#this is 100 hands.... for class we were supposed to draw 100 of something....

[kakudo45]

being a little handsy

#illustration #hand illustration #poster rt #poster art #kakudo art #this is 100 hands.... for class we were supposed to draw 100 of something....

[beginningdrawing]

Art Tips Two: Drawing What You See Vs. What You Think You See

The first significant assignment for my drawing class was to do a modified contour drawing of a building, spending at least 4 hours on the drawing. For a modified contour drawing, you are supposed to keep your eyes on the subject about 95 percent of the time, looking at the paper only occasionally to place your pencil or check the lines you are making; it is a type of drawing that really reinforces the connection between what your eyes are seeing and what your hand is drawing. It's less about creating realistic art and more about hand-eye coordination.

It's quite clear that many students in my class did not understand the assignment. I've drawn something similar to the things I've seen submitted and will be comparing it to the drawing that I did for the same assignment.

But let's start with the fact that brains are very weird and one of the things that's so weird about them is that we spend a lot of time not seeing.

Most people don't process 100% of the full detail of the things they see around them in day-to-day life. If you were to process that much detail about everything all the time, you would be constantly overstimulated by it. So your brain takes shortcuts and sort of fills in the details instead of processing every single thing. It looks at a sidewalk and says "okay, I know what a sidewalk looks like, no need to render all the shadows unless something breaks the expected pattern because a break in the pattern might mean a trip hazard."

This is very useful in day to day life! People who have trouble tuning out details of sounds and sights and sensations often find themselves overwhelmed and frustrated. It's a good thing that you are likely not seeing every tiny little irregularity in the bricks in your walls or the fibers of your clothing.

However, seeing precise detail is important for representational drawing.

Because this is a *beginning* drawing class, it is about learning the basics of drawing what you see, not stylizing images or creating art from your imagination, so the very first lessons are about how to see what you want to draw. Blind Contour drawings are almost entirely about seeing and hardly at all about drawing, and Modified Contour is about *mostly* seeing and only somewhat drawing.

When people (adults especially) begin to learn to draw, they often want to draw what they think they see (the world with the details their brain has sanded off) and not what they actually see. Sometimes this is because they think the things they think they see look "better" (more intentional) than the things they think they see.

(As a side note, my cartooning professor liked to tell a story about doing commercial illustration for a sock company; he drew an accurate, realistic foot for the ad and it got sent back he asked what was wrong with it and they said "nobody is going to buy socks when they're on such ugly feet". The next ad he sent featured a simplified, cartoonish foot and was accepted with the feedback "much better, much more realistic" - we often see stylized things as more real than real things because we spend so much time eliding what the real world looks like)

Okay, with all of that in mind, here is a drawing similar to what many of my classmates turned in next to the drawing that I turned in.

The first one is full of things that the artist thinks they see. It has trees that don't look like real trees, but do somewhat look like the idea of trees that people get from cartoons. It has sidewalks that don't look like real sidewalks, but look like how your brain thinks a series of evenly-sized concrete slabs on flat ground should look. The artist knows a little bit about perspective, and as such has drawn straight lines aimed at a point on the horizon to show distance, but you would almost never see that many straight lines in an apartment complex. They have scribbled in some grass, but those scribbles are a signifier that there is grass in those spaces, not a representation of what the lawn area actually looks like. This is a drawing from someone who saw the assignment "draw a detailed building" and 1) ignored the time requirement and 2) was not aware that the purpose of the assignment wasn't to draw what a building looked like in their mind, it was to draw the lines on a building that they actually saw.

My drawing is certainly not a fully accurate representation of the building I was drawing; the perspective is wonky and the whole thing ended up being very cramped compared to the actual building, but it is much more representational than the first drawing because it was completed by very slowly following the lines that I saw and putting them down on paper.

I'm not trying to mock the other students in this class, this isn't me being mean or trying to show off that I'm more skilled, this is a constructive criticism that I wish I could offer to the other students but that I will share here instead for the people who want to learn and may be running into this issue as the assignments continue.

This is the difference between drawing what you think you see, and trying to draw what you actually see. And also putting in the time; unfortunately a lot of students just clearly didn't spend the time on this. If you don't have the time or focus for a four-hour drawing it's better to work on several smaller drawings of simpler objects in 5-10 minute increments than it is to rush through one big drawing and fill in the gaps with details that aren't there.

If you are trying to learn to draw, learning from the basics is the best way to do it, which sometimes means forgetting what you already think you know.

You don't know perspective, you don't know shading, you don't know what trees look like, you don't know what a sidewalk looks like. When you're learning to draw, don't assume that you know what these things look like, and instead draw what you actually see.

[quibbs126]

if you’re still doing the fankids thing, how about chilirye ?

Jesus Christ, this request was from like, March. But I finally got around to him this is Pepper Bread Cookie

Also I feel like this isn’t the only request for chilirye I’ve gotten, but screw it, I’m too lazy right now to go through 100+ asks to find newer ones

So I originally started making Pepper Bread probably in March, but he was never more than a circle that was meant to be his head. But I was waiting for like an hour for a class, it was 10 minutes past when we were supposed to start, and only a few people had shown up, and we eventually just decided to leave, but in that time I was finally able to come up with something for Pepper Bread here

Anyways I’ll get into his name. So I believe his name is just based on bread that has pepper in it, since rye can be made into bread. Though his design is mostly based on this one specific picture I have saved in my Photos

Pepper Bread:

So today I finally had the idea for what to do with Pepper Bread, and that was to make him an innkeeper. Partially inspired by that idea I had for a Chili Cookie that’s an innkeeper (I do still want to draw her though). So that’s what I did with his outfit. The Innkeeper family from the Red Dragon update were pretty helpful as refs

Though I do also have to admit it makes his outfit more boring looking. Maybe he has some sort of adventuring outfit, maybe I’ll draw that someday

I basically just really wanted to make his hair look like the reference picture, which was the reason why I kept it in the first place. As in like, having orange hair with red flecks. Later on I got the idea of giving him red freckles, which are supposed to be like, pepper flakes in his dough, and I wasn’t sure I should keep the hair idea, but I did and I think it looks nice. It’s also why I gave him the braid, since that’s how the bread looked. It was going to be bigger and longer, but I couldn’t get it to look right, so it just stays on the shoulder now

I’m not sure if he looks too much like Chili Pepper, but oh well. I generally like his design, though I don’t think it’s what I envisioned. The one thing is that I couldn’t make his outfit look that exciting, but them’s the breaks I suppose

So let’s get into his character. So the main thing keeping me from making him is that I couldn’t figure out what to do with him, like specifically what his job was. Chili Pepper’s a thief, Rye’s a bounty hunter (or is she a sheriff? I’m not entirely sure), should I choose one of those for Pepper Bread? Or should I choose something else entirely? If so, how do I choose one that sounds in character for chilirye kid? One idea I had was to make him more straight laced than his moms (since let’s face it, Rye’s just as chaotic as Chili Pepper), and so an idea was to make him a sheriff, but I wasn’t sure. But then as I said, I had the idea to make him an innkeeper, and so yeah

Pepper Bread just wants to live a normal, honest life, so he got himself a tavern and opened it up, he’s gotten business (maybe not a lot, but at least enough to keep him afloat), and he’s pretty happy like this and treasures his inn. Generally speaking, he’s a friendly guy, someone reliable and honest. Though, if you cause trouble in his inn and mess things up, he will not hesitate to throw you out, or throw hands to do so. And while he may love his mas, if they cause trouble in his place, they get the same treatment

Also I imagine him with a strong Southern accent like Rye

Anyways yeah, I think that about covers it for Pepper Bread. Hope you enjoy!

#I keep thinking he needs a black hat #eh I’ll draw that outfit another time I should stop beating a dead horse #now to get back to actual schoolwork #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #chili pepper cookie #rye cookie #chilirye #cookie run oc #fankid #fanchild #pepper bread cookie #my ocs #my art #requests #answers

[fullofgenderandstressed]

Alright I’m going to confess to something:

Back when I was in my intermediate art class, I was often pretty behind because I wasn’t okay with submitting work unless it was perfect. I spent lots of time outside of class catching up and stressing over not being good enough even though everything I turned in got an A. We had a themebook project that lasted half of the class that we were supposed to work on in our free time. I’ve always been into drawing realistic humans so for my themebook I drew realistic bodyparts, you know to help improve segments of stuff therefor improving the whole. We were supposed to draw 10 pages worth of stuff and I only managed to draw 8, a page of hands, one of ears, one of hair, one of feet, one of lips, one of eyes, one of noses, and one of general body proportions. Then at midnight of the due date I quickly scribbled some stuff down for the 9th page and took photos of all the pages. I then submitted them all, including the blank page, on canvas and attached a note saying that I was sorry for the photo quality (which made sense because the school chromebooks we were given had crappy cameras) and was willing to bring the drawings into class on Monday, planning to work on the last two pages over the weekend. On Saturday, my teacher emailed me saying that I didn’t need to bring the work in and she could see “the time and effort spent on all 10 pages”. I got 100%.

#art #confession #cheating? #canvas #school

[helliontherapscallion]

(Y/n) and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week: Monday

Tuesday     Wednesday     Thursday (Part 1)     Thursday (Part 2)     Friday     Saturday     Sunday

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Pairing: SBI x sister!reader (she/her pronouns)

Warnings: swearing, toxic friends, panic spirals/attacks, injury, taking pills for pain

Summary: you have a very bad week, how will you manage? (Characters are fully human, but based on their DSMP characters. High school AU)

Word count: 4,818

(A/N): I’ve never played volleyball or watched Haikyuu before, so I’m not 100% certain how games work. Also, I probs should’ve split this into two parts, but eh.

“(Y/n) love, you look homeless in that sweater, it’s literally so fucking ugly.”

“Haha, yeah it is. I guess I just wasn’t really trying today.”

Adrian snorted, scanning your body with his cold eyes. “Today? You don’t try at all. You always look like trash.”

“More than trash, you always look like you just rolled in dog shit.” Sammy threw her head back and cackled at her own joke.

Your friends around you erupted in laughter as you four walked down the hallways of the hell that was your public high school. You awkwardly chuckled alongside them, you didn’t really find it funny, but you didn’t want to draw more attention towards yourself. 

“Seriously, (y/n), I really don’t know why we still hang out around you anymore. You really let yourself go.”

“Yeah, now that I think about it, you did gain like five pounds in the past week.”

“Really not a good look on you, love. Then again, nothing you do can make you look good anymore.”

You tried to not let their comments get to you, you really did, but sometimes their comments just rooted themselves deep into your subconscious. You didn’t try looking good anymore, you couldn’t wear anything without them criticising it. You could never win. 

“Awe,” Adrien poked your cheeks, “stop looking so sad. We’re just trying to give you advice. You really need it.”

“Yeah, (y/n). You’re so sensitive, get a grip.”

“Guys look, I think she’s gonna cry!” 

You wiped at your welling eyes with the sleeves of your sweater. “I’m not. I just got allergies.”

Annie rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. Anyways, what are our plans for Halloween? We should totally dress up like sexy angels! I think that’d be so cool. Like, Clint’s party won’t be ready for us.”

“Oh, about that Annie…”

“God, what now (y/n)?”

“I was actually planning on spending Halloween night taking Tommy and Tubbo trick-or-treating with my brothers and dad. I won’t be able to go with you guys, I’m sorry.”

The group groaned loudly. “C’mon (y/n), you never hang out with us anymore.”

“Oh my god (y/n) you still go trick-or-treating? We’re juniors.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve just been busy with my AP classes and studying for the SAT. My team captain’s really been pushing the team hard with volleyball practice. State finals are soon and we want first this year.”

“No matter how much studying you do, you’re gonna fail. You’re stupid, so why try? Just give up and hang out with uuussss.”

“Yeah (y/n),” Adrien looked at you suspiciously, “you’ve been ignoring us lately. I thought we were friends. Do you even wanna be friends anymore?”

You felt a flare of panic flare up in your gut. “I do! I-I just have so much going on right now. It’s starting to get hard to juggle everything.”

“We’re starting to think that you don’t like us anymore, we want our (y/n) back!” Sammy whined. The others agreed with her, making you feel guilty. You were ignoring them, it was selfish in your opinion. You supposed that you could skip out on taking Tommy and Tubbo trick-or-treating, there’ll be other years you could take them. 

“I guess I can take Tommy and Tubbo another year. They’d just have to go without me this year.”

They cheered, giving you praise. You beamed at that, they seemed down lately and you loved it when they’d give you compliments. They didn’t do that much, so that made their praise more special to you. You strived to get compliments.

You four went off to your separate first classes for the day. Yours was statistics, a class you’ve been struggling in lately. You didn’t know anybody in there except for your oldest brother Techno, so you tried to stick with him. Unfortunately, the teacher’s seating chart placed you both on opposite ends of the room, probably because of your last names indicating that you’re siblings. You placed your stuff down on the table and plopped down into your seat, already drained. You had a long day ahead of you; you had a major AP world history test in your next class, you had to give a presentation in your AP english class that was worth a quarter of your final grade, and you had a semifinals volleyball match that would last until late in the night. If your team won, you would be going to state finals, so it was a lot of pressure on your shoulders. You were the main setter, so you had to really focus tonight if you were going to score your team points. 

“Alright class, pull out your homework!”

Fuck, you had homework? You looked in your folder, only to see the unfinished sheet full of equations you didn’t understand staring back at you tauntingly. Mr. Mullins walked over to your desk, took one look at your blank homework, and just walked right past you. Another big fat zero in the gradebook for you, just what you needed. At least he wasn’t in the mood to berate you today. You didn’t need any more stress piled onto your shoulders. 

The lesson felt like it dragged on forever with you frantically trying to copy down the notes on the board and trying to understand the content at the same time. Overtime, he would call students up to the board. Hopefully, he would skip over you today. “Ms. Minecraft.” Goddamn it, you spoke too soon.

Your head perked up and you looked at him. “Yes sir?”

“Come up to the board and solve this.”

Gulping, you felt panic rise up in you and stood up with shaky knees. On the board was part of the newer content he was just teaching. Something that you understood only a little bit better than the rest, and that’s not saying much. You still didn’t understand the content completely. Your writing was shaky as you wrote what you thought was right on the board. Finding the answer, you circled it and looked at Mr. Mullins. He looked disappointed. 

“That’s wrong, Ms. Minecraft. Please sit down.”

You felt like your face was on fire as you saw the entire class burning holes into you with their eyes. Though they looked dead inside, as per usual with any morning class full of tired teenagers, their effects still took hold on you. You wanted to crawl into a dark hole and die. You sat back down and stared at your note packet, you couldn’t focus on the lecture anymore. Your attention was fully on your surroundings, you were hyper aware of every little whisper and bouncing leg in your peripheral vision. You could feel yourself spiraling, usually that wouldn’t happen until after your third class. Today was going to be rough. 

The loud chime of the bell startled you out of your thoughts. You shakily put your papers back into your binder and put the binder back into your backpack. Right as you were about to walk through the door, you heard Techno catch up to you. “Hey, you good?”

“Yeah Tech, I’m just peachy.”

“Are you su-”

“Technoblade. I’m fine. Now if you excuse me, I have to get to my next class. I have an important presentation I’ve gotta prepare for.”

Without giving him any room to argue, you rushed off to your english class. You had Adrian and Annie in your class. For your presentation, you were paired up with people that you hardly knew. At least they did their part in the project, you were certain you were going to die if you got paired up with Adrian and Annie again. You loved them, but they never did any part of their portion of work. They left it to you to finish at midnight the day the project was due. To be fair, they both told you they had family emergencies, so you covered for them just that once. 

You pulled out your flashcards only to have them knocked out of your hand when someone bumped into you. You quickly crouched to pick them up so you could have them in order by time class started. “Oops, sorry love.”

It was Annie. She and Adrian towered over your crouched form smirking at you. Looking back down to rearrange your cards, you murmured “it’s ok.”

“Are you ready for this presentation, I know I am.”

You smiled a little. “Actually, I think I’m going to ace this. English is my best subject.”

“Yeah (y/n), I wasn’t asking you. I was talking to Annie. Besides, you’re probably going to fail this.” Adrian scoffed. 

“Thank you for asking, Adrian,” Annie shot a pointed look at you, “at least someone cares.”

The bell rang, signifying the start of your second block. You felt like you had a lump in your throat blocking your breathing. If Adrian, one of the smartest kids in your english class, said that you were going to fail, then you probably were going to fail. That would take a huge hit on your grade, this project was worth a quarter of your final grade after all. You were zoned out for the entirety of your classmate’s presentations putting yourself into a spiral. You jumped when Mr. Todd, your teacher, called your group up to present.

You stood stiffly in the middle of your two groupmates and clutched your flashcards with clammy hands. Luckily, your part of the presentation was not first. When it came to your part, you were stuttering and tumbling over your words. You even dropped your flashcards in front of everybody, causing half the class to snicker. Your face burned as you hurried to pick them up and your other groupmate took this as a signal to continue the presentation. You still had an important point to make that was integral for the set up to your other groupmate’s part of her presentation. You stared at your flashcards for the rest of the presentation. 

When the bell rang, you made a mad dash out of the classroom. You didn’t want to talk to anybody, especially not Adrian or Annie. It was a relief that you had your lunch period at the moment. You could hide yourself in the bathroom nobody used and let your panic attack ride itself out. 

You ducked inside a stall and sat on the toilet, bringing your knees up to bury your face in them. The tears and panic you were holding in all day let itself out with explosive effects. You started to hyperventilate as you muffled your sobs with your knee. Your chest painfully clenched so you couldn’t breathe. Your limbs felt like they weighed two tons each and they were shaking intensely. You didn’t hear the end of the lunch bell ring. By the time you calmed down slightly, you were five minutes late to AP world history. 

You packed your stuff up in a hurry, power walking through the halls. You probably looked like shit, but you didn’t care, you had a class to get to and a test that you probably wouldn’t be able to finish now. You lost ten minutes of your test time. When you tried to open the closed door, you found that it was locked. You had to knock if you wanted to get in. You raised a shaking hand to knock, but the door was opened by a less-than-impressed Ms. Osborne. She ushered you to your desk and gave you your unit test. 

You couldn’t focus. The multiple choice section was usually a breeze to you, but you couldn’t comprehend any of the questions. When you could comprehend them, you couldn’t concentrate on choosing an answer. You did your best to find the correct answers, but you were almost positive that at least half of them were wrong. Your handwriting was nearly incomprehensible and your essay topic was something you didn’t study for. When you were done with half of the body paragraphs, the bell rang and you had to turn in your unfinished test. 

You had your independent online psychology course next in the library. You usually worked alone secluded in a corner deep inside the library where nobody went. You would get some solace in being alone. Maybe you’d calm down enough so that you could ride home with your brothers and not go for a long walk so you could avoid them. 

You settled down in the comfortable chair and pulled out your laptop to get started. Psychology was your favorite class. It was easy for you to understand, it didn’t have much of a workload attached to it, and it was fun to learn about. It always calmed you down reading about the intricate workings of the brain. 

By time the day was over, you got most of your psychology work done and you were on your way to the car you shared with Technoblade and Wilbur. You took out your spare keys and slumped against the window in the backseat. You were absolutely drained after your terrible day and you still felt panic swirling deep within you, waiting for the right moment to strike. 

You stretched out your legs across the seat and leaned your back against the door. For the first time that day, you felt peaceful. You still had at least fifteen minutes to yourself until your brothers would start to make your way to the car. You felt the panic subside slightly and you fully relaxed. You closed your eyes and let yourself drift off into a light sleep. You needed your energy for tonight’s match. 

The door you were leaning on swung open and you tumbled backwards smacking the back of your head against the metal frame of the car and reverse scorpioning onto the pavement. Your entire upper back and the back of your head exploded in pain and your lower back hurt slightly from having your back bent uncomfortably. You heard laughter above you as you felt tears of pain start to slip out of your eyes. Your legs swung out from their place above your face and landed on the ground with a painful thump. 

You saw three blurry figures above you laughing at your pain. You reached up with a shaky hand to wipe at your tears and saw Adrian, Sammy, and Annie. They were cackling as you shakily stood up and sat on the comfortable seats of the car. You waited patiently for them to calm down. 

Eventually, Sammy calmed down enough to explain what happened to you through chuckles. “I’m sorry (y/n), it was just too good to resist. You should’ve seen your face.”

She and the others broke back into uncontrolled laughter as they remembered your embarrassing fall. You were used to their antics, and quite frankly it felt good to make your friends laugh, even if it were at your own expense. Just as they were calming down once again, you saw Wilbur and Techno walk out the front doors of the school laughing at something the other said. Annie and Sammy heard their laughter and quickly turned around to watch them. They had massive crushes on both of your brothers, many in the school did. 

Your brothers made their way to your shared car and stopped to look at you in slight confusion. “(Y/n), were you crying? What happened?” Wilbur asked worriedly. 

“Yea-”

“Oh Wilbur, it was terrible, (y/n) fell out of the car. I don’t think she closed the door before she leaned on it.” Annie interrupted you with a faked concerned tone, a complete contradiction to her reaction before your brothers came.

Techno hastily made his way to the driver’s side door. “Well, if she’s hurt we better get going, right Wilbur?”

“Yes! We better get going, please excuse us.” He sat in the passenger seat and closed the door without hearing Sammy and Annie’s desperate attempts to stop them so they could talk to them. Your brothers thought Sammy and Annie were annoying. They absolutely hated being around them. 

Waving apologetically at your friends, you pulled yourself into the car and closed the door. Annie and Sammy looked offended that you had let Wilbur and Techno get away from them. Avoiding their eyes, you looked down at your tightly clasped hands. They were shaking slightly. 

After pulling out of the parking lot, Techno glanced at you from the rearview mirror. “You ok (y/n)?”

“Yeah, my back just hurts and I have a headache.”

“Well, do you wanna go and get some ice cream? We still have some time left before we have to pick up Tommy and Tubbo. Dad doesn’t have to know,” Wilbur asked you.

You sighed, you wanted nothing other than to take a nap before your match. “Sorry, but I need to watch what I eat today. We have semifinals tonight and I can’t have anything sugary. I just wanna go home and take a nap.”

Your brothers were quiet for the rest of the car ride until you reached your driveway. Techno twisted his body around in his seat to look at you after he put the car in park. “Did you actually fall out of the car?”

Shit, should you tell him the truth? If you did, they would almost certainly get mad at your friends. Sammy and Annie would never forgive you if you turned your brothers against them. You decided that you would take one for the team again. “Yeah, I wasn’t paying attention.” 

Techno snorted. “Well, that was stupid,” he jokingly said. “Next time you’re gonna get run over by a parked car.”

You knew that he meant that as a joke, but it still stung. Stamping your emotions down, you laughed with him and Wilbur. It was stupid of you to do, you shouldn’t have let your guard down if you weren’t at home. 

You winced as you slung your bag on your back and walked the best you could back into your house. Your upper back was killing you. You made a beeline to the bathroom and rummaged through the medicine cabinet looking for some pain relief pills. You took some and shambled off to your room to take your well earned nap. You set your alarm’s setting to its loudest volume and passed out. 

You jolted up and gasped when you felt a wave of pain hit your upper back. You blearily looked at the time. You had a little under two hours before you had to get back to the school for your match. You groaned when you pulled yourself up, your head pounding with every turn. You pulled yourself out of bed and once again took some pain pills. You went downstairs to grab an apple or something to eat. Your dad was at the stove stirring something around in a pot. 

He turned to look at you with an excited smile. “You ready for your match tonight? You’re gonna kill it!” 

You only nodded halfheartedly and plopped yourself down at the table with your apple. Philza frowned at your lack of enthusiasm, but he figured that it was just because you just woke up from a nap. You’d bounce back eventually. 

“Wilbur told me that you fell out of the car? How’d you do that?”

You shrugged, wincing slightly as it moved your back slightly. “Dunno, must’ve not closed the door.”

Philza was at your side in a hurry, his hands hovering over your shoulders. “Did you get hurt? Show me where it hurts.”

“My back and the back of my head.”

“Can I move your shirt so I could look?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

You felt him gently pull the neck of your t-shirt away from your body to peek at your back. You heard his breath hitch as he looked. Was it that bad? “Good god (y/n),” he breathed out.

“What, is it bad?”

“Don’t you feel how bad it is? Your entire back is bruised. I think there’s some blood too.”

“Damn.”

“First, language. Second, that’s all you have to say? Aren’t you in pain?”

“Yeah, but the pain pills are gonna kick in soon. I’ll be fine.”

“Would you be able to play tonight? I really think you should sit this one out.”

“No, I’m playing tonight Dad.”

“(Y/n),” oh no, he was using his stern dad voice. “It’s not a good idea to play tonight. You’re hurt, I’m sure they’ll understand if you sit this one out.”

You felt frustration rise up in you. “We’re in the semifinals. They need me, I’m the main setter. They’d lose without me playing.”

“(Y/n), I’m serious. You’re not playing today.”

“Dad, I am playing today. Look, I’ll talk to Coach Williams to see if I could be rotated out more often. I know she’d let me.”

He stared at you for a while before sighing. He knew there was no convincing you. “...Fine. But you better talk to Coach Williams about sitting out for a bit if your back hurts too much or I swear I’ll drag you off the court myself.”

You smiled a little at the small victory. “Thank you! I promise I’ll sit out if needed.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “If needed?”

You sighed, “when needed.”

He walked over to the pot, stirring the contents slightly. “That’s better. Dinner’s almost ready, I made some pasta.”

“It smells good, but I think I’m skipping out on it for today. I already ate this apple and if I eat any more I’ll probably hurl on the court.”

He made a displeased noise in the back of his throat, “fine, but you’re eating something when we get home tonight.”

He walked off to go get your brothers and Tubbo for dinner. You could hear their booming steps racing down the stairs towards the kitchen. They raced into the kitchen and almost crashed into the back of your chair. You stood up and looked at the two excitable fifth graders. “Careful boys, don’t want you getting hurt.”

“You’re no fun (y/n),” Tommy whined.

“Sure, sorry bout that,” Tubbo beamed at you.

You chuckled, making your way upstairs to get ready for your match. You took off your clothes with great difficulty and slipped on your jersey and your spandex shorts. They were way too short for your tastes, but you couldn’t wear longer ones, they’d just get in the way. You fondly remembered how your dad flipped out when he first saw you in them, he hated them with a burning passion. He still hates how short they are.

When you were struggling with pulling your hair back into a tight, sleek ponytail, the back of your head throbbed continuously with pain. You most likely bruised your scalp. 

You slipped on your shoes that were made specifically for playing volleyball and headed downstairs. You were met with Tommy and Tubbo jumping in excitement seeing you in your uniform. They loved going to your matches, even if they would always pass out in the car after them because matches usually ended late at night. You grabbed your dad’s keys and headed to his car. Before you could lead the boys out the door, Philza’s voice stopped you.

“(Y/n), coat.”

You huffed, grabbing your coat and putting it on before tossing him his keys. You four got into the car and set out for the high school. The short drive was filled with Tommy and Tubbo asking you questions about volleyball and encouraging you. “(Y/n), you’re gonna kick their butts!”

“Yeah!” Tubbo cheered 

Despite their voices causing a spike of pain to shoot throughout your head, you laughed at their enthusiasm. It was always nice to hear your little brother and pseudo brother in the stands cheering you on, they were your and your team’s personal cheerleaders. 

Not long after you got to the school, you were stretching with your team on the gym’s floor. Your posse found their way into the stands, sitting in the front row. The away team watched your team like a hawk, analysing every single player for any weakness. It was because of them that you tried to not show any pain when you moved your back. You talked to Coach Williams before the team stretch and she was obviously sympathetic with your situation. She agreed to switching you out with the standby setter every few rotations. 

The echo of the whistles caused pain to ring in your head every time someone scored or a foul was called. Your team captain, Haley, was constantly, yet discreetly checking on you throughout the game since she was always next to you. She was the team’s main spiker after all. 

The game droned on and on before you realized that the opposing team was targeting you when they were offensive. They probably realized that you were injured a round ago. You tried your best to block every ball that was sent your way, but a few managed to slip past you when you couldn’t move fast enough. This team was good, but your team was better. 

The score during the final round was tied and the clock was on it’s last ten seconds as the ball soared your way. You dove to hit it, landing on your shoulder on the hard floor and hitting it up high enough for Haley to spike the ball down. The crowd went wild as the ball bounced off from the opposite end of the court almost simultaneously with the screeching of the referee’s whistle, signifying the end of the game and your team’s victory.

You laid on the floor in pain, you thought you must’ve pulled your tender muscles in your back and shoulder. It hurt to move it. You felt one of your teammates grab your hand to yank you up into a giant full team group hug. You yelped slightly in pain as you felt arms press against your back and hands firmly patting your bruised shoulders. You were whisked away into the locker room to change into the pajamas you brought with you. 

“(Y/n), are you alright? That was a pretty hard fall.” Haley’s soft voice asked you. You felt your heart sing in your chest. 

“Yeah Hales, I’m fine. I just pulled a few muscles.”

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowed together, “are you sure? As your team captain and your friend, I’m worried about you.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. You felt warm knowing that she cared about you. “I’m sure, worrywart.”

She rolled her eyes playfully and breathed out a soft laugh. “Sorry for asking, grump.” Her laugh sounded like music to your ears. 

Your phone vibrated in your pajama pocket, alerting you of your family waiting for you in the car and for you to hurry up. You sighed, “sorry Hales, I gotta go. Dad’s getting impatient.” 

She gave you a small smile. “Oh, well, tell your family I said hi! Good work on the court today, I wouldn’t ask for a different setter.”

You felt your cheeks warm up and you watched with wide eyes as she left the locker room. Your phone vibrated again, your dad was really starting to get impatient. 

You walked out of the school as fast as you could to find your dad’s car waiting for you up front. Jumping in and softly closing the passenger side door, you slumped against the window. “(Y/n),” Tommy’s tired voice slurred. “That. Was. Pog…”

You glanced back to see him and Tubbo snoring away in their seats. Your match was more exciting than usual, so that must’ve really tired them out. You chuckled, turning back around to lean against the window. You took care not to put any weight on your shoulder or back. 

“(Y/n), you were amazing out there, but why did you dive for that ball? That fall looked like it hurt.”

You hummed tiredly, “thanks Dad. I just did what I thought would win us the game. We’re going to finals!” You quietly sang. 

“Did you hurt your shoulder?”

“I actually don’t know, but I think I might’ve pulled a few muscles. Nothing too bad.”

“...I scheduled a doctor’s appointment for you tomorrow morning during your first and second blocks. I want you to get your back, shoulder, and head looked at. You looked miserable the entire match.”

You sighed, too tired to argue, “mmk.”

He chuckled before the car fell into a comfortable silence. The gentle bouncing of the car and the subtle hum of the engine was lulling you to sleep. Your eyelids were drooping by the time you pulled into your driveway. 

You drug yourself out of the car and into the house, leaving Philza with the sleeping boys. You walked straight to your room and plopped down on your bed, passing out instantly for the second time that day.

Series taglist (comment if you want to be added):

#sbi x reader #sleepy bois x reader #sleepy bois inc x reader #sibling reader #sister reader #platonic #reader is a lesbian #toxic friends #volleyball #mcyt #mcyt x reader #high school AU #philza x reader #technoblade x reader #wilbur soot x reader #tommyinnit x reader #tubbo x reader #tw: swearing #tw: toxic friendship #tw: panic attack #tw: injury #tw: anxiety #tw: bullying

[jimlingss]

(sorry my tumblr app glitched so im not sure if this was sent twice) taking a chance for the requests! how about a seokjin or namjoon arranged marriage au with this: “Am I your lockscreen?” “You weren’t supposed to see that.” 🎄 happy holidays!!

↳ Playground Promises

1.9k || 100% Light Fluff || Kim Seokjin

The bell rings.

Moments later, children are sprinting from the doors and flooding the playground. You watch in fondness as some climb the monkey bars while others sit and dig into the sandbox. All of them were forging their first friendships they’ll remember forever and you were their witness.

This is one of your favourite times of day. You enjoy seeing the kids have their fun, listening to their laughter and giggles, watching their games of tag to play pretend. But today, your enjoyment is interrupted by a certain male teacher that comes to stand behind you.

Tall. Dark. And handsome. His broad shoulders carry the weight of the third-grade class and practically the entire elementary school. But you’d never admit that out loud.

“It’s a bit chilly out today. You should’ve brought your coat with you.”

You hum.

Every staff member, married and single, swoons over Kim Seokjin. It’s hard not to. But if others knew what your relationship was with him, you’re sure you’d never hear the end of it. The kids would make a big fuss and so would all the staff and faculty, and you’d rather avoid that.

“I didn’t know you were on playground duty today.”

“I switched with Sana,” he says and leans over to smile. “Thought you could use some company.”

You scoff. “She’s perfectly fine company.”

The corner of his plump lip pulls. “If you want to talk about the mathletes program. And I’m pretty sure you don’t.”

Before you can respond, a boy approaches the two of you with pink cheeks and wind-swept hair. “Mr. Kim, can I go to the bathroom?” the third-grader asks in the midst of catching his breath and the older man nods.

“Go ahead. But don’t run in the hallway, Lucas.” 

Said boy grins and dashes off.

Seokjin turns to you and lowers his voice. “My mom’s been asking about the kids.”

Your brows furrow. “Why? They’re a good bunch.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I don’t mean your class’ kids, I mean our kids.”

You blink owlishly. “There are no our kids.”

“That’s the problem.”

You sigh and roll your eyes. “Wasn’t getting married enough for them?”

Seokjin shrugs with a faint, mischievous smile. “They want to go out for brunch with your parents this Sunday. Are you free?”

“When am I not free?” you retort lightly, but slip your phone out of your pocket to check your calendar anyhow. Seokjin glances over to your screen and once you finish, you slip it back into your pocket. “I have some marking to do, but I’ll probably finish by then.”

“Okay.” The pair of you turn back to continue monitoring the children playing and you’re glad to revel in the silence that’s been created between you. But after a beat, Kim Seokjin pipes up again. You don’t know why you’re surprised. He’s quite the talkative guy. “Hey, Y/N.”

You look over and he meets your eye.

He asks, “Am I your lock screen?”

Your face heats. If you were once cold, now you were warm from head to toe. “You weren’t supposed to see that,” you mumble. It was just a picture from the other day and you wanted to change things up on your phone. You had nothing else to use. It was convenient. That’s it.

Your entire relationship with him is built on convenience. At least...on his side it is.

Still, Seokjin grins and fortunately, he doesn’t tease.

You rush to change the subject. “A-Anyway, yeah, Sunday works for me. But we should probably talk about this after work.”

“Why? No one’s around.” His smile is spread from ear to ear and he leans in, whispering, “Are you that scared of people finding out we’re married?”

Immediately, you whip your head in all directions. Luckily, there’s no kid or nosy faculty member. You turn back to him, glaring. “I already said, I like to keep my private life under wraps.”

“I remember. But if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were embarrassed of me.”

You scoff and a murmur unintentionally spills out of you, “That’s impossible.”

You don’t notice Seokjin’s smile.

It’s been three months since you got married. It was a summer wedding. More importantly, it was an arranged marriage. And not because you were both wealthy and needed to be wedded to get the inheritance under some arbitrary contract rule or because it was your grandmother’s dying wish. No. You live a much more mundane, normal life than the dramas, movies and books.

It was your mom who threw a fuss. She was scared you’d be alone and unmarried, an old maid like your aunt — you didn’t say it, she just heavily implied it. But following her practically senile meltdown, you agreed. Partly to appease her worries and partly just out of curiosity.

You always wanted to get married. And deep down, you always wanted your own kids. But at the rate you were going, you had a feeling you wouldn’t be able to meet someone on your own.

What you didn’t expect on that blind date was for the other person to be Kim Seokjin, third grade teacher. Down the hall from you at the school. Someone across the room every lunchtime. Your dads were apparently long time colleagues, but Jin was still as equally shocked as you were during that first meeting. Yet, he easily agreed to getting married when you brought it up. Even when it was only after two months of occasionally seeing one another outside of your workplaces.

You still don’t know why he said yes.

“Ms. L/N!”

You’re torn out of your trance by a little girl at your knees. 

She pouts. “Jennie won’t let me play on the slide!”

“Did you ask her to share?”

“Yes!”

Before any more can be said, she drags you over and Seokjin trails after you. There’s another girl with brown braided hair climbing on the slide, and she swivels her head over as the two of you approach, eyes the size of saucers. 

“Are you taking turns, Jennie?” you ask her, and she vigorously nods.

“I am!”

“Well, you’ve been on it for a while. How about Lisa takes a turn next.”

“Okay,” she draws out and gets off of the slide before turning to her friend. “Here you go.”

It’s always little problems you have to solve — from sharing to knee scrapes and monkey bar accidents. Sometimes it’s difficult for the children to compromise, difficult for them to apologize and difficult for you to find a good solution. But you undoubtedly wish your own issues were this simple.

While you’re stuck in your thoughts, you miss Jin watching you fondly. 

“You’re good with kids,” he says as you move out of the way of running children and walk back to the perimeter.

“I wouldn’t be doing this job if I wasn’t. But I deal with older kids much better.” There’s a reason you teach fifth graders and not any lower than that. Seokjin knows it too.

“Remember when we had to supervise that kindergarten class together?”

You shudder. “It was a nightmare.”

“You weren’t that bad,” he tries to say but then laughs. You feign a glare, and he adds on, “Okay. I’m sorry, but I still mean it. It’s not as terrible as you thought. You’d make a good mom.” 

At that, your glare vanishes in favour of furrowing brows. You really shouldn’t, but you can’t help it when curiosity pries — so you break your own rule against discussing private matters at work. 

“Do you want my kids?”

Seokjin is wide-eyed and he turns to you. “Why not? We’re married.”

“Yeah….but…”

“But? Do you not want kids?” 

“No! I definitely want them,” you declare, almost a bit too boldly. He nods and you explain, “It’s just...I don’t know if you’re serious.”

Seokjin blinks. “I’m being perfectly serious.”

“I mean I don’t know if we’re serious.” You add, “Enough to have kids.”

“What’s more serious than being married?” Jin has a genuinely inquisitive and amused expression, head quirked to the side. 

You inhale a sharp breath and his gaze coaxes you to go on, so you do. “It’s just that you agreed so quickly to be married to me. It doesn’t….feel real. I don’t know if you wanted to marry me, if you did it on a whim, if this is some kind of joke—”

He frowns. “This isn’t a joke, Y/N. I wanted to marry you.”

Your mouth hangs open. Your eyes are rounded.

“Wh—”

“Mrs. L/N!” You’re interrupted by your fifth-grader, Park Jimin. He sprints to you, huffing and puffing, before leaning his hands onto his knees to catch his breath. “Have you seen Taehyung?! We’re playing tag!”

“No, I haven’t.”

Jin suddenly points to the left. “He went that way.”

Jimin books it.

Silence fills the spaces between you and Seokjin again, but it isn’t like normal. It’s filled with unanswered questions and the suspenseful cliffhanger of an unfinished conversation. The laughter of kids on the playground and field resound around you, but for the first time, you don’t listen to it. 

It fades into the background as you turn to Seokjin, wanting to know more. “What did you just say?”

The man smiles softly. “You have to know.”

“I don’t,” you assert. “So tell me.”

“I’ve always liked you.”

You blink and he continues, “Since you substituted for the art teacher and I saw you squirt red paint all over yourself. It’s something I couldn’t forget. Plus, the way you draw those stick people.” Seokjin laughs heartily and you’re trapped in your spot, unsure of how to react or what to say. He reads your expression and softens. “Did you really think I would rush into a marriage if I didn’t have feelings for you?”

“I…” Your mouth is agape. “I don’t know. Why did we never talk about this?”

Seokjin shrugs. “You never asked and I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable if you didn’t feel the same way. I knew you married me for convenience.”

“That’s not true,” you retort within a beat. This whole time, you thought he married you for convenience sake. But it wasn’t entirely like that for you.

Seokjin’s eyes are big and you swallow down your embarrassment. “Isn’t it obvious every single breathing person loves you? It’s hard not to.”

Slowly but surely, a grin spreads into Seokjin’s puffy cheeks and he’s smiling from ear to ear again. “Well, you’re very good at hiding it then.”

Suddenly, the bell rings.

All the children reluctantly climb off the equipment, some dusting their hands while others grabbing their friends, and they rush into their lineups. There’s a few stranglers lugging their legs while groaning. But busy in their small playground worlds, no one turns around to notice you leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to Seokjin’s mouth. It’s shy and brief, like the first peck exchanged between two for the first time. And you pull away just as fast, lips left tingling.

“We can continue this later, Mr. Kim.”

You stride off while Seokjin’s left smiling. After a breathless moment, he chases after you like children who have just made promises of their first love on the playground.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jin fanfic #jin fluff #jin scenario #jin reader insert #jin x reader #seokjin reader insert #seokjin fanfic #seokjin scenario #THIS IS MY LAST DRABBLE Y'ALL :D #anonymous

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Just The Way You Are// D.M.

Request: Hi can you do a draco x reader where they are in a relationship and her parents are like as**oles and they always bother her about her weight so one day she is with draco and makes a comment like “maybe i should stop eating so much” or something like that and Draco is like WHAT and tells her that she is beautiful and all that and he is like really worried Thanks!!

A/N: MY 100TH FIC!!! MY 100TH FIC FOR HP!!! Of course it has to be Draco!! I didn't think I would ever reach 100 fics as well as get over 1000 followers yet here I am. I am so thankful to all of you who have read everything but have also motivated me into continuing to write even when I doubt my own abilities (which is a lot). Thank you so much for requesting, lovely! I hope I have done your request justice! I enjoyed writing this, I ended up writing it all in one sitting. Please read the warnings before you read! And as always, I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: food, weight issues, shitty parents, swearing (I think) BUT DRACO IS CUTE DAMMIT.

Word count: 2k

Every morning in the Great Hall, breakfast is served at seven am sharp. This gives the students enough time to eat, socialise and let their food settle before classes begin promptly at half past eight. It also gives the students time to read over any mail that should fall with the Owls upon their arrival at eight am.

As your family owl drops a letter inscribed with the familiar handwriting of your mother, you don’t know whether to scream in frustration or burn the letter without reading. You knew that it would be filled with her usual criticism rounded off with a few sweet lines about the renovation to the house or how your cousin was doing so well on her internship abroad.

You flip the letter in your hands a few times; wondering whether the Howler from your mother would be worth it once she never got a reply from you. However, you eventually decide that the Howler would not be worth it and that your mother’s vitriol is better off read in silence.

Rolling your eyes, you try not to let the letter affect you so much. Her words are always poisonous and toxic, but this time, she cuts you where it hurts.

“My dear, how on earth is the Malfoy boy supposed to stay with you if you continue to gain weight? I’ve enclosed a new diet regiment for you to follow – stick to it, this is not an option.”

You scrunch up the letter and the included diet regiment in your hands. Crunching them up until they resemble litter rather than the foul words scrawled onto parchment.

You had never felt you had issues with your weight; there wasn’t any need to necessarily – the meals at Hogwarts were scheduled and there was enough exercise done through the day in order to get to classes on time, and this was before the weekend walks to Hogsmeade or the ambles around the Black Lake with Draco.

You don’t feel like there should be an issue with your weight, but your mother’s words are venomous barbs that stick into your brain. Her words on replay in the forefront of your mind.

There was no real excuse for the way your mother harked on about appearances and reputations. Your family hailed from an ancient line of witches and wizards; even going so far as to state that your ancestors were among the very first to attend Hogwarts when the founders were teachers.

So for your mother, everything since then had to be perfect.

Perfect hair. Perfect dress. Perfect manners.

Perfect weight, apparently.

Any appetite you had before has now dissipated. It’s funny how three lines of a letter is enough to put one off their morning meal.

You felt like a rule change should be implemented at Hogwarts; no mail until the evening - that way students don’t have the time to sit and worry about the thoughts of their parents.

Pushing your plate away from you, you bring out your reading book from your bag. Flipping through the familiar pages, you find the dog-eared corner from where you rounded off last night before falling asleep.

It’s easy to lose yourself in the pages having read the story over a thousand times before, but the niggling voice in the back of your head that sounds suspiciously similar to your mothers has you reading the same paragraph over and over again.

A kiss being pressed to the top of your hand is the first greeting from Draco. The next is a quiet good morning as he pours himself a glass of pumpkin juice.

You smile at the blonde-haired teenager, looking up from your book, but the smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Love, is everything okay?” Draco asks; immediately spotting that something is off.

You shake your head, “It’s nothing to worry about, love. I just didn’t sleep very well last night.”

Draco chuckles; not entirely convinced but happy to wait until you come to him. “It’s because you didn’t stay with me last night.”

You roll your eyes with a grin, “I’ve stayed in your dorm the last three nights; it’s only a matter of time before someone says something.”

Draco shrugs; leaning over to peck your cheek, “Let them, I don’t care.”

“You will when we get caught out by Snape on a random inspection,” You comment with a light laugh.

Draco smiles broadly at the idea of the Head of Slytherin ever completing a random inspection of the dungeon. He grabs a slice of toast from the rack and reaches for the marmalade.

His eyes wander over the lack of food in front of you, “Already eaten?”

You nod, smirking, “And all alone as well since you take so long in the mornings.”

He laughs, “It takes time to look this good, darling.”

“Sure it does,” You comment, leaning in to peck him on the lips. He hums against your mouth happily, but all too soon, you pull away, “I’m off to the library before class, I want to get ahead on the History of Magic essay. I’ll see you later.”

You drop another kiss to Draco’s mouth before hoisting your bag onto your shoulder and departing from the Great Hall.

Draco shakes his head at your retreating figure; something about you was off, but he couldn’t place his finger on what. He wasn’t going to pester you as it would only make things worse, but he knew he had to address it before you lost yourself from overthinking.

Draco bites into his toast; already thinking of the ways he can talk to you.

----

Your days are always filled with little highlights; seeing the first flower bloom after a long winter or reading your favourite part of your book without being interrupted or it’s finding Draco waiting outside your classroom after every lesson of the day.

You find him waiting opposite the door to your class; leaning against the wall with his robes open, showing the white buttoned shirt underneath. His rebelliousness highlighted in the undone top button and untucked shirt. You shake your head as you make your way over to the teenager that made your heart stutter.

He grins, holding his elbow out to you, “Lunch, my love?”

“Lead the way.”

The Great Hall is loud upon your arrival. Students shouting, laughing, grabbing for food from the centre of the tables. It’s a ruckus, but it makes you smile as you take a seat across from Draco at the Slytherin table.

“Is that all you’re eating?” Draco asks with a frown at the sight of your plate.

You nod your head; your mother’s words from this morning making another round in your head, “I’m not overly hungry.”

The frown doesn’t leave Draco’s face, and through lunch, he glances between your face and the plate, wondering what’s changed for your appetite to have disappeared.

Draco walks you to your next class after the bell rings signalling the end of lunch.

He pauses outside the classroom, keeping a tight grip on your hand. His other hand reaches up to caress your cheek; a rare form of PDA from the Slytherin Prince who was more than happy to kiss and hold hands but would rarely show his feelings so openly.

“You’d tell me if something was wrong wouldn’t you?” He asks; concern alight in his eyes.

You hold his hand to your cheek; pressing a kiss to the palm, “I would.”

He nods silently. Kissing your forehead, Draco turns away, striding to his next class.

Guilt stirs within you like a lead balloon; weighing you down for the rest of the day. Even the ringing of the final bell of the day wasn’t enough to lift your mood.

Draco continues to meet you after every class; his arm always ready for you to slip yours through. But he’s quieter; more sombre as he leads your through the bustling corridors and staircases.

At the end of the day, he escorts you to the Great Hall. The level of noise quieter from lunch but still loud as students discuss their plans for the evening over the food laid out on the long, wooden tables.

Dinner is a feast by any standard, and Draco tucks right in, piling food onto his plate – ravenous after a day filled with exam preparation. You take your time with your meal; selecting more and more vegetables as you think back to the letter and diet regiment now burning a hole through your bag.

Draco sighs as he watches you pick at your food. He reaches over, checking your temperature with the back of his hand on your forehead, “Well you feel fine,” he murmurs, “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve picked at your food all day, and you’ve become more distant as the day’s gone on.”

“I’ll talk to you about it in the common room,” You state.

“You will?”

Nodding, you promise,  “I will.”

Draco makes his way through the rest of the meal; drawing you into a conversation after conversation about how the day has been. When his plate is empty and yours has been pushed to one side, Draco stands from the bench. He takes one last drink of his pumpkin juice before holding his hand out to you.

The walk to the common room is quiet; you think over the letter in your bag, wondering about the reply you’re going to send back to your mother. One cross word from you and you wouldn’t be surprised if she, herself, showed up in Dumbledore’s office demanding punishment for your insolent words.

It was tiring, you realise, to be her daughter.

The Slytherin common room is silent when Draco leads you through the door; all students either still eating in the Great Hall or ambling about the castle. You settle on the black leather couch in front of the already lit fire; you hum at the warmth it gives off – holding your hands out to warm them through.

Once your hands are warm enough, you lean back into the couch. Feeling Draco’s eyes on you, you shift your head, facing him with a small smile.

Draco tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, “What’s going on in that pretty little head?”

You sigh, opening your bag and pulling out the letter. Handing it to Draco, you say wryly, “Dear old mama wrote, that’s what.”

Draco scans over the letter; getting to the three lines that have played on your mind all day and have affected your eating habits so quickly.

Draco folds the letter carefully into the three; he folds it ever so neatly before ripping it to pieces in front of your eyes, leaning forward and throwing the tiny pieces into the fire.

“I hope you don’t believe a word she’s written.”

You shrug, fiddling with your fingers, “Maybe I should stop eating so much.”

Draco leaps up from the couch; spreading his arms wide, “There is absolutely nothing wrong with your weight – you do not need to lose, you do not need to gain. You are perfect the way you are. I love you to pieces, but darling, your mother is an awful person. What sort of person sends that to their child?”

He kneels on the ground in front of you, “I will love you no matter what. The sky could be green, and the clouds could be purple hedgehogs, but even that would not distract me from my love for you.”

He gestures to the pieces of parchment now turning to ash in the flames, “Everything about you is beautiful; from the top of your head to the tip of your toes – there isn’t anything about you I don’t adore. Reply to your mother if you must; tell her that you’ve let me read the letter and that I absolutely disagree with her words.”

Draco surges forward, kissing you soundly. He shifts slightly, beginning to press you into the couch, “I love you – just the way you are.”

******

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @dreamer821 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @msmimimerton​ @izzytheninja​ @slytherinprincess03​

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obx-beach @obxmxybxnk @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey

#draco malfoy x reader #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfic #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy imagine #draco fanfiction #draco x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #draco malfoy fluff #draco fluff #fluff #hp fanfic #draco malfoy reader insert #comfort fic

[amazingphilza]

study buddies :: cc!multiple x reader

fluff , platonic , gender neutral ! some headcanons if the mcyts were trying to help you do hw :D

cc’s included in order: tommyinnit , tubbo , ranboo , wilbur soot , philza , technoblade

tommyinnit

i feel like he’s the type to be in a long discord call with you whilst you both try to finish your work

mans uses the screensharing feature like there’s no tomorrow

“y/n watch my stream on discord and help me guess the answers”

“tommy no! i haven’t even taken a film class before”

“your guess is good as mine”

“just cheat and google the answers!!!”

“fuck you”

he actually just wants your attention because he’s bored out of his mind doing homework

five minutes later of asking you to help him guess questions he’s like

“hey y/n”

“what now?”

“let’s play bedwars”

“oh my god shut up!!!”

if tommy has to speedrun something before a deadline, it is a whole different story tho; he will be so focused on completing that he won’t hear what you’re saying

if you’re struggling in math, you’re on your own

“math is shit, only numbers i need is my primes and youtube analytics” says tommy any time you complain about math

besides the fact he isn’t good at solving math problems, you can’t even read his handwriting if he did try showing you how to do a problem

“okay, y/n, it’s simple, just look” he says in his kareninnit voice and everything

you’d be like “is the variable a G or a 9??”

“fuck you that’s a 4!!!”

tubbo

i don’t know if tubbo ever talked about school before but something about him makes me think he’s actually pretty good at math

like he can explain a few things when it comes to math / algebra

CODING GO BRRRR

no geometry or calculus though, anything past algebra will go bad

if tubbo is doing homework with you, he will definitely tune you out

“hey tubbo can you help me on this question?”

you don’t get a response until like 20 minutes later

“oh yeah, what was it y/n?”

like now you answer? i just got the answer myself after so long, forget you smh

“oh nothing tubbo, nevermind!”

but you’re still grumbling in your head because if he answered just a bit earlier you wouldn’t have gone through the work of finding the answer online

i can also imagine if you’re taking chemistry tubbo is like ;

“oh you’re taking chemistry? let’s make some bombs!” /lh

tubbo would definitely pull an all-nighter with you to finish your projects together

if you had a group project, he would make you do the writing part while he does the drawing part

“we definitely aced this project”

“of course we did, if i made you draw we would’ve ended up with stick figure diagrams”

“TUBBO. THE FUCK?”

ranboo

okay i know ranboo said he isn’t a theatre or band kid (unless im wrong and forgetful) but i feel like he’d be somewhat educated in the topics nonetheless

half the time he’s great moral support, helping you stay motivated !

the other half is him making fun of you

“i cant believe you’re failing, that is so sad, can’t be me”

“it’s literally an honors class, ranboo! it’s supposed to be hard!!”

“taking an honors class willingly? also cant be me AHAHA”

i honestly can’t see ranboo going to school like i know he’s a minor and said he had zoom calls before and plays volleyball but like did i miss something? has he dropped out yet? like something about ranboo does not scream “student” /lh

besides that, i’m not sure what subject he would actually be good in,,, but something about nutrition/health sciences,, he knows a few things

don’t get me wrong, i don’t think he actually likes the subject but somehow remembers what he learned from the class

also gives me the type of energy of the type of person to take a first aid class to be a certified person to do cpr on someone just to kill time during his lunch breaks for a while or something

“i am a certified cpr person”

“my life in ranboo’s hands? oh god please no”

you two would probably joke about the ‘bad’ people in your classes or talk shit about your schools than actually doing anything homework related ngl AHAHAH

“you think your school is down bad? mine went back to campus full time after like 6 months into quarantine because they were running out of money”

“what the hell y/n? your school is a scam, drop out”

“arghhhh i knowww”

“i bet i make more money than your teachers combined AHAHAH”

wilbur soot

he doesn’t seem like the best person to ask for help for homework but can info dump you on very specific historical events + a bit of geography

i kinda see him as the person you can ask to proof read an essay for you and would help it improve immensely

who needs a thesaurus when you have vocabulary boy wilbur?

i dunno if it’s an american thing only or at all, but if/when you get to studying hamilton in your english class, he will get so fucking excited

“no wilbur it isn’t fun! imagine listening to lin-manuel miranda rap ‘alexander hamilton’ at the white house from like 2009 on repeat for over an hour whilst trying to write an analysis about it!! it was so distracting”

“well clearly someone has a personal problem with mr lin-manuel. if i were you, i’d be singing the whole thing”

is this last bit personal and complete spite from my freshman year english class? yes. i do not care? no. /hj

unrelated but i actually scribbled nice guy ballad lyrics and other songs on my english scratch papers in freshman year but anyway

probably isn’t the best person to be in a call to do homework with but wilbur doesn’t mind you ringing him occasionally sometimes

i dunno i can just see him easily get bored of the silence or something but also doesn’t want to bother you too much

but he is genuinely proud of you whenever you tell him you aced a big test you were studying for :D

philza

this man’s bad advice is as bad as him trying to help you on any subject

he’s an old man so /hj

but like honestly, he hasn’t been at school for so long, phil can probably only help with the most basic things when it comes to school

if you have a wack teacher that makes you collect data through surveying people, phil would be one of the best people to ask! straightforward and won’t take too much of your time compared to other people ahem,,

statistics things ! sobs

if you ever complain a lot about your classes and contemplating dropping out and stuff, he will def scold you hard

“ugh phillllllllll can i just like,, never go to school again?”

“do not drop out”

“argh fine, i won’t just ‘cause philza minecraft said so”

honestly if you get a high score in a big test like your sats/gcse’s (whatever you’re taking from wherever you are) he’d probably order you a small meal or something to celebrate :D

like how phil bought ranboo bought him food to his house, it would start as a joke but when you get your test scores back he’s like “YOOO GOOD JOB Y/N”

expect a left meat pizza coming to your house .

technoblade

like wilbur, techno is also helpful when it comes to history!

def knows a decent bit of literature too

besides that i don’t really see him being that helpful

even if he was supposed to be an english major

he will just get mad at the school system for teaching you useless things

“being in school is good but why do you need to know how to know if something is a triangle or not? i can obviously see with my eyes that it’s a triangle”

“i dunno! ask the person that made up geometry”

“just look at a kaleidoscope and be over with it, it isn’t that hard”

“that isn’t how it works—”

“bruhhh”

if you’re looking for the person to call while doing homework, he is not the person /lh

it’s either like 0 or 100 with techno

he can just completely not say anything and ignore you or go on a full rant about whatever class or homework you have

if you have an essay you need written, it will take a lot of bribing but he might take the opportunity if you are rich

“techno i’ll paypal you $10 please help me”

“no. i can make 10 times that amount in 5 minutes if i just started streaming right now”

“techno i don’t have that kind of money! pleaseee”

“no. instead of complaining, you can use that time to actually start you work”

“you’re the worst”

then you speedrun the essay and get an A just to spite him

#dream smp imagines #dream smp x reader #dream smp x y/n #dream smp headcanons #sbi imagine #sbi x reader #sbi headcanons #mcyt imagine #mcyt x reader #mcyt x y/n #mcyt x you #mcyt headcanons

[whitehotharlots]

We are all meaner and more conservative than we were 10 years ago

I’m gonna tell you a true story. Well... I can’t guarantee that it’s absolutely 100% true since I wasn’t a part of it, but it’s true enough that it’s been reported on by reputable news sources. 

I’ll link to the story later on, but while I’m telling it, you should use the magic of prejudice to fill in the contextual gaps. Try to figure out when and where this happened, what the rationale of the involved parties might have been.

Here’s the story:

An 8th grade teacher brought some cotton plants to class. This was part of a lesson plan on slavery, particularly a discussion of how the invention of the cotton gin led directly to the growth of slavery. The teacher sought to demonstrate the immense difficulty of picking cotton by hand, showing students how easily the sharp edges could pierce skin. Less than a day after this lesson plan, a parental complaint led to the teacher being suspended for more than a month.

Okay, story over.

So... where do you think this happened? One of those regressive states where the governor looks and sounds like Boss Hog? One of those places that enacted a horrific ban on Critical Race Theory, where the fragility of white leadership is so immense they won’t even allow children to learn of the brutal realities of chattel slavery?

Nope. This was in San Francisco, perhaps our nation’s smuggest blue city.  And at a self-consciously progressive charter school that focuses on the creative arts. The people who are 100% certain that attempts to ban CRT are due to conservatives not wanting kids to learn about slavery just punished a teacher for teaching kids about slavery. 

What happened? Has Republican malevolence grown so powerful it now infects areas where Republicans themselves have no power? There’s precedence for such a thing, after all: Trump’s evil was so immense he somehow opened those immigrant child prisons years before taking office.

No, sadly, this seems like an intra-Dem conflict. Hasan Kwame Jeffries, a Famed Race Dimwit, summarized it thusly:

“You just can’t, despite your best efforts actually recreate what slavery was like,” he said. “Any kind of simulation, any kind of re-creation, any kind of that hands-on kind of teaching, just pushes you into the area of re-trauma, traumatizing children and there are better ways to go about it.”

Now, obviously, putting the black kids in chains and allowing the white students to whip them would have been a bridge too far. If that had happened, I woudl have been like “omg this teacher needs to go!” But that did not happen. Nothing close to that happened. Yet Jeffries seems to be suggesting that any material evocation of slavery, even one designed to denounce it, has that same emotional affect as something as extreme as a full-on recreation--that black kids have, like, that power from Dune where so much as touching certain objects connects them with the magic aura of their ancestors.

This... this is insane, right? You all see how this is insane? 

Here I could take an easy potshot at the fact that Jeffries’ own TedTalk is titled “We Must Confront the Painful Parts of US History.” Were I a less classy fellow, I could perhaps feign an attempt to discern the all-important dividing line between “serious confrontation” and “showing kids raw cotton so they understand a lesson more clearly.” Alas, I shall refrain. 

Instead, I hope to draw your attention to the bleak irreconcilability of our present political moment. As I warned way back in 2015, adjudicating the appropriateness of course materials according only to the emotional reaction of students will lead to arbitrary punishment, which can only make classrooms more regressive:

In 2009, the subject of my student’s complaint was my supposed ideology. I was communistical, the student felt, and everyone knows that communisticism is wrong. That was, at best, a debatable assertion. And as I was allowed to rebut it, the complaint was dismissed with prejudice. I didn’t hesitate to reuse that same video in later semesters, and the student’s complaint had no impact on my performance evaluations.

In 2015, such a complaint would not be delivered in such a fashion. Instead of focusing on the rightness or wrongness (or even acceptability) of the materials we reviewed in class, the complaint would center solely on how my teaching affected the student’s emotional state. As I cannot speak to the emotions of my students, I could not mount a defense about the acceptability of my instruction. And if I responded in any way other than apologizing and changing the materials we reviewed in class, professional consequences would likely follow.

In the blog post that preceded that Vox piece, I explained how the ominous rise of wokeness had caused myself, and several other instructors I knew, to purge our syllabi of works and discussions that were intellectually in line with the goals of progressivism, but could nonetheless plausibly be said to cause psychic discomfort:

There are literally dozens of articles and books I thought nothing of teaching, 5-6 years ago, that I wouldn’t even reference in passing today. I just re-read a passage of Late Victorian Holocausts, an account of the British genocide against India, and, wow, today I’d be scared if someone saw a copy of it in my office. There’s graphic pictures right on the cover, harsh rhetoric (“genocide”), historical accounts filled with racially insensitive epithets, and a profound, disquieting indictment of capitalism. No way in hell would I assign that today. Not even to grad students. Here’s how bad it’s gotten, for reals: last summer, I agonized over whether or not to include texts about climate change in my first-year comp course. They would have fit perfectly into the unit, which was about the selective production of ignorance and the manipulation of public discourse. But I decided against including them. They forced readers to come to uncomfortable conclusions. They indicted our consumption-based lifestyles. They called out liars for lying. Lots of uncomfortable stuff. All it would take was one bougie, liberal student to get offended by them, call them triggering, and then boom, that’s it, that’s the end of me.

Strangely, this was the part of my argument that aroused the most criticism. Liberals and Republicans alike were certain I was lying. The Republicans thought that since colleges are commie indoctrination centers there’s no way the works I’d mention could raise objections. The liberals, meanwhile, were sure that this fancy new means of punishing people we don’t like was so righteous and good that it could only ever be wielded against evil people and evil ideas. Very few people, even those who claim to study this stuff professionally, are capable of understanding a social or cultural problem being caused by a bipartisan trend. There’s no way that an effort to silence and punish the Bad Guys could ever yield negative consequences for the Good Guys.

But, whoops! It turns out mandating that everyone become meaner and more paranoid actually does stifle productive discourse. 

By definition, the mandate the we prioritize impact over intent/context is going to lead to more regressive discourse. The cotton lesson may have been pedagogically sound and politically progressive, but that doesn’t matter because its hypothetical impact could, possibly, have led to “re-trauma.” And I stressed the word hypothetical there because no coverage of the piece reported a single perspective from a student in the class--it was just a parental complaint about something that maybe kinda coulda happened. 

As is evidenced by the rise of sensitivity readers, the woke project has gone beyond using social justice as an excuse to regulate your arbitrary pet peeves. The job of the scold is no longer simply policing norms that already exist; social justice only happens when we proactively fabricate new norms based on hypothetical offenses. This means that punishable offenses are going to become more obscure and absurd, effectively rendering it impossible to engage in any of the very difficult discussions we’re supposed to be trying to facilitate, unless they fit into an increasingly narrow template that’s so radical and disruptive it’s gotten the unanimous support of the DNC as well as every major bank and corporation. 

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

Silly Little Symphony - Bakugou Katsuki

Track 1: Paralyzer- Finger Eleven

—/—

Bakugou is not a fan of half-assing things.

He hates it, despises it actually. Bakugou feels like anything worth doing deserves 100% effort, and if you give it any less than that you might as well not even attempt it in the first place. That’s his motto and that’s what he sticks with and that’s what he’s doing right now, too. Obviously.

Except- why does it feel like he has to convince himself?

It’s like there’s this lingering feeling in his mind that he’s taking the easy way out. That he’s taking the cheater’s way out, but it’s- there’s just no other choice, alright?

Bakugou knows he’s a brave guy, knows that he could shred anything he set his sights on, but by that very same logic, he’s knows even more that he’s not a very soft guy. His feelings for you are his feelings, and yes he might acknowledge them, but that doesn’t mean he could ever communicate them delicately. Even when he runs fantasy scenarios in his head, the words still come out all wrong. They’re too loud and too brash and too forceful and you always end up offended.

Bakugou doesn’t want you to end up offended- at leasy more than you already have. So, he quickly decided on a different method of communication.

A playlist.

A playlist full of songs that convey what he’s been wanting to, but also sound angry and scary and tough- because he’s a tough guy who listens to nothing but rock and punk and metal, and has definitely has not searched up songs with your name in the title before, and has definitely not then added those songs to his library. Because that’s ridiculous and soft, and like determined before, Bakugou Katsuki is not soft.

What he actually is, is a guy with a playlist full of specially-curated songs. And a guy with absolutely no idea how to give them to you.

The thing is, he’s read manga and watched movies and read all sorts of articles about these types of confessions (not that he’d ever admit that), but none of those felt like him. He was not a smooth talker or a brazen flirt or even just a kind guy- no, Bakugou was mean and loud, and he knew full well that he’d much sooner be cast as the antagonist than the romantic lead.

So all of that was a problem, and then you also currently didn’t even like him. You made it very clear, though every sneer and comment and biting comeback, that only feeling you held for him was begrudging respect- and even that was only on the battlefield. Once he stepped out of the hero uniform than you were back to hating him, and he only made it worse with every childish insult he threw your way. Bakugou knew it was a stupid way to get your attention, but it was also the most efficient one; and he was a man of efficiency.

So that left him here- pining the same way he had been for weeks, staring down into a playlist full of songs he couldn’t figure out how to play for you.

He sneaks a look at you, red eyes just barely skimming over top of the bus seats. You’re sitting a few rows ahead, sharing a snack with Tsuyu.

Bakugou thinks you’re stupid. He thinks you’re stupid for eating junk food right before a day of training, and he thinks you’re stupid for choosing to sit all the way in front like a nerd, and most of all he thinks you’re stupid for sharing your snack with that damn frog face when he’s right there. And obviously much better in every comparable, concievable way. Obviously.

Bakugou presses his headphones more securely into ears, and slouches down deep into his seat. All he can see now is the back of the seat, and he thinks that’s a better alternative. At least it won’t piss him off- not like the sight of you, sitting up front and laughing where he can’t hear, will.

With a grunt, he hits shuffle on his playlist, turning the volume to max. He closes his eyes dropping his head against the window. Drum fills and a guitar riff flood his ears, and he’s relaxing a bit, sinking into the sound, and all is well and good until-

Well just look at that girl with the lights coming up in her eyes. She's got to be somebody's baby.

God dammit.

Fuck Phantom Planet. Bakugou thinks. Fuck them.

Then he’s growling as he hits the skip button, throwing his phone onto the seat next to him.

—/—

As it turns out, all Bakugou needed was to beat the ever-loving shit out of something.

Cracking his palms and shaking his limbs, Bakugou launches at another robot. He thinks the machines feel weak under his explosions, almost offensively feeble in their construction. Like all of U.A’s staff went braindead that morning- like they couldn’t even bother to cook him up a worthy opponent.

When Bakugou looks around, that’s clearly not a shared statement. There’s the usual standouts of course, stupid deku and stupid icyhot and even stupid dunce face is doing well for once, but the rest of them are average. Mediocre. Completely and utterly inferior to him- and then you enter.

Your quirk, blink, is a bit useless in this scenario, but you’re not letting that stop you. There’s purpose in your movements, quick and controlled actions as you strap your home-made bombs around the base of each robot’s leg. Machines don’t blink, so you’re shit out of luck for your main speed ability, but your training makes up the difference. With practiced ease you’ve darted out from beneath the robot’s feet, and then you’re hitting the detonate on your remote.

Bakugou thinks you look unreasonably fucking cool as you sprint away from the blast. So cool in fact, that he might even consider your tech explosions as cool as his quirk ones. Maybe.

Bakugou wipes his palms, muffling a yawn. He’d blown up all his assigned robots ages ago, and now was left kicking rocks and generally doing nothing.

This training was supposed to act as a benchmark test- the idea was to drop a similar opponent into the ring, one that emulated the entrance exam, to test how far everyone had come since the beginning of the semester. It could’ve been good in theory, but Bakugou thought it was just a waste of time. Robot’s were easy for him then and they sure as hell were easy for him now.

Still though, he was the first one to kill all his robots, so not all was lost. Bakugou still walked away a winner and that meant he was feeling much better than earlier.

Smirking with shameless pride, Bakugou saunted to the exit area. More students began to file in after him, and he kept mostly quiet, but he couldn’t keep his mouth shut when you walked past him.

“Fuckin’ fifth? With your overpowered-ass quirk?” He sneers, voice loud. “Waste of talent.”

Bakugou watches spin on your heels, watches your face melt into something deadly. You’re storming towards him, and he can’t even think past hoping you’d get a little closer.

“Robot’s don’t fucking blink, you jackass.” You’re red in the face and glaring, hands curling into fists at your sides. “You try getting. anything done without your quirk. Asshole.”

Then you’re stomping away, hardly giving him a second look as you cheer on your friends.

Bakugou can’t even begin to decipher what possessed him, to say those words, but he’s also not surprised. His words always come out wrong and he can’t say anything nice without wanting to scratch away his skin.

What he really wanted to say was that you were impressive even without your quirk. That you were admirably smart and tactical and well-prepared with your own bombs, and he thought that you looked really hot sprinting away from the wreckage- but that’s not what he said. Of course that’s not what he said.

Well, there goes his good mood. No amount of previous wins could ever distract him from how much of a loss that interaction was.

Eventually the rest of the class finishes, and then they’re all gathering breathless and tired back to the bus. Unfortunately, Kaminari fried himself completely and Mineta managed to break an ankle and that meant that they needed their own seats. That also meant that two people who had their own seats on the ride there, would now be sharing on the way back.

As shitty luck would have it, the class chose drawing straws as the deciding factor, and even worse than that, Bakugou got the shortest straw. The day was already shaping up to be pretty frustrating, but when you pulled the second-shortest straw it got even worse.

“We can always share instead, L/n!” Tsuyu’s says, hand on your shoulder and voice mediating. “Really. I don’t mind.”

Bakugou watched you sigh for a moment, and then you’re turning your head towards him. Your eyes meet his and Bakugou can’t help the smirk that rolls across his face- you’re looking at him and paying attention to him and even if it’s just you making a point he still likes that attention. He watches you squint your eyes at him in response, voice hard and steely as you speak to Tsuyu.

“No. It’s alright. We picked staws, and fair is fair.” Your squint morphs into a glare. “And besides, I’m not gonna let that smug bastard throw a fit into getting out of this.”

The statement should piss him off, and if anyone else said it it would’ve, but Bakugou finds it does the opposite. It just reaffirms how brave you are and how you’re not scared of him like everyone else is and how much he likes you for it- not that he’d ever tell you any of those things.

To save face, Bakugou instead pretends to be pissed about your words, his palms popping and crackling as he glares right back. He hopes it looks like a genuine threat and not a panic reaction, because really he just thinks you look so cool talking back to him directly like that and he definitely doesn’t know what to do with that. So instead he does what always works; what always makes him feel better when he gets a feeling too big to handle- he preps to blow shit up.

“Calm down, man. It’s just a seat.” Kirishima comes up behind him, pressing a water bottle into Bakugou’s crackling palms. “Here, take this and please don’t blow up the bus. Or L/n. That’d be so totally not heroic of you.”

“Shut the hell up.”

“No I’m serious, dude. Chill out, okay? L/n’s actually pretty nice once you get to know her.”

“I said, shut the hell up, Shitty Hair!” Bakugou barks, gritting his teeth.

Then he’s shoving his palms into his pockets, leaving Kirishima and the water behind, and stalking towards the bus before anyone else does. Bakugou figures that if he’s got to share a seat, then at least he’s going to be the one sat next to the window. He’ll make sure of it.

Still, there’s something sitting heavy in his stomach though- how does Kirishima know you’re nice?

The comment made his blood boil. Bakugou thinks it’s strange because usually he’s pretty tolerant of his friend, and even finds himself enjoying his company sometimes, but those words pissed Bakugou off. Pissed him off a lot.

”Wow, don’t look so goddamn thrilled.” You say sardonically, and Bakugou watches you drop into the seat next to him. “Might accidentally think you tolerate me, blasty.”

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that. Useless extra.”

Bakugou wants to smash his head into a wall- because why the fuck did he just say that?

Oh yeah, because apparently his jealousy was plastered all over his face, clear enough for you to comment on it. And even if you didn’t know that’s what the expression was, he’d still rather bite your head clean off than admit it was there in the first place.

“Yeah, whatever. I don’t want to fight.” You say, clenching your jaw as you settle back into the seat. “Look, it’ll be easier for both of us if we don’t talk, so I’ll just sit here and not bother you, alright?”

“Fine. Shut the hell up then.”

Once again, Bakugou wants to obliterate himself.

He doesn’t know why he can’t just tell you- why he can’t just say that he wants you to keep talking to him and that he wants you to keep snarking back at him. Why he can’t just say that he thinks your voice is one of the least grating ones in the whole class.

He thinks all of those things, but says none. Instead he keeps a fist clenched as his sides, scowling as he pulls out his headphones. He makes an intentional effort not to play your playlist and instead hits shuffle on all his music. He’d hoped that the loud drums and guitars would settle his emotions, but they didn’t. Nearly 10 minutes have passed and Bakugou’s as riled up as ever, but he’s also now completely convinced you’re trying to kill him.

You’re shifting in your seat, your arms extending out as you slip on your jacket. There’s little room, and every time you shuffle the sleeves to adjust them, you’re knocking your shoulders into his.

Then you stop.

You just stop and you go still and his skin isn’t tingling anymore and Bakugou is all kinds of pissed all over again. Because of you he’s nervous and flustered and you have the audacity to just sit there, unaffected. He has to snarl just to keep himself from blushing when he speaks.

“Why the fuck were you touching me?”

“It’s a small seat and I was putting on a jacket.” You reply, short and clipped. “I don’t know what you expect me to do about it.”

“Tch. Just don’t do it again. And shut up the fuck up already.”

“You- you talked to me first!”

“And? Who the fuck cares?” Bakugou grunts, turning the volume of his music up. “Now shut up.”

Jesus christ. Bakugou thinks to himself. Maybe I should just blow myself up for once.

Another few minutes pass, and Bakugou swears he’s really is dying. You’re still so close to him and he’s feeling very, very flustered, and while he doesn’t love the idea that you’re mad at him, he can’t say he hates the look on your face right now either. You’ve got your jaw clenched and your eyebrows set low and your hands are balled into fists as you steadfastly ignore him. Bakugou thinks you look scary- fucking terrifying.

He likes terrifying.

“Hey.” You suddenly nudge him with your shoulder, pointing to his earbuds. “I can hear it- your music. Turn it down.”

“Why the fuck would I do that?”

“Because that’s basic courtesy.”

“What the fuck makes you think I have that, hah?”

“Oh my god, you’re fucking impossible.” You rolls your eyes, heaving a frustrated sigh. “Listen, if you’re gonna keep it up that loud then at least skip that song. It’s shit.”

Bakugou glances down at his screen.

Fucking Nickleback.

Jesus, could his day get any worse?

“Shut the hell up.” He snaps, squinting his eyes. “What the fuck do you know about good music? You don’t know shit.”

“I know that song sucks, so skip it. If you’re gonna accost me with loud music at least make it good.” You bite back, and then Bakugou watches as your face melts into an easy smirk. “Unless... all your music is that terrible?”

“Sounds like you’re pickin’ a fuckin’ fight!”

“I am, you asshole!”

Bakugou doesn’t know when the two of you got so close, but now you’re only inches away. He’s got his palms up and you’ve got your lips pulled back into a snarl and suddenly the bus seat seems so much smaller. It’s so much smaller and all Bakugou can think about is the red in your cheeks and the fire in your eyes and how much he likes the sight of both.

“Just skip the song or turn it down.” You finally huff, falling back in your seat, and all Bakugou can think about is how that breathe would’ve been on his cheek if it was two seconds ago.

Bakugou is mad. He’s mad at you and your stupid witch powers that leave the air feeling cold and your stupid breaths that he can’t stop focusing on and your stupid comment. Your stupid comment that had his blood burning in his veins and irritation settling in his temple.

Bakugou listened to cool music, okay? Cool, loud music for cool, loud guys. You just insulted that, insulted him so this wasn’t just a means of confessing feelings anymore, it was a pride thing and that’s why he says what he said next. It’s definitely not because this was the golden chance he’d been waiting for.

“My music is fuckin’ good.” He growls, and then he’s yanking an earbud out and shoving it towards you. “I’ll fucking show you. Now shut up and listen.”

“So goddamn pushy, jesus.”

“You gonna fuckin’ take it or not?”

“Oh my god. Fine.”

Bakugou watches you fit the earbud into your ear, his mouth set into a determined line. He knew he’d fucked up every other part of this conversation, monumentally fucked them up even, but he wouldn’t mess this up. He was prepared and this was the chance he was waiting for. Only an absolute idiot could mess this up and Bakugou Katsuki was not an idiot.

So he plays the first song he’d added to your playlist. Paralyzer.

To his surprise, you start nodding your head almost immeadiately. You know this song. The drum fill starts and then you’re looking over at him, giving him the tiniest little smirk of approval.

“Not bad, blasty.”

“Fucking told ya.” He can’t help the pride that swells in him at your validation. It’s warm and heavy in his chest, nearly drawing a smile out of him- and then he remembers he’s supposed to be mad. “And I told you, don’t fucking call me that.”

“I’ll call you by your name when you call me by mine.”

“Wipe the smirk off your stupid fucking face,” Bakugou growls. “Or I’ll blast it off.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes! Fuckin’ try me, extra!”

“Okay.” You huff a laugh at him. “Don’t blink then. Champ.”

Then you’re raising your hand, shoving it in his face and snapping before he can stop you. Bakugou flinches out of reflex and by the time he’s opened his eyes, you’ve already used your super-speed ability.

You’re sitting back against the seat, calm and collected and smirking, with both of Bakugou’s earbuds in your ears. You’ve got his phone in your hand and he watches you twist the cord around your finger, cross your legs casually and he’s stunned. He’s pissed that you got the better of him, but he also just really thinks you’re hot when you’ve won. He watches in dazed silence as you turn up the volume on his phone to max.

Well I'm not paralyzed, but I seem to be struck by you. I want to make you move because you're standing still.

Bakugou decides two things in that moment: One, he fucking hates Finger Eleven. And two, he wants to blow the entire fucking bus to smithereens.

—/—

eee i hope u all enjoy, but especially u @bakugouswh0r3 and @definitelynottrin :))

#bnha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #bnha fic #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #mha fic #bakugou x you #bakugou fic

[struwwelzeter]

I’m surprised yet I’m not surprised that I haven’t seen anyone on tumblr talk about the Balenciaga collab. Twitter and Instagram are almost universally panning the move and are quite pissed off at it. Personally I think the collab was a dumb and tone deaf move on the management, but I can’t fuss about it too much because of a lot previous musicians I liked ate these kinds of designer streetwear brands up and I just had to turn a blind eye to it eventually.

😕 I was really happy tumblr largely ignored it because I expected the outrage and dreaded it. My take is not gonna be a popular one, and I am sorry it’s probably not what you hoped to get. I’ll try to explain why, but I do have big feelings about this and I don’t know how articulate i can be.

The thing I am seeing in all of these comments, and what I think you refer to when you say it was tone deaf, is a lot of hurt. And in a way I completely, 100% understand that. The problem is, I think, that it’s misdirected when it is directed at the band. The fact that some well off fashion victim can drop what some of us earn in a month on a hoodie, hurts. It hurts that people that have been with this band for years and years, have saved any and each magazine clipping they can get their hands on and struggle to save up for months to buy a concert ticket while other people can do that - that shit hurts. And I understand that. I really do. I feel it too.

The thing is though, and this is where I fear what I say could be taken the wrong way: Rammstein doesn’t owe anyone anything. They don’t owe anyone to stick with only accessible merch, they don’t owe us some weird class loyalty where they turn stuff like this down. They just don’t. Why would they? Why? Because the thing that is hurtful about it is systemic, and they don’t owe us to fix systemic unfairness. They don’t owe anyone to not take advantage of it either, when it is offered to them, because they aren’t exploiting anyone but the exploiters, if that makes sense. They just don’t. Sorry. They are a well off band, but they aren’t rich enough to fix capitalism. I am gonna ask you very honestly, would you say no to becoming successful in a system that by it’s very nature devalues what you do, makes it a huge lottery draw if you can even make a living of what you do and takes advantage of you wherever it can? Rammstein got very lucky, and worked very hard for longer than most people on this website are alive. But in general, the way this society treats people like them, yes, even a large potion of their fan base, is a disgrace. They are a 1 in I don’t know how many cases of people who took the same risks and had the same passion and didn’t make it. And I think they know that too. I am sorry, but they’ve earned it.

I grew up far below what is considered the poverty line in my country, in a community of artists, and I feel very strongly about this one thing: The same person that will drop a 6 figure number on a painting will tell you not to go to art school and get a real job instead, because you can never be “successful” that way (whatever they mean by that.) Please read that sentence again.

Society doesn’t give a shit about artists. And when I mean “society” I actually mean fans, too, because ... I could write an essay about this, but basically because they complain more about not getting a ticket refund than the fact that currently thousands of artists fall by the wayside and won’t make it through this pandemic. I repeat, society, AT large, don’t give a wet fart about artists. It pretends it does, because they want to look cultured, but it really doesn’t. Every now and then they lift one up into the heights of the glittery temples of fame and stardom, to circle jerk with their art criticism and their champagne events and photo ops. And it’s disgusting it works that way, yes. But again, that is systemic. And what I need you to understand is that the majority of people who turn to the extremely precarious lifestyle of trying to paint or to make music for a living, take up with how the world is treating them, take the risk of falling of the grod financially, take the degradation of being asked to “work for exposure” and the “why are you still doing this, wouldn’t it be easier to —— it’s clearly not going anywhere” questions year after year after year for ... they do it for that one tine little chance to be that 1 that gets lifted. This isn’t about the passion — you don’t make art to be “successful”, there are so much easier ways. It’s about taking the merciless grind and maltreatment for that one shot to one day be seen and recognised as worthy people and to get out of the grind. And when it happens, they are supposed to turn it down? Why?

Sorry, but no.

I understand that this is an inflammatory take. I do, in a way, understand why people get angry. I just don’t agree with the direction of the anger - at all. The thing is, if you look at it in a more innocent way, the creative director of Balenciaga, as I understand it, was a civil war refugee who somehow managed to become the leading designer on one of the biggest name in fashion. Do you think it was likely for him to get there? Do you think it was ever easy for any boy to become a fashion designer against a backdrop of constant teasing and a probably even smaller chance of “making it” than musicians? But he did it, and turns out he is a Rammstein fan. So he does what he loves. Big deal. To be clear: I think the existence of brands like Balenciaga is stupid to me too. But still - the same person that will drop a 1000€ bucks on a raincoat will tell you not to go to fashion school, you know? Rammstein also have a history of being in the high fashion world. They had 3 exclusive photoshoots with zoo magazine in the time they had like, idk, 1? With Rolling Stone, they were in fashion magazines first in the US, they had runway shows in their early career ... this was a long time coming. I WAS surprised it was Balenciaga. I hoped it would be something like Givenchy or McQueen but I guess they’re not that classy - what do you expect from a bunch of guys who wear sandals with tracksuits.

Another take I see quite often is the whole “well now there will be knock offs and people that don’t even know the band will start wearing it” and while that is a huge pet peeve, I have to think of Flake writing about that in his book and being all awed by how anyone could become that big - and just feeling a but of a misty eyed satisfaction of “they made it.”

I understand people are angry. But maybe consider of you’re really angry at the band - or simply the fact that we live in a world where some people have to make a living for weeks off the same money someone else drops on a t-shirt.

[butterfly--empress]

So About BnHA…

Man! I don’t participate much on here but it sure has been an interesting popcorn eating time, lurking through the good, the bad, and the annoying posts in the spoiler chapter tags. For this week’s chapter, especially!

Not gonna rant (I save those for close friends on discord) 

I do notice that lines within this crazy ass fandom have been drawn, tears have been shed and righteous fury has been felt. And no matter wtf Mister Horikoshi has in stored for chapter 320, it’s going to be a make or break chapter for a lot of folks. I did try my best to keep this post Bakugou neutral grounds. I don’t think I’ve bashed nor favored the character just fyi.

But the most inconspicuous opinions can be taken too serious these days…

The Silly:

For chapter 320 onwards, I am and have ALWAYS BEEN 100% Team: The Legend, The Myth, The Champ, Izuku ‘Feral!Rabbit-Cryptid!’ Midoriya! Win or Lose, I ride or die with Midoriya, hands down! ON GOD!

While everybody yelling into the tumblr void over whose gonna win or lose.

I’m sitting here thinking about two things: A) Has no one thought that maybe some of Class 1-A might side with Deku? *coughsUraraka/Iida/Todorokicoughs* *coughsmaybeevenMineta/Asui/Yaoyorozu???coughs* *coughs maybe even a surprise Shinsou/class1-b reveal even though class 1-b don’t know deku that well* B) Did everyone forget in all the excitement that uhh my boi has yet to unlock the 2nd OFA user’s quirk???

I mean, I’m not saying if it does come down to a bawl of drama and angst, that Izuku’s gonna win.

But I am saying, if it does come down to a bawl of drama and angst, that Izuku’s gonna win…I regret nothing with this bet! If my boi loses we just gonna take that L but…ya know…*shrugs*…Baby, beat their Bakugou’s collective asses.

The Serious:

Personally, I honest to god really love this shounen series with all my heart. It is the anime that reignited my love for shounen after my fatigued of constant disappointment with two old shounen favorites. 

Now, having said all that: I truly have not had a serious issue with the writing choices made by Horikoshi. Yes, I have my…gripes…(it’s complicated) but considering what I got compared to the stuff I’ve watched/read in the past, it’s definitely better to me. Having read/watched a lot of anime/manga and shounen, (I haven’t watched them ALL, srsly after my great disappointment and real life I sort of had an anime dry spell if you must know. Watched some stuff here and there when I could/in the mood but not as frequent as I’ve done like yrs ago), I’ve come to learn to just…begrudgingly accept/expect certain; I suppose you can say, writing choices or ‘tropes’ that I can just easily ignore them, roll my eyes when I see them, and still enjoy whatever I’m invested in at the time. 

The only real frustrations I have is with a certain character. Yes, I mean Bakugou. I have come to tolerate him, I have come to begrudgingly like him, especially after a second rewatch of the series, I could see and accept that in a very typical shounen way, Bakugou did change, though very little, and it’s subtle and undeniably frustrating how it’s happening but it’s there. However, I do question Horikoshi’s writing choices when it comes to him at times. I see the character development, I know it’s there but….*sighs*

Now I’m one of these people who do believe that the creator of this universe, actually knows wtf he’s doing with his own story (even if rabid/hormonal younger fans loudly disagree but YMMV). One thing I’ve noticed, for the most part, he doesn’t just write/draw things for the hell of it, even if a certain plot or a certain character’s development takes a snail’s pace to get to the point. The conclusion of building up to arcs do have a pay off. (And I 100% understand that for some people, moving at a snail’s pace just don’t cut it. Everything cannot please everybody all of the time and that is FINE!)

Katsuki Bakugou…I know the crumbs and very subtle ways he’s changed have to lead somewhere and to something huge. When Bakugou admits to All Might he bullied Midoriya when they were kids, I had an ‘ah ha!’ Moment. The fact that a very prideful guy like Bakugou was finally starting to admit just that much, (even though, we the audience knows it runs way deeper than he’s admitting here) even in his frustrating roundabout way I like to think this is progress, is very in-character and cannot just be for the hell of it. It has to be leading up to something else other than Bakugou jumping in to take that hit for Deku during the war arc. There is unresolved tension still between Bakugou and Midoriya that is not going to just go away because they will it to.

Which brings us to Chapters 318 and especially 319. It’s the perfect set up for all the dirty skeletons to come out of the closet that both Bakugou and Midoriya have been avoiding/trying to pretend doesn’t exists between them, because it’s been a long time coming. The honest to god truth? This is actually how I always thought this confrontation will go, with a showdown that forces Midoriya into a corner where all those repressed negative feelings he’s bottled up inside is bound to come out; Because I Honestly think Izuku would take what Bakugou’s done to him to his grave if he had it, his way. (Boy can be very frustratingly stubborn when he wants to be).

It’s just, after saying all this, I don’t hold my breath that Horikoshi will take it there…The opportunity is there, I want it to go there, it NEEDS to go there! In order for both characters to come out for the better. But will Mister Horikoshi ‘DO THE THING?’

Remains to be seen. A little bit of me is hopeful, another part of me is resigning myself to feeling dissatisfied with what little we got for Bakugou’s character development and by proxy, Izuku’s getting stuck in limbo. I’m not kidding, Bakugou being a very contentious character within this fandom doesn’t just come from nowhere. But this post isn’t about me ranting into the void about Bakugou. (I don’t even think I can muster up the rage I felt the first time watching MHA blindly to rant to high hell about the bullshit Bakugou’s done now.)

I suppose I will just have to internally scream for 1,000 yrs over half baked character development if Horikoshi doesn’t do the FUCKING THING in giving a satisfying pay off to Katsuki and Midoriya’s history. I’ll just frustratingly chalk it up to old freaking shounen logic and just continue to enjoy the series because I’ve been here for Izuku Midoriya since ep 1 and I am not about to let Bakugou or Horikoshi’s unwillingness to do something with him derail that. And there’s always hoping that someone is writing some really good Bakugou gets actual Consequences fanfic out there because ooh boy…I like Bakugou but mofo can catch these hands…and I’m not even a fighter, but Bakugou…this lil shit does make you want to choke the hell out of him at times. 

I haven’t been this emotionally frustrated over an anime character since…maybe fucking Louise from Zero no Tsukaima and it takes a LOT to make me actually dislike characters, good or bad. 

All in All: Regardless of how the story goes from here on out, we are all about to lose our collective shits. No matter how you feel about which characters…

It’s about to go down!

#anti Bakugou #anti bakugo #bnha recent chapters #tried to stay neutral #but the side that loathes Bakugou #started to peek through #opps that #just my humble 2 cents #either take it or leave it #I don’t have the energy to argue with ‘children’ #over my own shared thoughts #compared to what I can do #this mild…rant is tame #gawd i miss internet 1.0 #where i could intentionally avoid the parts of fandom #that i did not want to interact with ever #and rabid fans were a thing you heard of but never if you were lucky actually had to deal with

[verfound]

Dingo Files, only a kiss!

...I am 100% certain you did not forget about this fic, but ngl I totally did until I clicked it open. 😂

The title I have in the doc is actually "Luka and Dingo, Sittin' in a Tree..." and is for the @mlweeklyprompts prompt "A: I kissed [B]! / C: Did [B] kiss you back? / A: That’s not the point!" (...from May 29 of last year I'm pretty sure 😂)

So the direction this one was going: School dance is coming up, and Dingo's been trying to get Bri to agree to go with him. He's whining to Luka about it, which turns into a "Why don't you think she likes me" shpiel. Meanwhile, Marinette had asked Luka to meet her (bc she was going to ask him to the dance), and Luka's in the "ok Ding Mari's on her way can we talk about this later?" And one thing leads to another, and Luka (for reasons I still need to work out) decided kissing Dingo to shut him up was the best option?

(It all works out in the end, but this is the "Marinette sees Luka and Dingo kissing, thinks she missed her chance, and runs off/freaks out before Luka can stop her." fic.)

“I just don’t get it!” Dingo wailed, leaning back on his elbows and glaring up at the sky through his shades. Shades was maybe a little generous, Luka couldn’t help but think. He’d worn the white frames today, the ones with the bright orange mirror coat that Luka knew was more for style than protection from the sun. Luka looked back at his guitar as Dingo kicked his booted feet out, groaning again. He’d been groaning – whining, really – for almost twenty minutes now.

Not that Luka was counting.

…ok, Luka was kind of counting, but only because Luka was waiting for Marinette, and each minute Dingo spent whining was another minute Luka wasn’t with Marinette. Granted, it also meant it was another minute closer to when she would arrive, but Luka would have been content to spend that time noodling on Claire, not listening to Dingo whine about the stupid dance.

He just couldn’t seem to escape it.

“You don’t get the dance?” Luka asked, frowning. He was pretty sure he had missed something. The dance seemed pretty self-explanatory. Most were.

“…mate, come on,” Dingo sighed. “You are so out of it today.”

“Sorry,” Luka said with a nervous chuckle. He shrugged and leaned forward, resting his arms on Claire’s body. “Guess I have been a bit distracted.”

The way Dingo grinned let him know it was more than a bit, but he supposed no one could really blame him.

It was the dance’s fault, anyway.

Not that he’d ever really been a fan of the school’s dances before. It was his final year at Sant-Saëns, and Luka had never actually been to one of their dances. Well. He supposed that wasn’t technically true – he’d been to one. During the spring of his freshman year, when a friend’s band had been set to play the dance and their guitarist had come down with food poisoning day-of. But he hadn’t actually gone – he’d been part of the entertainment. It’s not like he’d had a date or anything. He hadn’t seen what the big deal was, anyway. It had all seemed boring to him.

…he’d been more interested last year, maybe, but the person he’d maybe been interested in asking hadn’t really been in an ask-me-to-a-school-dance place. They’d been friends, and she’d been in love with someone else, and even if he’d been slowly – quickly – falling harder and harder for her with every passing day, that hadn’t changed the fact that her heart had been drawn elsewhere. Timing and all that. So he hadn’t gone then, either.

This year was proving…well. He was thinking her heart was maybe starting to redirect, but they were still just friends. There had been that moment, back at Valentine’s Day, where he had hoped…but then he’d gotten sick, and Adrien had surprised everyone with a visit the weekend of, and he’d watched their moment flap away on purple butterfly wings.

Timing always seemed to be a big issue for them.

“…wish it was as easy as it is for you and Mari,” Dingo sighed, and Luka jumped. He couldn’t have heard that right. Things with Marinette were…well. He supposed they were easier than they could have been, from what Juleka had told him, but there was that timing thing. It never felt all that easy to him.

Speaking of…he glanced at the clock hanging over the doors of the school. She had asked him to wait for her after school. There was something she needed to talk to him about – something important – but she had a student council meeting about the dance. As she was her class rep, and on several of the dance subcommittees as well, her attendance had been mandatory. But she wanted to talk to him, and he always wanted to talk to her, so he had told her he’d wait. She should be getting out soon.

…she’d be here already, if not for the stupid dance.

“It’s not easy for me and Mari,” he finally said, brushing a hand through his hair. Dingo kicked at his side, and Luka rolled his eyes. “Anyway. What do you need to be easy? Sorry. I’m paying attention now, I promise.”

“Good,” Dingo huffed. “God, mate, get a pair of pretty blues blinking at you and you’re hopeless.”

Dingo paused, looking thoughtful for a minute.

“…was that my problem? Brown eyes not really your thing?” he asked. Luka couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not. He shifted uncomfortably, his fingers finding Claire’s strings and drawing out an awkward tune.

“What?” he asked, and Dingo laughed.

“Nah, I’m messing with ya,” he said. He looked back at the sky, another thoughtful look settling on his face. “Maybe that’s Bri’s problem, though. Lu, do you think that’s it? Do you think she thinks Mari’s prettier than me?”

“…ok, what?” Luka asked again, shaking his head. “And Marinette is definitely prettier than you.”

“Well, of course you’d say that,” Dingo grumbled. He kicked a pebble off the step. “Bri won’t go to the dance with me. She says it’s lame.”

“It is lame,” Luka said absently.

[...]

Before Dingo could say anything else, Luka grabbed his face in his hands and pulled him towards him, smashing their mouths together in a hard press of lips and teeth. His nose scrunched as Dingo yelped and flailed a little – he was pretty sure Dingo’s tongue ended up in his mouth, even if it was barely a second and only a bit it was still more than he’d ever wanted to experience – and it was over as soon as it had started. Luka shoved him back, his eyes narrowed in a glare, and opened his mouth to say something scathing when they heard it.

A clattering. A quiet gasp.

They turned towards the entrance of the school to find Marinette watching them with wide, glistening eyes (eyes that looked too similar to Juleka’s when she was about to run off crying), a collection of folders and papers and art supplies and what Luka was pretty sure was a prototype Kitty Section mask littered around her feet. Her eyes darted between Dingo and him, and Luka realized all too late how bad it had to look: Luka with his hands on Dingo’s face, both of them sitting too close together from where Luka had practically hauled him into his lap, faces red and lips a little bruised (he was pretty sure his was bleeding, and he definitely needed to punch Dingo for biting him), and God if she had seen the kiss…and then she was running, turning on her heel and disappearing into the school with everything she had dropped forgotten at the top of the steps. Luka cursed and shoved Dingo away from him, ignoring the injured yelp and demands to know what the hell had just happened, and shoved himself up to chase after her.

“Marinette! Wait!” he cried, not even realizing he’d run over the prototype mask in his rush to catch her. Inside, the hall wasn’t as busy as it would have been had it been normal school hours, but the after school crowd (the clubs, the loiterers, the remaining faculty) were still milling about. And Marinette…Marinette was gone.

He didn’t care if he had been the one to initiate the kiss. He was going to fucking kill Dingo.

#miraculous ladybug #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #dingo king #lukanette #lukanette endgame #endgame lukanette #wip wednesday #wip wednesday: festering folder edition #dingo files #mlweeklyprompts #it was only a kiss #how did it end up like this #bc you're Stupid #quickspinner #aaaaahhhh I should finish this one up #this one and the panty raid damn 😂

[pi-cat000]

BNHA: something sad (Resentment)

Summary: The last time Katsuki sees Izuku alive the other boy is rushing to save him.  A ‘the Sludge Villain incident gone wrong’ aka Izuku dies.

Characters:  Katsuki Bakugo

Fandom: My Hero Academia

WARNINGS! Major Character death, swearing, heavy angst, graphic descriptions of violence

Other parts in this AU: (Something Sad),  (Anger), (Grief) 

This is the direct sequel to (Implosion)

......

“Not many people get hit with a concussive blast of this strength and walk away will so few injuries.” Is what the paramedic that looks Katsuki over says, hand glowing a faint blue as he uses some sort of diagnostic quirk.

“It looks like you have a few cuts, bruising, strained muscles and sprained wrist from what I can see. I’d recommend getting a proper examination at the hospital but there’s nothing life-threatening here.” The medic continues.

The emergency doctor at the hospital confirms the diagnosis and shakes his head in disapproval, adding, “…bruising on your ribs and a fractured finger. No concussion, thankfully, but you’ll have a nasty bump on the back of your head. If your quirk didn’t make you naturally resistant to these sorts of shock-based blasts, you would be dead..”

…

After that, everyone is practically falling over each other to lecture him on how irresponsible and reckless he is.

..

His mum arrives and there is a lot of shouting which just pisses him off.

“HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO REACT WHEN I GET WOKEN UP AT ONE IN THE MORNING BY POLICE TELLING ME THAT MY IDIOT SON, WHO SHOULD BE ASLEEP, IS IN HOSPITAL!!”

 “WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING!

Then there is the quiet disappointment he gets from his father when his mum is done yelling which only fuels his resentment.  

“I don’t understand why you did it son. Did you want to get into that fight? Or was it a mistake? Please. We can’t help if we don’t know what’s going on.”

Eventually, he finally snaps, “I fucking felt like it! That’s why I did it! And you know what, I’d do it again.”

It wasn’t like he could or even wanted to explain that he’d jumped out his window to wander the streets at midnight because he had had a bad dream and his All Might poster had looked at him funny. That the rage and anger were preferable to that sinking empty feeling that had turned his every waking moment into a pointless repeat of everyday routines and useless interactions.  That every time he let himself pause and reflect, Deku’s stupid smiling face was mocking him from the afterlife.

Next, he spends an hour with Senior Officer Watanabe recounting every possible detail from his stroll through the streets to his climactic fight with Lanky, Tiny and Grease-Hair.

“Well, you definitely don’t do things in half measures kid. So far we have private and public property damage, unlicensed quirk usage, quirk usage with the intent to harm, vigilantly activity, assault...”

“Assault! Why the hell is that on the list. Those bastards started it.”

“You can’t go around beating people up no matter how good your intentions are!”

“So, you wanted me to just watch!”

“Yes!” A long breath, “I know it can be hard but you need to wait for the pros. You got lucky this time but what if things had been different? You had misread the situation. What if you had been badly injured? What if you had accidentally injured the victim or killed someone? There is a reason we make people get a license for Hero work. Seison Masuyama is a B-rank villain.”

“B rank? He wasn’t that strong.”

 “His quirk, Kinetic-Force, collects kinetic energy and releases it in one overpowered attack. It’s deadly to most people. You were lucky he had already used it once that day and that you were resilient enough to withstand it."

After multiple repeats of the ‘you’re lucky you’re not dead,’ with a side order of ‘it’s a good thing you’re still a minor because you could go to jail for this,’ he gets to go home.

It is three in the morning by the time he arrives back at the apartment, two exhausted parents in tow, having been issued an ‘official warning,’ an order to complete 100 hours of community service and instructions to undergo a psychiatric evaluation. He has never felt angrier or more resentful.

A days later and he is back at school, wasting his time watching clocks and avoiding classmates. 

Nothing had changed.

…

…

…

The car screeches to a stop at the school gates, throwing Katsuki forward in his seat. His mum turns to fix him with a stern glare, eyes narrow.

“If you’re not waiting right here by the gate when I come to pick you up or so help me I’ll be escorting you to and from your classroom from the rest of your school life,” she threatens.

“Lay off you old bat,” Katsuki snaps as was becoming routine since his mum had started driving him the short distance to school, “I got it the first million times.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.”  A finger is pointed at his nose, waving in an almost menacing fashion. “Remember. Here. School Gates. 4:00pm. Don’t you dare think about ditching again.”

 Katsuki sneers and kicks open the car door, turning to slams it shut with as much force as possible in retaliation. He stalks through the gates, shouldering his way through a group of loitering students.  They all scatter when they recognise him. In some ways, he prefers dealing with the anger and yelling of his mum than his father’s quiet disappointment. That doesn’t stop it from being annoying as hell.

A spike of pain runs through his hand from where he must have used a little too much force on the door. Maybe he should take his father up on those kickboxing classes. Sure, he had practised punching after reading a bunch of online guides, but reading and solo practice were completely different when compared with real actual fighting.  That was assuming he was going to be getting into more real fights.  He opens and closes his bandaged fist, feeling a slight sting in his wrist and fingers. He glares. Four days on and he can still feel the echo of adrenalin.  The thrill of righteous anger had been so much more satisfying than the directionless rage he was accustomed to. It had rekindled some of that fire that drove him to be the best, to win, chasing away the sickening emptiness which had been dogging his every waking step.

He wants to feel that again…He wants to do something other than listlessly go through the same daily motions as he drifts towards his now uncertain future. 

“Hey Bakugō!” 

He keeps walking, ignoring whatever loser classmates wanted to talk to him.

“HEY!”

A hand lands on his shoulder and Katsuki twitches, a hairs breath away from spinning and firing a blast point-blank into the pest’s face. Instead, he stops and deliberately turns to glower at the pathetic piece of trash behind him. Murata Taheiji from his homeroom is standing there, one hand on his hip, flanked by two other boys he doesn’t know the names of. Two more appear to stand in front of him, blocking his way. They are all puffed up like they think they’re hot shit. Katsuki scoffs. Are these failures really trying to bully him? HIM!? 

“How about you get the fuck out of my way and go find a first year to pick on. You know, someone more on your level.”

That gets him an irritated scowl that transforms into a patronising grin, “You were always such a stuck up prick Bakago…Acting so high and mighty all the time. Not anymore, I know the truth. You’re just like the rest of us.”

“Huh?” he drawls, dragging out the sound, turning so he is facing the boy, “What the fuck are you on about.”

“My dad works for Musutafu police dispatch and he told me something real interesting yesterday.” A dramatic pause, “He said that you got arrested a few nights ago.” There is a laugh that is echoed by the four surrounding him. By now the confrontation has garnered the attention of several onlookers, who are slowly drifting closer.

“All that shit about being a Hero and you got arrested. What’d you do? Steal some candy from a convenience store? We all know you don’t have money.”

Around them, the growing audience is eyeing him with varying levels of eager anticipation like they think he’ll break down and start crying because of some dumb-ass insults. Damn, if that doesn’t just piss him off. How dare these losers think him that weak.

“Don’t compare me to your loser selves,” he dismisses aggressively, making to turn and forcefully elbow his way past. He is stopped by Murata’s hand which is still on this shoulder.

“You know what I think. I think you’re all talk.”

Katsuki stills, letting the words sink and curdle in his stomach. In one short move, he turns and steps in close to Murata so they are almost nose to nose.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he warns.  The other boy tenses, looking like he wants to say something else equally stupid. If he remembers correctly Murata has some sort of muscle-enhancer, reflex quirk. One of the only worthwhile quirks in the school.

Katsuki jerks his elbow up and around in a quick jab. It smacks into the loser’s face. Crack. Guess having fast reflexes didn’t make a difference when you never saw the blow coming.

There is a cry of surprised pain and shouts of alarm from the peanut gallery. The other boy falls back, tripping over his own feet. It is ridiculously simple to lift a leg and deliver a kick to the stomach, not even a strong kick, so his failed bully thuds onto the ground, tossing up a small puff of sand. Unlike the fight in the ally, there is no rush of excitement, no spike of anger or adrenaline. No exhilaration. He is just irritated and maybe a bit disappointed. That’s what he gets for expecting anything out of the pathetic losers that went Aldera Middle School. They were more annoying than anything else.  

Murata rolls around in the dirt, wheezing, trying to draw breath. He can almost imagine Deku running up to complain about his violent tendencies or sprout some shit about Hero’s needing to protect people like Murata didn’t ask for it when he decided to try his luck bullying someone obviously stronger than him.

The reminder of Deku sours his already shitty mood.

“Ah…you broke my nose. YOU BOKE IT…ah…it hurts. Do something!” The idiot calls to his equally idiotic friends as he tries to stop blood from pouring down his face.

Katsuki gazes coolly at the boy before directing his attention at the four other ‘bullies’ standing frozen around him.

“You extras got something else to add to that?” With Murata out of the game, the rest of the pathetic group shuffles about uncertainly.

“Ah…we’re good,” The tallest one says nervously, “Sorry about that Bakugō. No hard feelings right?”

He scoffs.

One of the boys moves forward to pull Murata upright, kneeling and pulling out a tissue to help stem the flow of blood. “Crap. I…I think Murata needs to go to the nurse. This looks serious.” There are a few more apprehensive glances in his direction like the other boys think he’ll insist on continuing the ‘fight’-ha! like this has been anything near a fight- until they are all bloody messes on the ground. Kaksuki rolls his eyes. As if he has the patience to deal with any more of these losers.

“Cowards,” he mutters, shoving past. The crowd of students who had gathered to watch the failed confrontation, scramble to get out of his way. A strong breeze rushes through the school’s courtyard, drawing attention to how quiet it has suddenly gotten. Barely audible whispers follow in his wake and he can feel many sets of eyes on his back, watching.

“He always did have a bad attitude.” They murmur.

“Guess he’s a real delinquent now.”

“…did you hear what Murata said. Do you think Bakugō actually got arrested?”

“That’s got to be fake right? Murata is full of hot air.”

“No way. I believe it. You don’t have to share a class with him, I’m telling you, Bakugō’s gone nuts.”

“Kind of scary when you think about it. With a quirk like that...”

He doesn’t know why they’re all so shocked. This isn’t the first fight he has gotten into on school grounds. Okay, so maybe he’d held off doing any real harm before now, well aware that U.A. would probably check his school record. It had never mattered to him because there was no point in beating up weaklings when he was obviously superior. Except for Deku…the only person he had ever really hurt, the only person he could get away with hurting without repercussions. And now he feels like extra shit. God, what a huge farce it had all been. Kaksuki clenches his fist and growls, wondering if it isn’t too late to ditch and go find somewhere secluded to blow off steam. Anything to escape this feeling of frustration.

 He doesn’t have time to make a proper decision because news of his ‘fight’ had obviously spread to the staffroom. One of the second year homeroom teachers comes barrelling out of the school’s front entrance, eyes immediately landing on him.

“What happened!” Their eyes move past him to the bloody Murata, “Go wait in the principles office. Now.”

Well, he didn’t want to deal with his annoying classmates anyway. He stalks away, the sounds of the teacher fussing over Murata growing fainter behind him. When he arrives, the principal’s office is empty and he flings himself down into one of the comfy couches, irritated. The bell for homeroom goes off and Kaksuki remains sprawled across the couch, arm across his face to block out the light and his view of the clock slowly ticking away.  

Just as he begins to contemplate leaving, Principle Fukuhara comes strolling into the room. 

“ Bakugō,” the man lets out an exasperated sigh, “Sit up please.”

Katsuki moves his arm to peek out and glare at the man, deliberately ignoring the instruction.

“I just finished talking to Ms Yuki and the school’s nurse.  You broke Murata Taheiji’s nose. I hope you realise how serious this situation is and that there will be major consequences. Aldera Middle School does not tolerate this sort of violence on its grounds.”

Silence. That was a fucking lie. Slowly, Katsuki pulls himself upright, meeting the man’s hard stare with his own. 

“Well, do you have anything to say for yourself and your disgraceful behaviour..”

Katsuki narrows his eyes, “The idiot was asking for it.”

Obviously, it's the wrong response going by how the skin tightens around the man’s eyes, “I see...I’m sorry you feel that way. Up until now, our school has been more than lenient. We have overlooked your shameful behaviour these last few weeks because we wanted to give you time to settle after going through such as tragic incident. However, I am afraid that this time you have gone too far. Your parents will be notified. You’ll see the school councillor. You will be staying back for after school detention. Since this is your first major incident we…”

“First?” He cuts the man off. He is sick of hearing the moron’s voice. “Hahaha and people say you don’t have a sense of humour.” He laughs an unpleasant laugh which increases in volume until he is almost shouting.

 “What sort of shit hole are you running? Three years I’ve been beating up the dumb idiots that come here and now you decide to care. Why is that huh? Is it because I’m no longer going to put this shitty place on the map and become a famous hero! HA!”

He lets his voice quieten, sneering “I’ll never be a hero so you’re shit out of luck.” Finally saying it out loud is like throwing a bucket of water over the embers of an already struggling fire. It hurts deep in his chest. The expression of shocked disbelief is almost worth it.

“Thanks for proving what a worthless profession it is,” he finishes with another hash laugh, rage simmering under his skin. When he tries to stand and leave a hand lands on his shoulder, pushing him back down.

The principal, who still looks somewhat stunned at his sudden outburst, orders, “Sit back down Bakugō! I am far from finished.”

Why do people always feel the need to grab him. He is so fucking sick of everyone pulling and tugging on him, trying to control him and hold him down. Katsuki turns slowly, that simmering rage pulsing, running down his limbs. Pop pop pop go his hands. He feels as explosive fire gathering in behind his eyes and in his shadowy stare. It is not the dramatic, adrenaline-induced anger he had felt when preparing for the ally fight. No, this is a dark burning rage, fuelled by his growing resentment.

“Touch me again,” he growls, low and intimidating, “and I’ll kill you.”

The principal snatches his hand back like he has just been burnt. A poignant silence follows in the wake of his threat.

“Suspension,” the man says, swallowing,  “You’re suspended. I’m calling your parents right now.” And is it just him or does he look genuinely worried? There is even a hint of fear in his wrinkled face. Katsuki takes vindictive joy in the achievement. Finally…finally the worthless morons are seeing him, truly seeing him and not whatever Bakugō -delusion they’d all cooked up in their heads.

#bnha #mha #boku no academia #my hero academia #bnha fanfic #MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH #Katsuki Bakugō #‘the Sludge Villain incident gone wrong’ aka Izuku dies #graphic descriptions of violence #angst #bakugou swears and gets into fights #coarse language #fanfiction #fanfic #something sad au

[hydrangeahug]

Solodeus Week Day 1!

College AU | Sleepover

Ao3

Note: I wrote this a month ago and now I can't remember what it's about </3 all I know is that Solomon affectionately calling Asmo his little demon even with Asmo being human makes me feel some sort of way,,,

College, a place that, to Solomon, was more boring than anything else he ever had to deal with. He already knew most topics they had and the people in his classes weren't interesting enough to catch his attention either. But as much as he just wanted to finally be done with it, his college did bring him one good thing. Asmodeus. 

They met in one of the few classes that they went to together, it was an art class if he remembered correctly. Asmodeus wasn't the best student there but he had potential if he would actually attend the classes each week. He was usually clubbing when everyone else sat in the classroom and while Solomon didn't like skipping his classes - as much as he hated them - but he couldn't say that Asmodeus' charm never worked on him. He often suddenly found himself in a club with Asmodeus instead of in his class, but how could he be mad at his friend when he looked so happy?

Solomon usually kept to himself but something about Asmodeus was intriguing to him. Asmodeus was popular but he still chose to spend most of his time with Solomon. Not that Solomon minded it though, Asmodeus' company was a good distraction, and he was a good friend to Solomon.

But what he absolutely wasn't, was a good team partner.

Every time Asmodeus was assigned on a team project with someone, it ended horribly. Solomon liked Asmodeus but if there was one thing he hated about him, it was this. Everyone dreaded when team projects were assigned, not only because they're overall a pain to deal with, but also because getting assigned with Asmodeus meant a 100% chance of failing.

And this time it was Solomon's time to suffer.

[ Asmo ]

Sol <3 when did you want me to come over again?

[ Solomon ]

You were supposed to be here an hour ago.

[ Asmo ]

???

Why did you not tell me anything???

[ Solomon ]

I've been calling you for a while…

And this was one of the reasons. Asmodeus was horrible at being there on time. And this was actually still early for him. His usual time was around 3 - 4 hours if he decided to come at all.

Their apartments weren't far from each other and they often spent time together at Solomon place. Asmodeus didn't enjoy having people over at his place so it was rare for Solomon to be allowed over. Solomon didn't mind having them at his place though, there was less distraction for Asmodeus and the atmosphere was more calm compared to his place.

There was a knock on the door, Asmo.

Solomon opened the door and outside stood Asmodeus, he was wearing a more casual pink sweater and black pants and a few accessories like a necklace and an earring, he had his backpack with him - a small backpack with bat wings that Solomon had won for him at a fair - and his phone in his hand.

"Tada! Do you like my outfit?~" 

"Good morning to you too, Asmo."

Solomon held the door open so Asmodeus could get in and there was absolutely no way he could have missed the pout on his face when he walked past Solomon like that.

Asmodeus took off the backpack and put it next to the couch before dramatically letting himself fall onto the couch. "So you're not even going to acknowledge my outfit that I took so long to pick out just for you to see? How ungrateful…"

"Your outfit is great, but we won't be going outside today anyway, I don't see why you needed so much time to pick it out. And apart from that, I'm surely not the only one to see it considering how full the streets are." Solomon did like his outfit, he looked pretty in it, but if he would have said anything more then Asmodeus would be spending the next hour talking about why his outfit is so perfect and they didn't have enough time to waste, even if Solomon enjoyed hearing Asmodeus talk about topics that interested him with so much enthusiasm.

"Awww would you prefer if you were the only one to see me then? I could come over late next time when the streets are empty and you could spend all night being the only one to see me.~"

Solomon sat down next to Asmodeus and took his notebook that was laying on the table in front of him, "As nice as that sounds, we should get to work on our project. We only have today left after all."

"Didn't they say that it was due on the 13th?" Asmodeus said while looking for his notes in his backpack. How he managed to continuously lose things in a backpack so small was beyond Solomon. "Oh by the way, do you want something to drink? I brought something nice with me today!"

Asmodeus held a fancy bottle of wine in front of Solomon's face; it was a wine they liked drinking on their movie nights at Asmo's place. The wine was good but despite Asmodeus going clubbing so often, he doesn't mix well with alcohol and ends up drunk a lot quicker than Solomon.

"They mentioned in the class chat that the deadline had to be switched to an earlier date due to the school festival being on the 13th. Also, no alcohol before we finish this." Solomon took the bottle from Asmodeus' hand and put it on the living room table. Perhaps Asmo is going to work hard until we're done if he has something to look forward to, Solomon thought.

"You're normally not so boring… one glass isn't going to get us drunk, please…?" He thought wrong. And of course Asmo would use the puppy eye tactic on him… "One glass and then we start working."

"I promise you that I'll work as hard as I can afterwards!~" He winked towards Solomon and then left to get them two glasses. Solomon meanwhile gathered a few of the books he got from the library nearby for their project. The project was for their art class, a class that both Asmodeus and Solomon were quite good in. Asmo surprisingly enjoyed their written classes as much as their drawing ones and he looked quite adorable with the glasses that he wore to those classes.

Asmodeus came back with the two glasses and poured both of them a cup, the dark red liquid had a nice smell, it reminded Solomon of their movie nights. It was rare for Asmo to drink this wine outside of them, it was too expensive to buy often, did Asmo have a plan?

They drank their glass while working on the subject. Asmodeus was surprisingly holding true to his promise, he was working without any problems and their work was finished sooner than Solomon had expected.

"See, I can work hard if I want to! Now…" Asmodeus looked around the room, "how about a movie night at your place, we still have so much left of the wine after all?"

Solomon looked towards Asmo while he was putting the books into his shelf, Asmodeus was working on cleaning the desk in the meantime. "Sure, got any good movies we could watch?"

"Solomon, was there ever a movie night where I didn't have a plan ready? I already picked out some movies this morning." So that's why he finished so quickly! Well it wasn't like Solomon was going to complain though, they worked hard and movie nights with Asmo were always relaxing, perfect to calm down before the deadline tomorrow.

Asmodeus picked out two movies, one was a detective romance and the other a horror movie. Asmo put his head on Solomon's shoulder after the first movie. It was one of the moments where both of them could be happy, not a single worry in the world could bother them in that moment.

By the time they were halfway done with the second movie they had drunk most of the bottle - with Asmodeus drinking most of it while Solomon slowly enjoyed his own glass - and it was already dark out. Solomon knew he couldn't let Asmo go out this late so he thought about where they could order some food together before sleeping.

But before he could come up with a restaurant he heard faint snoring coming from the man beside him. He seemingly fell asleep on Solomon's shoulder. Asmodeus looked so peaceful asleep that he couldn't get himself to wake him up even if he tried. He took the remote and turned down the volume on the TV until it was almost impossible to hear. Solomon then grabbed a blanket that he always had on his couch and put it over Asmo so he wouldn't get sick before putting his arm around his back to bring him closer.

"Good night, my little demon."

#Solodeusweek2021 #obey me #obey me solomon #obey me asmodeus #solomon obey me #asmodeus obey me #solodeus #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me: one master to rule them all #obey me: shall we date #obey me:swd

[patton-cake]

Past adventures and future experiences

Pairings: Logicality and very background Anaroceit, it's only mentioned.

Summary: The Christmas ball, a magical high school experience. At least that’s what it’s supposed to be. Patton knows that he has to ask Logan soon or else he might be too late. You know what? Forget it. There’s no way that Logan would want to be his date. 

Word count: 3635

Additional information: Merry Christmas Gabi! I had the honour to be your Secret Santa this year and I really hope that you're not disappointed with that! Anyway, I love you and I hope that you'll like my gift :D @irritating-lady-knight

~The Story~

Books had always been Patton's escape from this repetitive world. Sure, there were a lot of good things in the world and he certainly wasn't complaining, but sometimes it just feels nice to be somewhere else you know? To be away from your annoying teachers, who think that 25 homework assignments due next week is completely reasonable. To be away from that one feeling you get when you think that you've finished everything, but you're not 100% sure, and to be away from himself for once.

That's why Patton started to read.

When he was younger, his mom used to take him to the library every Tuesday afternoon. They would spend hours reading together about brave princes who saved princesses ("But what if I want to save a prince instead of a princess mama?" "You can save whoever you want Mon Étoile"), they learned about the most beautiful creatures, and one day, they met one of Patton's future best friends.

Logan would teach him everything he had learned about the stars and their different constellations, the planets and their little baby moons ("They're not their children Patton.") And in return, Patton would read him his favourite stories and take him on thrilling adventures.

Unfortunately, the boys grew older and with becoming older, came more responsibilities. School wasn't much of a problem for the two friends. They both enjoy learning and Patton even made a new friend (who he immediately introduced to Logan, because the two were and always will be a package deal). 

At the first sight, you would think that someone like Virgil would never become friends with someone like Patton. His dark black hair with faint purple dye, dark lether jacket decorated with punk rock pins and spiky boots have scared off a lot of people, but not Patton. Instead of running away, Patton basically adopted him.

Don't worry! He and Logan are still best friends! Patton has two hands and a lot of room in his heart, especially for someone like Logan.

  "Thinking about Nerd number 1 again huh?" Patton shook his head and blinked a few times, before completely zoning back into reality. Oh right, school. Virgil laughed at Patton's 'angry' glare and pointed behind him.

"Good news Pattycake, your sweetheart is coming this way."

Patton poked his side and grumbled "He's not my sweetheart!"

With a look of disbelief, Virgil stared at his best friend and rolled his eyes. "You two are basically married already! Roman and I have a bet that you two got married years ago somewhere in France, because that's totally the type of romantic Logan would pick, but just didn't invite us to the wedding."

"If you keep bullying me then no, I won't invite you to the wedding!" Patton tried to hold back his laughter, but failed completely.

"So there is going to be a wedding??"

Before Patton could react, he heard a quiet voice calling his name.

"Salutations Patton, Virgil. I hope your day has been satisfactory so far." Logan had a slight blush on his face and was anxiously fidgeting with his tie.

"Goodmorning Lo! We saved you a seat!"

A small smile appeared on Logan's face as he sat down next to Patton.

"So mr. and mr. Nerd, did you two already hear about the nightmare that is the Christmas ball?"

Oh right. The Christmas ball. The event of the year.

The Christmas ball was this party for everyone in their last year. It was a sort of last goodbye before they graduated. Basically their school just took prom and slapped a different name on it to feel special and creative.

"Yeay! I bet that you, Janus and Roman are going together huh?" Patton winked at him and gave him a bright smile. He had been so happy for his friend when he and Roman finally got together and even happier when later Janus got added to the relationship. They were really adorable with the three of them.

"Mhm! Roman wanted to do some big promposal, but fortunately for us, Janus managed to talk him out of it. But how about you Logan? Anyone you wanna ask?"

Oh gosh Patton was going to kill Virgil. His friend knew that he wanted to ask Logan. In fact, he had tried to ask him like 5 times already, but every time he was about to pop the question, his anxiety took over and he asked some other random thing. This had lead him to asking Logan about the way ducks keep floating, their math homework and random facts about ladybugs instead. Patton truly was hopeless.

"Logan? Are you blushing? Now you gotta tell!" Virgil leaned over the table with a mischievous smile on his face.

"I did no such thing, but yes, I suppose there is someone I'd like to go with." Unfortunately for Logan, his face only turned darker red, which made Virgil laugh harder.

"Tell us more Logan!! Come on!" Virgil gently poked Logan's arm and leaned on his elbows, interrogating Logan,

"Well.. They're the most wonderful person in the world and I could not imagine my life without them, but I'm not telling you their name, not until I've asked them."

"Come on Lo! You can trust us! Right Patt? Patton? Everything okay?" His voice suddenly turned concerned when he looked at Patton, who was fidgeting with his necklace and looking at his hands, a sad smile on his face.

"Yeay, I'm fine," he grapped his backpack and stood up, "I'm gonna go to my next class, see you later guys."

  In all honesty, Patton wasn't fine. He had failed to ask Logan to the prom and now he was too late. Gosh he was pathetic. He felt a few teardrops falling down his face as he walked outside. Patton desperately needed to get his mind off of everything, so he went to the place he always went when he was sad. The magic treehouse.

When they were younger, Logan and Patton had wanted to go on their own adventure. They tried to discover the hidden secrets from their library (the only thing they found was that the librarian was secretly dating ms. Williams. Patton still got shivers when he thought about that), they practised their sword fighting skills, discovered that Logan shouldn't be trusted with sharp objects and searched for hidden treasures in their backyard.

One day, after getting complaints from ms, Williams, their parents decided that they should have their own little place, somewhere where they didn't disturb other people. Logan and Patton had spent all summer building their treehouse together. Of course that meant that their parents build it and that they had decorated it with fancy fairy lights.

Patton smiled when he reached his backyard. The magic tree was located in the little private forest, behind their yard and right now, it looked absolutely magical. It had started snowing a few days ago so the whole scenery was covered in a little layer of white snow.

He carefully climbed up the ladder and entered the treehouse. Patton looked around him with a soft smile on his face, nothing had changed in their secret hideout. The shelves were covered with books, the fairy lights were still covering almost the entire ceiling and on the walls hang multiple drawings of their great adventures.

A chuckle escaped Patton as he looked through their drawings. Most of them were from when they were 9. He could barely identify the two blue stickman figures as Logan and him wearing their crowns. Logan always said that one day, he and Patton would become mighty rulers of their own library kingdom. They would have flying books and magical flowers that changed colours.

Patton's heart broke a little when he thought about that. Logan always claimed that they'd be together forever, Patton knew that they had only been children at the time, but still, he couldn't help but feel heartbroken. He'll get over it eventually, Patton would be happy for Logan and his date of course, but it still hurt.

Suddenly, his phone started to beep and he could hear the Sherlock theme song starting to play. Logan was calling him. Patton turned his phone off and sunk down to the floor. Class had started half an hour ago and here he was, crying in his childhood treehouse. How pathetic.

After a while, Patton's breathing had become steady again and he walked towards the bookshelves. A shiver spread over his body and he finally began to realise exactly how cold it was in the treehouse. Patton picked up the first book and started to read. Stories had always cheered him up a bit.

  "I think that I remember that one."

Patton snapped his head towards Logan and let out a deep breath.

"Aren't you supposed to be in class?" Patton knew that he was being hypocrite but at this moment, he couldn't really care about that.

"As should you." Logan sat down next to Patton, taking in the their treehouse. "Nothing has changed here, has it? Do you remember when we were 11 and those bullies threatened me on the playground?" Logan chuckled softly and looked at their drawings, "We spend all day hiding here, drawing together."

Patton too, let out a soft laugh and looked at his hands, keeping his head low.

"Wasn't that the day we made the first drafts for our little kingdom? You know? With the weird roses and the unrealistic inhabitants?"

"Hey! Don't you dare insult Regno Libri like that!" Logan exclaimed. He tried to keep a serious face, but couldn't help but laugh. Patton giggled softly and finally looked Logan in his eyes.

"I'm sorry if I worried you Logan... I just needed some time for myself, I'll be fine."

Logan smiled soflty and took Patton's hand, gently fidgeting with his fingers.

"You're my best friend Patton, I know when something is bothering you. It's okay if you don't want to tell me, but just know that Virgil and I are here to help you okay? We care about you." He squeezed Patton's hand and moved closer so there sides were touching.

"I know Logan, thanks.." He slightly blushed at their intertwining hands and leaned onto Logan's shoulder. Physical touch had always been the best solution to cheer Patton up and especially if Logan was providing that touch. Logan would never admit it, but he secretly was a great hugger.

After a few minutes, Logan gently let go of Patton's hand and put his arm around Patton's shoulders instead, carefully pulling him closer. He gently stroked his hands through Patton's curls, softly twirling them around his fingers before speaking up again,

"Patton? There is something I'd like to ask you.." Logan smiled down at his friend with a loving gaze,

"I know that this might not be the most perfect time to ask, but do you might want to be my date to the Christmas ball? And perhaps we can try to become Promkings? Instead of rulers? Do you remember that?"

 Wait

 What?

 Patton's thoughts zoned out and he looked at Logan with a shocked look on his face. Did.. did Logan actually asked him to prom?

"Patton? I- you don't have to, I understand if you don't see me that way, if you don't like me like that but-"

"Logan, please don't doubt yourself that much."

  And with that, he kissed him. It only lasted a couple of seconds, but it was everything they needed. The kiss was sweet and gentle and it tasted a bit like vanilla, Patton couldn't get enough off it.

When Patton pulled away and looked up at Logan he giggled a bit. His (boy)friend (?) had a dazy smile on his face and his cheeks were bright red. After a few seconds, he spoke up

"I- you- is that a yes?"

Patton chuckled at the normally composed and stoic boy and kissed his cheek,

"Yes Logan, I'd love to be your date to the Christmas Ball." Patton leaned his head back onto Logan's shoulder and nuzzeld his cheek gently, taking in everything around them.

  He had just kissed Logan

  Patton had just kissed Logan

And it was perfect

After what felt like hours, Logan kissed Patton's forehead and carefully stood up. He reached out a hand to help Patton and linked there hands together,

"I think it's time to return, Virgil must be really worried." Patton let out a yawn and leaned into Logan's embrace,

"You're probably right."

   And yeay, Logan had been right

"Where the hell were you Patton? I was so worried! Are you okay? Why did you leave and- Are.. are you two holding hands?" Virgil waved around with his arms, face full of worry. But when he saw Logan's loving gaze at Patton, something in him shifted. A soft smile appeared on his face and he smirked down at the two.

Patton looked down at their hands and blushed soflty. He loved Virgil, he really did and it was so funny to see him turn into this overprotective mother hen. Eventhough Virgil liked to act like he didn't care about other people, Patton knew how much of a softy he actually was.

"So when's the wedding?"

Logan almost choked on air.

  It had only taken a few days before the entire city was covered in snow. Patton could hear the white crystals crunch under his feet as he walked through the park close to his house. Virgil and Patton had agreed to meet up a few hours before the Christmas ball was supposed to start. He checked his phone when he arrived at the old oak tree. The old oak tree had been in the park for ages, hence the nickname. Patton could remember being a little boy and trying to climb all the way to the top of the tree, even though Logan would always warn him that he could fall down and break his legs. Which he eventually did. Well, not both of his legs. Patton had only broken his left ankle, but he got a lolly from the nice nurse lady so he was fine. Giggling at the memory of Logan’s concern, Patton unlocked his phone to check the time. Five minutes until Virgil would arrive.

Just when Patton was about to send Virgil a message, letting him know that he had arrived, Patton saw something flying towards him before said thing hit the ground with a muffled sound.

“Damn that was supposed to hit you!” Patton turned around a saw a big bundle of purple coming his way. The purple blob tried hard to keep his balance on the slippery snow as it made it’s way to the tree. “Did it scare you?” It’s voice was slightly muffled by a fluffy scarf but Patton could still recognize the bright purple hair that always looked like an absolute mess.

“Oh I was terrified” Patton rolled his eyes while simultaneously trying to contain his laughter. Virgil scoffed and lightly hit Patton’s arm.

“Mission completed then I guess, but it’s not like you could have done it bette-“

Before Virgil could even finish his sentence, a cold snowball flew into his face. He quickly shook all the snow off of himself and looked at Patton who had a really sweet and innocent smile on his face

“Oh you bastard, it’s on” Virgil quietly mumbled to himself and began to collect more snow.

“What did you say Virgy? You looked like you needed a little cool down time!” and yeay it was really no ones fault besides himself when Patton too, got hit by a snowball right in his face.

A lot of snowballs later, Virgil walked up to his friend with his hands high up in the sky, slightly shivering from the cold.

“You won okay, I give up. I’m literally freezing.” Patton took this opportunity to hug Virgil around his waist and nuzzle close.

“Alright, alright we get it, you love hugs. Now come let’s get some hot chocolate or something. We deserve it after this intense battle.”

Patton nodded in Virgil’s chest and together the tried to find their balance while walking out of the park.

   When the two friends walked into Patton’s house, they were met with an overwhelming smell of gingerbread and apple-pie. Which made sense because Patton’s parent had been baking Christmas treats for their family this morning.

“You mind if I grab one?” Virgil held up one of the chocolate chip cookies and ploffed down on one of the chairs in the living room. He took a bite when Patton motioned that he could eat it and let out a small noise of contentment.

“Your suit arrived last week right?” Patton nodded and Virgil continued, “Have you tried it on yet?”

Patton nodded again and smiled brightly at Virgil

“It fitted perfectly! I really hope that Lo will like it too”

He hugged himself anxiously and Virgil stood up to wrap him into a strong embrace

“Hey it’s okay Pat. Your boyfriend absolutely adores you. Believe me, if it would have taken you two any longer to get together I would have sued Logan, because he just couldn’t shut up about how handsome you looked and how he would just skip the prom because he couldn’t ask you.”

Patton giggled and blushed slightly

“And besides, if Logan does somehow decide to hurt you in any way or form, I will gladly kill him for you!” Patton lightly hit Virgil’s arm before looking up with his bright smile returned on his face.

“Thanks Virgil.”

  After Patton changed into his light blue suit and Virgil had eaten more chocolate chip cookies, he also finally decided to put on his indigo purple suit with bright red and golden bracelets to match his boyfriends. Logan and Patton had agreed to wear matching ties, which meant that Patton was wearing a beautiful navy-blue necktie.

He triple checked if he had all of his stuff, including his phone, keys and if Virgil was ready, when he suddenly heard a soft knock on his door. With a mischievous smirk, Virgil walked up to the door and opened it slightly, leaning in the doorway.

"Hello Logan"

"Salutations Virgil, is something wrong?" Patton couldn't see Logan but he could identify the slight shake in his voice as anxiety.

"I don't know Logan. Tell me, are you going to dance with Patton tonight? Bring him some pretty flowers? Give him everything he deserves and more?" He could hear Logan clear his throat and Patton was sure that he was anxiously fidgeting with his necktie by now. Logan always did that when he was nervous.

"If Patton wants to dance tonight then I'll gladly join him, I did indeed bring him a flower and believe me, I will try to do anything I can to make him happy." Patton almost melted at the soft adoration in Logan's voice and he pushed Virgil out of the doorway.

"Virgil! Stop that! You're bullying the poor thing. I'm sure that Logan will be a true gentleman, as will I." Patton giggled at Virgil when he rolled his eyes and then turned back to face his boyfriend.

"Hi Logan," Patton whispered breathlessly, "you look absolutely amazing"

Logan, who looked equally as breathless, blushed slightly and whispered back with a soft voice "As do you Sunshine, as do you."

He then held his hand out and presented Patton a singular light blue and slightly bowed

"For you my love" Logan smirked up at Patton and chuckled softly.

"Move your domestic display elsewhere you nerds. This is too nauseating." Virgil smiled softly down at Patton and hugged him quickly before Logan took Patton's hand to escort him to his car.

  The night sky was filled with stars when the two boys finally arrived at the oh so dreaded Christmas ball. Well, of course the ball wasn't that dreaded anymore. Patton wondered if anything could be dreadful when Logan was there by his side.

"Your mind is lost in space Sunshine, what is troubling you?" Logan intertwined their fingers and gently rubbed his thumb over Patton's hand to soothe him.

"Nothing's wrong Starlight, everything is perfect. Absolutely perfect." The honesty in Patton's voice made Logan blush and together, they entered the ballroom.

Suddenly, they were surrounded by hundreds of fake snowflake decorations. The fairy lights gave the room an enchanting atmosphere and because it was Christmas, in the corner of the room stood an eight feet tall Christmas tree, decorated with the most beautiful ornaments. It looked magical

"Well I did promised a dance didn't I?" Patton turned around to face Logan and saw that his boyfriend was holding out his hand for him.

"We don't want to disappoint Virgil now do we?" He giggled as he happily accepted Logan's invitation and followed him to the dancefloor.

The music started to play and Patton could feel Logan's hands gently wrapped around his waist. Somewhere in the back of his mind he could hear the other people entering the dancefloor, but Patton was too distracted at this moment. Blue. Beautiful dark blue. The only thing Patton noticed was how the lights reflected into Logan dark blue eyes, making him truly look magical.

"..Logan" Patton slightly cringed at the crack in his voice, but Logan didn't seem to notice

"Patton?" His boyfriend looked at him with a confused smile and a lot of admiration in his eyes.

"I love you"

"Well that's perfect Patton, do you want to know why?" Logan blushed while still keeping a smirk on his face leading them through their dance. He continued when Patton nodded,

"Because I love you too."

The two swayed the night away, living in their own private bubble. It was just the two of them and it was absolutely perfect.

#logan sanders #patton x logan #logicality #logan x patton #long post #patton sanders #virgil sanders #anaroceit #(mentioned) #pattoncake writes #Gosh I'm nervous about this one #I really hope that you like it Gabbee #This is my longest fic so far