike and Will are stranded at the currently closed general store, and they’re probably about to die.
Again.
“Mike,” Will tries, for maybe the hundredth time. “It’s not your fault, okay, it could’ve happened to anyone–”
“Yeah,” Mike grumbles miserably, as they round the corner, from aisle four – cleaning supplies and household items – into aisle five – canned goods. Most of the shelves are empty, turned over. Mike picks up a can of pickled green beans, pulls a face, and puts it back on the shelf. “But it didn’t happen to anyone. It happened to me.”
Will takes a long, deep breath in through his nose. God forbid Mike Wheeler ever let anything go. “You didn’t know,” he huffs anyway. “It’s not your fault.” The store is dark, which is great for being able to roll your eyes without Mike seeing. Will’s flashlight sputters, briefly, the bright circle of light flickering in and out of view. He smacks it against his palm once, twice, and it steadies. “Seriously,” Will adds, as Mike slows to a stop in front of him. “Stop beating yourself up. So we have to wait for a ride. Big deal.”
Mike turns around to face him. His expression is mostly unreadable in the dark, but Will’s flashlight catches the edge of it – worried, a little guilty. “Yeah,” Mike says softly. “Except there are things everywhere and waiting for a ride is just– we’re sitting ducks here, okay,” Mike frowns. “I don’t like it. It feels like tempting fate.”
“Well, the simple fact of my existence feels like tempting fate sometimes,” Will jokes. It works, for a split second – Mike’s furrowed brows smooth out into something halfway amused, and he makes a noise that might be a laugh.
“Not funny,” Mike says anyway. His lips twitch.
“You laughed!” Will insists, smiling. His voice carries down through the hallway in a vibrant echo. “I know you did!”
“Shut up,” Mike whispers, looking away. “Would it kill you to keep your voice down?”
It might. Somewhere in the back of Will’s mind, he’s vaguely aware that they’re not safe here, out in the open, and that the whole point of them coming inside instead of waiting in the parking lot was to hunker down until Jonathan and Nancy could get another car here to pick them up. And also, preferably, get some gas.
Somewhere significantly closer in Will’s mind, though, is the knowledge that this is the most Mike has said – and the closest he’s come to laughing – since the car had stalled on the way from the cabin to the general store ten minutes ago, and Mike had just barely had time to pull into the abandoned parking lot before it had stopped altogether. He knows Mike doesn’t like this – being caught off-guard, out in the open. Even minute changes in the plan – which you’d think they’d all be more prepared for, considering the way things have been going lately – get Mike a little keyed up.
And the sorry, borderline pathetic part is this: despite it all, despite the ever-present threat of danger, and the impending sense of doom that’s been hanging over their heads for what seems like forever, Will feels vaguely pleased with himself anyway, seeing Mike hold back a smile instead of forcing one on his face.
So yeah, it might kill him, if he kept his voice down. That’s okay. Will thinks it would be worth it, sometimes – the danger and the doom and everything else – to hear Mike laugh.
God, what’s wrong with him? That’s embarrassing. That’s so embarrassing.
He shakes the thought off. “Whatever,” Will says instead, praying the cover of darkness is hiding the blush that’s rapidly rising to his cheeks. He angles  the flashlight away from them anyway, just in case, and Mike’s face falls back into silhouette. “You know I’m right. You’re doomed just by being here with me.”
Mike shakes his head. “You know I don’t think of you like that.”
Will frowns. “Like what?”
“Like– like a bad luck charm,” Mike waves his hands around. “Or whatever.”
“I didn’t say bad luck charm,” Will exclaims. “Ouch! Stop putting words into my mouth.”
Mike grins. “Would you rather have, uh,” he picks up the nearest can to him, something small and vaguely gray, “tinned sardines in your mouth? Tinned sardines in water? Oh, gross. Never mind, actually.”
“I would rather not,” Will decides, even though the shelves are so bare that they might have to suck it up and take home the tinned sardines in water after all. “Would you like some, uh. Tuna?”
“I guess we know why there’s so much fish,” Mike sighs, leaning heavily against an empty shelf. “Nobody wanted it.”
“You mean the ten people outside of our circle of friends that are still left in Hawkins? Yeah,” Will scoffs, then sets the can back down with a soft clink. “I guess not.”
Neither of them say anything for a moment. It’s quiet in the store, the room dark and lit faintly by Will’s flashlight and the display in the corner. It lights Mike up a faint blue, catches the edges of his jaw and where his hair is curling softly over the hood of his jacket. 
Will’s flashlight sputters again. 
When it comes back on this time, it’s more faint than it was before. It’s dark in here, Will realizes, a bit belatedly. Like, really dark.
He takes a deep breath and shuffles closer to Mike, just a little, like the shape of his body all leaned against the empty shelves is a grounding force. Mike gives him a look that Will can’t quite decipher in the dark.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” Will breathes out. The proximity is helping, a little. “Just– waiting for our ride.”
Mike leans in a bit closer too, places an arm under Will’s elbow. It’s a light touch, nothing forceful, but the semblance of support is there. “You sure? You look a little pale.”
Sometimes, Will hates how well Mike knows him. He doesn’t get antsy in the same way Mike does in situations like these, but he’d be lying if he said they didn’t affect him at all. It should be expected by now, the automatic fight or flight. 
For some cruel reason, it still isn’t. “You can’t even see me,” he says, but lets himself lean into the touch anyway.
“I can see enough,” Mike says easily. “Do you want to sit down?”
Will shakes his head. The only thing worse than waiting out in the open is sitting out in the open. At least when you’re standing, you can run. “No. I’m fine.”
Will can’t see Mike either, but he’d be willing to bet real money – that he doesn’t have – that he can tell exactly what Mike’s expression looks like. The pause grows, swells and swells and swells, until Will is sure Mike is going to say something–
There’s a clattering outside.
Instantly, Mike’s hand tightens its grip on Will’s elbow. “Did you hear that?”
“Yes,” Will hisses, twisting around to try and see through the windows. “Of course I heard that, Mike.”
“Do you think that’s–”
“No idea,” Will whispers. With no small amount of reluctance, he tugs his arm out of Mike’s grip. He misses the warmth of it almost instantaneously, and the tugging in his stomach is only amplified by the way Mike automatically leans in behind him, places a hand on his back to replace the absent touch, like it was never gone at all. Will swallows, and flicks the flashlight off. “Now be quiet.”
“The windows are boarded up,” Mike says, decidedly not being quiet. Will wonders where the Mike Wheeler of fifteen minutes ago went – the one that was sulking and fidgeting in silence the whole way down the first aid aisle. “They’re boarded up, so nothing can get in. Right?”
“We got in,” Will points out, which Mike seems to realize at approximately the same second he does. It’s getting a little hard to think, with Mike so close to him.
Will really wishes Mike would pull his hand away.
“Right,” Mike whispers, breath ghosting gently over the back of Will’s neck. “Okay. That’s fine. That’s fine.”
Fine, Will thinks. That’s one word for it.
Another clattering. It’s closer this time.
Will freezes.
Jonathan and Nancy are probably about ten minutes out. Twenty if they had to go back to the Wheelers’ for the other car. So they’d probably be fine if they stuck it out here, because the chance of something happening across them now, in the brief period of time where they’re stuck without a ride, in a building equipped with close to nothing that could help, is small.
Small, but not nonexistent.
Will isn’t really feeling inclined to take that chance. “Come on,” he says, then spins on his heel, grabbing Mike’s hand and tugging him in the opposite direction. “Come with me.”
Mike follows easily, stumbling slightly with the sudden movement. “Wh– where are we going?”
“Just come on,” Will says, then tugs Mike around to the back of the store. He yanks open a door, and shoves him inside. “Get in.”
“Whoa,” Mike says, as Will tumbles in behind him. “Will, what–”
“Would it kill you to be quiet?”
“Sorry,” Mike says, then does, at last, fall silent.
Immediately, Will wishes he hadn’t said that. It’s dark in here – even darker than out in the front of the store – and the only noise is the faint hum of a generator, somewhere behind the walls. It’s grating and stilted. Will wonders when the last time it had been repaired was.
Plus, it’s really–
It’s really fucking dark in here.
Will lets out a long, slow exhale, and reaches out to feel for the wall beside him. His palm comes into contact with chipped paint and he follows the shape of it down, lowering himself onto the ground.
“Will?” Mike says, and Will is in half a mind to say that thing about being quiet again, but–
It’s dark. It’s really dark.
“Yeah,” he says, barely audible even to himself over the faint hum of the generator, and the louder hum – demanding, prominent, persistent – of his blood rushing through his ears. “I just– sitting. I’m sitting.”
There had at least been some light out in the front, but this storage closet might as well be a void. It smells vaguely of dust, something stale and unknown and probably untouched for who-knows-how-long. Will takes another deep breath in.
“Where?” Mike asks. “I don’t want to step on you.”
Will cracks a smile. “Here,” he says, and holds a hand up in the air. “Right here.”
There’s a quiet shuffling sound as Mike moves closer, and then Will feels fingertips brushing against his. Mike latches on immediately, gripping tighter onto his hand and sits down in front of him. 
Will still can’t see anything – he can’t see anything – but he can feel Mike’s presence like it’s a tangible thing.
Mike could let go of Will’s hand now. Now that he’s found him.
He doesn’t, though.
“Hey,” Mike says, then there’s another faint shuffling noise. “Where are we?”
“Storage closet.”
“Huh. How did you know it was here?”
Will cracks another smile, despite himself. “My mom worked here, remember? For, like, years.”
“Right,” Mike laughs, and then he’s moving closer, knees bumping against knees in the dark. “I forgot. It doesn’t feel like the same place.”
“Tell me about it,” Will sighs. He’s probably breathing in dust and debris and soot and all sorts of gross stuff, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He presses his knees against Mike’s a little harder, just because he can.
“I remember,” Mike starts, readjusting his grip on Will’s hand – fingers interlocked, a firmer grip – “she’d give me free candy from the front counter. Whenever I came in with my parents, I mean. My mom was so confused about why I kept asking to tag along to Melvald’s with her.”
“That’s not fair,” Will laughs. “She never let me have any candy.”
“You were a menace all hopped up on sugar,” Mike points out. “I knew how to behave myself.”
That’s a damn lie, and they both know it. “Liar,” Will says quietly, leaning his head back against the wall. “You’re such a liar.”
“Maybe so,” Mike hums. “But I’m still the one who got free candy, so–”
“Mike!” Will shoves lightly at his knee, and Mike’s answering laugh fills the small space instantaneously. It’s loud – too loud, because they’re supposed to be hiding, goddamnit – but the nagging little voice at the back of Will’s head is vanquished almost as quickly as it came. “Shut up.”
Mike, as always, ignores him. “Why don’t we turn on a light?”
“The fuse is probably blown,” Will responds. “If there’s even a light in this stupid closet.”
“I mean this, idiot,” Mike says, and then clicks the flashlight back on. The batteries must be dying, because it flickers to life weakly, steadying out into a dim yellow-white. “Obviously.”
“Don’t waste the batteries,” Will says at once, trying to grab for it. “Come on, Mike–”
“Jonathan and Nancy will be here any minute and then we can go put in new batteries,” Mike says, holding it easily out of reach. “No point sitting in the dark, right?”
“Mike,” Will tries to protest, but it’s useless. Mike’s made up his mind.
Slowly, and a little far away, Will realizes what Mike is trying to do. He’s not being subtle about it, but subtlety has never been Mike Wheeler’s strong suit. He’s always been exuberant, quick and spontaneous with his actions, and this is no different. Sitting up close, closer than would be strictly necessary in any other situation. Turning the light on, despite the dying batteries. Telling Will about coming here as a kid, all those years ago. Making him laugh. Diffusing the tension.
Jesus, and he’s still holding Will’s hand.
A wave of affection washes over him, sudden and overwhelming enough for Will to feel borderline nauseous.
This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair. Mike can’t just sit here and touch their knees together and hold Will’s hand, and–
“Look,” Mike is saying, and then he’s holding the flashlight under his chin and grinning. “Don’t I look freaky?”
In all honesty, Mike looks fucking hilarious. The direct light casts long shadows across the dips of his cheekbones, the shapes of his eyelashes distorting wildly as he blinks. “No,” Will snorts, rolling his eyes. “You look ridiculous.”
“Really?” Mike grins, in a way that means he knows just how ridiculous he looks. “Not even a little?” He waggles his eyebrows, and the resulting effect is so comical that Will can’t help the laugh that bursts out of him, sharp and sudden and real.
“Mike,” he chides, for the millionth time. “You’re going to kill the battery.”
Mike looks way too pleased with himself. “Worth it,” he says anyway, as he sets the flashlight down. It evens out the sharp angles of his face, now that it’s farther away, lights his cheeks and nose and eyes up into something softer, more open.
Something about the steadiness of Mike’s expression is brighter than any source of light. Suddenly, it’s too much. Suddenly, it’s blinding. 
God. He’s so screwed.  “For what?”
“Getting you to laugh,” Mike says, simple and easy, like he’s reciting times tables instead of proceeding to turn Will’s entire world upside down on its pathetic little axis.
Will feels his lungs stutter on his next inhale. He looks away. “Don’t do that.”
The gleeful expression falters on Mike’s face. “Don’t do what?”
“Don’t,” Will says, “don’t– you’re being so– so–”
Mike looks caught somewhere between confusion and amusement. “So what?”
“So,” Will tries again, and then Mike moves closer, and the difficulty of articulating a halfway decent sentence immediately increases tenfold. “So.”
“So,” Mike echoes, shifting so the side of his thigh is pressed up against the side of Will’s. He’s being slowly backed into the corner, but the thought isn’t terrifying like it might have been five minutes ago. Suddenly, Will is overwhelmed in a completely new way. “So what?”
“Nice to me,” Will gets out. “Stop being so nice to me.”
Mike pauses, then says, incredulously and half-laughing– “What? Why?”
Bad choice of words. “You heard me,” Will says anyway, because he’s nothing if not stubborn. “You’re being too nice.”
“I should hope so,” Mike says. “I mean, you’re my friend.”
Maybe Will is imagining it, but the sentence feels unfinished. Like there’s a second half to it that Mike is keeping for himself: You’re my friend – right?
The obvious answer here is that yes, Mike is his friend. But that answer feels unfinished too, like a lie by omission. Will tries to imagine it, doing these things with anyone else – what it would be like if Dustin was holding his hand, or if it were Lucas sitting next to him this close.
The conclusion he comes to, almost immediately, is that it would be weird.
It would be really fucking weird.
That feels like– something. An admission, maybe. Because the fact of the matter is that things with Mike have always been like this, and they’ve never been like this with anyone else, and Will doesn’t think they can be like this with anyone else without it being the most unsettling thing that’s ever happened to him.
The silence, he realizes, has gone on just a second too long.
“Yeah,” he blurts out at last. “Yeah. Obviously.”
Something settles over Mike’s face. “Will–”
“Forget I said anything,” Will backpedals, a little bit desperate. “Never mind. Be as nice to me as you want.”
Mike bites down on his lower lip. It looks like he’s holding back a smile. “As nice as I want?”
Oh, no.
“Sure,” Will tries. “Do your worst.”
Mike lets out a shaky exhale. He presses in further, leans in closer until their shoulders are almost touching. “How about this?”
“That’s not nice,” Will says weakly. “That’s just an invasion of personal space.”
“Seems pretty nice to me,” Mike mutters under his breath.
Will inhales sharply. “Mike.”
“What?”
“What are you– doing,” Will whispers, stumbling over his words, just slightly, as Mike places a hand on his arm.
Mike’s gaze does not waver. “Is this okay?”
Is it okay? Will thinks his brain might be halfway to leaking out through his ears. This is–
This is–
“Yeah,” he hears himself say. “Yeah. Great.”
“Okay,” Mike whispers. He’s so close now that Will could count all the freckles spattered across his nose, if he wanted to. He could, and the thought is dizzying, dizzying – suddenly, it’s not the claustrophobia that’s making him feel like this. It can’t be, because Mike is in front of him, and he’s so close that Will could just lean forward and–
He could just–
“Mike.” And maybe he’s a bit of a broken record, but he can’t come up with any words other than his name. He clutches at Mike’s knee and meets his gaze and prays – to whatever deity allowed him to get trapped in a storage closet with Mike Wheeler two inches away from his face – that Mike Wheeler will find the courage in him somewhere to close the fucking gap.
He doesn’t, though, which is a sign that the universe must be majorly fucking with him. Not yet, anyway. Not anywhere near as fast as Will needs it to be – if this is what he thinks it is, it’s nowhere near fast enough.
In actuality, what it is is excruciating – the way Will’s heart is beating so loud that he’s sure Mike can hear it, in the proximity. The slow circles Mike is tracing over his other hand – the hand that he’s still holding. He’s so close that Will can discern the warmth emanating off him, the familiar scent of soap, can feel Mike’s eyes trained steadily on his mouth, and yet–
Either Mike is actually moving at a speed of one nanosecond per minute, or time has slowed to a near-stop around them. Mike’s grip on his hand is agonizing, caustic in all the places where they’re touching, each slow circle of Mike’s thumb against his wrist driving him slowly and steadily out of his mind. Do it, Will thinks, like maybe if he thinks it loud enough, Mike will be able to hear him. Do it, do it, do it.
Mike’s lips touch his.
The world stops moving.
It must, anyway. Or maybe it’s just that Will doesn’t think he’s breathing anymore – he doesn’t know if he can find it in him to remember how. All he’s aware of is this: Mike’s hands on his arm, his wrist. Mike’s leg under his own palm, warm and steady and pressed up against him in a smooth, unyielding line. The pressure of the wall behind him, the strands of Mike’s hair brushing against his face, and Mike’s lips – gentle, gentle, gentle, and nowhere near enough.
It’s like Mike is waiting for something. Waiting for Will, maybe.
God, okay.
Fuck it, Will thinks, from somewhere far off in his own head. Fuck it. Fuck this. 
“Will,” Mike whispers, pulling back a precious few millimeters, and that’s it. That’s all Will can take.
Will lifts his hand off Mike’s leg, raises it to his wrist and tugs. Mike topples into him with a small gasp, Will falls backwards into the wall, and then they’re kissing.
God. Okay.
Mike steadies himself quickly, braces a hand on the wall behind them and leans in, firm and enthusiastic. His hand, Will notices, faintly and with no small amount of affection, is shaking. Just slightly. Will’s trapped between them again – Mike and the wall – but this time he can’t find it in himself to care even the slightest bit. As if there’s anywhere he’d want to go that wasn’t here, as if he’d want to be somewhere without Mike’s hand carding through his hair, or without his lips moving softly against Will’s own, or the noise he makes when Will presses forward, too fast, too eager, too betrayed by his own fluttering pulse – something like a laugh, trapped deep in his chest.
Suddenly, it’s not enough. It’s not enough. It’s–
“Mike? Will?”
Shit.
In a flash, Mike pulls away, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked and breathing like he’s just run a marathon.
Shit.
“Yeah,” Mike calls, voice cracking just slightly on the syllable. “We’re in here!”
Shit.
“So,” Will says, aiming for nonchalance. He fails immediately. His voice cracks too. Great. “That–”
Don’t freak out, he thinks. Please don’t freak out.
Mike, to his credit, is not freaking out.
“Yeah,” Mike says, voice a little high-pitched but surprisingly even. He clears his throat. “Um. Yeah. You were–”
“Yeah,” Will finishes, rather lamely. He’s grinning like an idiot. He doesn’t even need to look at himself to tell. His expression is mirrored, perfectly, flawlessly, brilliantly, on Mike’s own face.
The closet door gets thrown open, and there’s a blinding, sudden light– “What the fuck,” Mike exclaims, squinting and throwing a hand up in front of his eyes. “Nancy?”
Jonathan peers around her shoulder. “What were you guys doing in here?”
Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t–
Will can’t help it. He looks at Mike, and they immediately burst into laughter.
Shit.
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serenescribe · 7 months
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For the 3 sentence prompt; Silver has been kidnapped (teen or child) and Lilia is furious and ready to go papa wolf to get his child back.
[✐] ficlet frenzy
When Lilia returns home from his trip, there is a ransom note pinned to the front door with a knife — messy, scrawling ink on thick parchment, equal parts elegant and brusque. The letter reads: We have the human boy.
The demands are simple, really. Silver's kidnappers, whoever they are, have only one thing in mind — money. Lilia feels his lips curl as he reads their egregious demands; had they somehow tricked the boy into coming with them? Silver was still rather young, and Lilia had yet to properly instill any serious training regiments outside of some simple routines. He had assumed they lived far enough away that none would ever bother them save for Malleus and Sebek, but clearly that was not the case.
Well, it's no matter. Crumpling up the parchment, Lilia ignites it with a blaze of magical fire, the surge of flames turning it to dust. He watches the smoke waft upwards as the flames die out — the thick smog remains, moving in the direction of whoever it was that had left the note on the door. It is a simple tracking spell, one that shall take him straight to wherever they have taken his human child.
With a merry smile, Lilia heads for the shed, emerging with his trusty old cleaver in hand, the blade no less dull than it was centuries ago. Really, who do these kidnappers think they are, challenging the General Vanrouge like this?
It's about time for him to go retrieve Silver and bring him home.
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inkyclive · 8 months
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warnings: yandere behaviour, branding
daydreaming about joshua burning his name, or initials, into your skin <333 he doesn’t really care whether the brand is visible or not, he just finds comfort in knowing the brand exists, proof of his ownership seared permanently into your flesh, finds solace in the fact that he’s marked you, claimed you, as his forever <3 he’d carve his name into your bones if he could, so even in death, even after your blood has dried up and your veins have withered and your flesh has melted from your skeleton, you are still recognizably, obviously, undoubtedly his.
or he has you cremated so he can take a piece of you everywhere with him, safe and sound in a little vial clasped around his neck, bouncing against his sternum, right next to his heart <3
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hellolulu · 1 year
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Shigeo Saves The Cat
A Dive Into What The Cat Symbolises
During the Mogami Arc, Mogami had created a world in which Shigeo had no powers, and was hated by all the people he loved. In this cruel world, Shigeo was presented with a cat, and this cat died because he was unable to protect it.
During the car crash, Shigeo used his powers in public, to save the cat. He has, at this point, come to accept that his powers can be used for good, and that they're not just to be used in dire situations. He used them to help the others call a ufo, after all! That's pretty chill! For... you know, having super cool powers that you can do just about anything with.
Although he hasn't begun to use them for his own sake, he saw the danger coming, and was able to save the cat. [And, to a different extent, using his physical powers, saved the kid. But this isn't about the kid or the fact he used both sides of himself to save 2 different entities, haha]
Then he gets hit, and ??? takes the stage. He still rejects his powers as part of his personhood; (a conscious being made from his own repressed self) he can accept them as if they're a certain muscle in the body, or an extra limb, but only now is he able to see that this is a mental thing, not physical.
During the final arc, in large part thanks to Reigen (of course, also thanks to Hanazawa, Ritsu, and Dimple, but the point is Reigen's words are the ones to calm him down) this repressed self is accepted not as part of his body, the way the body is a case for the mind, but as part of himself. A part of his mind. Which he very much had been sealing up and repressing.
Then, in the after-part, Shigeo sees a cat, and assumes it's stuck. He acts, moving forward to climb the pole. He doesn't think anything like "it might be easier with psychic powers, but I should use the body I've been working on" or "I would rather use my physical body than my powers to save this cat" he simply moves. Not a single complicated thought goes through his mind. He acts. His powers are part of him; his body, his person, his ESP - all of it is him, and he simply did the most natural thing that came to mind. He climbed the pole using muscles he'd worked on, but not as opposed to his powers - just because it was the first response he came up with. [And as a muscle obsessed boy, it's unsurprising haha!]
But he does not save the cat.
Because the cat, regardless of him and his story, is just that. It's a cat. It's got nothing to do with him; it's neutral. It's an entity with its own path, it doesn't need him in order to survive. It's not on him to save or to protect it, not on him to do anything at all about it. It's on him just to want to act, to want to care. He's changed from a boy who was afraid to act at all, to one who acts without reservation.
And saving the cat was never his goal in the first place.
Tldr:
Mogami presented a cat that he needed to save, but that he was unable to save.
The car-crash presented a cat that needed saving, and that he was able to save.
And the finale presented a cat that, at the end of the day, has nothing to do with what he must do to live life to the fullest. He's just a teenage boy who has a girl he likes, and who goes to school like everyone else. His powers are just a part of him, nothing he has to pay the universe back for. There's no big magical destiny, no cats to save.
He can finally simply exist.
...
For now!! Dun dun dun...
I'm kidding.
Or am I?!
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whumpy-wyrms · 1 month
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hey guys
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inkykeiji · 11 months
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had a dream about jouno + tecchou last night,,,, i was a hostage???????? and they were playing good cop, bad cop with me (take a wild guess who was the good, kind man who was feeding me water between sessions with his palm cupped beneath my chin and gently brushing sticky, sweaty hair back from my temples while he murmured the most tender words beneath his breath and who was the bad, sadistic man sexually torturing the fucking life out of me until i was shaking and sobbing and coated in my own salt (tears n sweat n snot n cum) and then chuckling about it and spewing the most caustic words across my body, letters sharp and soaked in acid, literally burning as they seep into my skin,,, it’s v easy)
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derekgoffard · 1 year
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I finished my PAPER today so I atcually had time to make this BUT----- HAPPY BIRTHDAY @ajsghost !!!!!!!!! 🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻👻
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brittlebutch · 1 year
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Just finished the episode where most of the camp gets food poisoning, and my brain is now churning out mother hen!Hawkeye hcs—but I figured I should ask before I sent them. I don’t wanna flood your inbox or anything.
—MASH!Anon
100% feel free to keep sending them!! i absolutely loved all the little headcanons and ideas you sent in about Erin's friend group, i'll definitely be keeping them tucked away in my back pocket for if i ever wind up returning to that series. mostly i'm just having a little bit of trouble coming up with replies to them because i'm in the middle of working on a big Marble Hornets project, and I have a hard time switching gears lol. your headcanons and messages are very fun to read, i do mean that genuinely, i just never want my replies to come across as rote or disinterested just because i'm having trouble coming up with ideas to spin off of yours, does that make sense? lol i'll have to see if i can come up with a middle ground between 'forgetting to ever actually respond' and 'being able to fully engage and come up with new ideas'
in the meantime / tl;dr definitely keep sending more if you have them!
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headgehug · 2 years
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anyone want to vote on my next pfp.
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daily-nicotine · 2 years
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the urge to restart a game because of tips and tricks you should know before playing
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baeshijima · 1 year
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OMG URE EXCITED FOR HSR TOO???? i swear i never see any of the blogs i follow ever talk about it but aaaaa im so glad to know ure hyped for it too ^^ out of curiosity, who are u most excited for in terms of gacha characters we have seen in cbt2? personally i am most excited for jing yuan (uGH hes so <3) and seele!
ALALALSLDFSD NONNIE UR EXCITED FOR STAR RAIL TOO OMGOMG MORE HSR WAITERS 😭😭🫂 and i know what u mean !!! me and two of my friends (coughs @stellumi & @kamiiyaka coUGHs) are the ones who talk abt it with each other the most HKLDF
AND YES OMG JING YUAN AND SEELE BELOVEDS <3333 for me, as ive talked abt when cbt2 first came out, the ones im saving everything for are blade and luocha !!! they just !!!! sighs.
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lambjock · 1 year
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got an anon question about a beloved interest of mine ... this is it this is the start of my career
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broodygaming · 2 years
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Guess who is in heat and will be an indoor dog for maybe the next month!
She’s getting spayed in may so this is good timing. I’m glad I know. I was so so stressed about it happening and me not noticing and her having a way too young oopsie litter and 😬 gosh that’s my worst nightmare. Can’t wait for her lady bits to be scooped out and not have to stress.
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honeydots · 2 years
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Hi! I'd like to pop in here and thank you for writing to prune a grapevine! It's one of my favorite fics, and I always look forward to every update! It really makes my day, and I love your version of these characters. god I love leo and takumi so much
hi!!! omg thank you so much ;A; you're so sweet, im glad you're enjoying it. and BIG ty for reading!! :DD
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hannie-dul-set · 9 months
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my back fucking hurts.
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inkykeiji · 4 months
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nanami gives me uncle vibes LMAOOOO im so sorry nanami girlies!!!
LMFAOOOOOOOO ANON PLEASE
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