#A Misanthrope's Lecture | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

boogernotbogger · 10 months

Text

Strawberry ice cream

Sakusa Kiyoomi x reader

Rating: teens and above

Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi and y/n meet at calculus class in college and become friends. However, y/n slowly develops feelings for Sakusa.

Word count: 6282

A/N: Please support my works on AO3 here

Weird.

It’s the first thought you have when you see the curly-haired boy poke his head into your classroom. Half his face is obscured by a mask, and you can see two tiny moles peeking out from under his hair.

It’s your second day of college, and first lecture of calculus. People are starting to trickle in, as you’re here early. And yet, the boy looks anxious. He walks in gingerly, and thoroughly sanitises the desk and chair before he sits in front of you, at the window seat. The morning sunlight streams in, and bounces through his curls, making him look like some baroque-style painting. You look out of the window and smile. This is going to be an interesting semester.

~~~

Two weeks later, it is most certainly turning out to be a not fun semester. The workload is already huge, making friends is difficult when your schedule is occupied with purely lectures and sleep, and homesickness, it turns out, is a real thing that you aren’t invulnerable to.

The masked weirdo in your calculus class seems allergic to people, and for some reason, it is really not easy to pay attention to sequences and continuity and what not, when the only thing your eyes latch onto is a halo of perfectly formed ringlets, interwoven with magical drops of sunlight.

You learn that his name is Sakusa Kiyoomi, he is a volleyball player, and a misanthrope through and through.

~~~

It takes time, but you two start to talk.

It is your third week of college, you just spoke to a blond boy more introverted than you, and you finally got your sleep schedule down. You walk into class in high spirits emboldened by your successes, plop your bag down into your seat, and go stand in front of Sakusa. He flinches, but relaxes by a smidge when he sees you not coming any closer.

“Good morning Sakusa-kun, I’m l/n y/n. we’ve never spoken before and that is kind of weird since we sit close to each other. I’m a first-year statistics student. You?”

“Sakusa Kiyoomi, first year economics. Nice to meet you.”

And thus, started your friendship.

~~~

Two months into your college life, you are fast friends with the blond, Kozume Kenma. He introduces you to Akaashi Keiji, and their respective roommates, two incredibly loud and embarrassing second years, with ridiculous hairstyles. Apparently, the four of them had been friends since their school days and played volleyball together, though the seniors seldom hung out with you as they were always busy.

By now you have also had enough time to get to know your own roommates, to watch sappy romance movies with them, and pledge lifelong friendship to them. Your social life has never been better.

And of course, come calculus class, you meet Sakusa, chat with him about whatever novel you last read, and listen to him describe the intricacies of volleyball. You find yourself thinking that you have never met anyone as passionate about anything as Sakusa is about volleyball.

His dark eyes get a glint to them, and though he refuses to take off his mask, his voice comes out clearer than anytime else. He gestures wildly with his hands, and his hair keeps flopping onto his forehead. He pushes it back impatiently each time, but continues to nod his head off each time you understand a concept clearly.

He kind of looks like one of those little dolls with springs on the bottom, that you stick on your car dashboard for amusement, with the way he bounces on his spot with enthusiasm.

It’s cute.

And you notice he has pretty hands. Like, really pretty hands.

You notice the way his eyebrows quirk in amusement when you talk about the second-hand embarrassment you endure, caused by the heroine of whichever book is your newest obsession. It makes you want to see his full smile, maybe elicit a laugh. You notice the way he raises his right eyebrow until his moles disappear under his hair, when you squeal about something especially hot in the story.

You notice that you seem to be noticing a lot about Sakusa.

~~~

One month later and you find yourself hanging out with the oddest group of friends you have ever had. You have your two roommates, one loud and social, the other adventurous and kind. Then there’s Kenma, who’s always got his nose in a game, and his ears peeled for any gossip he may inadvertently come across. There’s Keiji-kun, and he’s your favourite. He loves his studies, and he’s quiet, but he loves reading and oh boy does he have a talent for overthinking. He’s the most relatable person you have come across in college.

And of course, there is Sakusa. He is reclusive, but by now you know that it is only because he cares more about the germs on people than the people themselves. He tends to hang out more with you or with just the other two boys, than with the whole group. You are yet to figure out whether that is because he deems the other two too germy for him, or because he only likes people who like volleyball.

It had been a surprise to you when you’d introduced him to your group, only for the other two boys to just nod as if they knew him already. And then they’d told you about their volleyball history, and how his school always beat theirs.

“Oh yes y/n, didn’t I tell you Bokuto-san considered him his rival, because Sakusa-san was the nation’s top spiker, and Bokuto-san narrowly missed being in the top 3?” was Keiji’s very succinct explanation of the whole situation.

And that’s how you had found out that not only was Sakusa a volleyball-freak, he was the nation’s top volleyball-freak, and had represented the country several times in the under-19 category.

(So had Bokuto-san, the owl-like senior who was Keiji’s best friend and captain, but you found that out only when you went to sit in on your college team’s practice sessions.)

(It had bugged you that Sakusa had never told you this before, but you let it go. Sakusa was a very private person, and the only times he spoke voluntarily were when he talked about volleyball. He had no ill intentions.)

~~~

Your first semester ends, and you celebrate with your group by playing games in Kenma’s apartment. It feels nice, talking and laughing with everyone, but after a point, your social battery dips and you find yourself zoning out from whatever banter was currently happening. Something about whether Kenma’s best friend and roommate Kuroo Tetsuro had a better hairstyle than Keiji’s best friend and roommate Bokuto Kotaro.

Honestly though, that wasn’t even a conversation worth having. They both looked stupid. One looked like a rooster shat on his head, the other looked like an owl sponsored his hair gel supplies.

Kenma had dug out an old Monopoly board from somewhere and that was the game currently happening, with you and Sakusa acting as joint bankers. You had both learnt long ago that it is more fun to incite the players against each other than to be one of them. And this was a modified version of Monopoly that you lot had come up with, having a lot of extra and needlessly complicated rules, so it was definitely more fun to just watch.

Sakusa was strangely quiet too. He generally tended to be quiet, but just a couple of hours ago he had gone into a very passionate speech over how strawberry ice cream is the best ice cream to ever exist. He’d accepted no arguments to the contrary.

“It may be pink and look like something Barbie puked, but it tastes exactly like Barbie’s dreams. Strawberry ice cream tastes like freedom and empowerment: I can be anything! It is sweeter than vanilla, not that vanilla is less good, no, vanilla is also a great flavour; it is just that strawberry is superior. Strawberry ice cream is sweet like syrup, like the drinks your grandmother made for you in your childhood when you came home after rolling in mud the whole day. If ‘happy memories’ had a flavour, it would be strawberry. Yes, my argument is based on nostalgia, and you can laugh all you want, but you have to admit that if you had a happy childhood, it was pink. If you didn’t have a happy childhood, well you certainly wish you did. You wish for happy memories and a future you can look out on with hope and love. La vie en rose, I say! Life in pink! That is the wonder of strawberry ice cream! And not to mention, all your childhood drawings of ice cream had a pink scoop dripping off the cone. Whether you want to or not, subconsciously you have all accepted that strawberry is the default, and hence, the best ice cream flavour. Thus, I rest my case.”

With that, he’d sat back down, and licked off the final drops of his chocolate ice cream, and grabbed the controller for the next round of Mario Kart. You’d clapped, because come on, an impassioned speech like that deserves applause. One single corner of his mouth lifted, and he turned to you to flash you a dimple before his eyes fixed back on the screen. The gesture did not make you imagine what it would be like to poke your tongue in his dimple.

But after that incident, he was mostly silent, the speech probably draining him of whatever social battery he did have. He sat next to you now, calculating the amount each person owed the bank, and adding the penalties Keiji had accumulated from making fun of the strawberry-speech.

Yes, the penalties were for incidents that happened before the game started. You can’t argue with the banker for the banker is God.

You mostly left the banker-ing to Sakusa, while you got lost in your daydreams. Kenma was now in jail because he said that his school’s libero was better than Sakusa’s.

Which reminded you of the last book you’d read. It had had a character who was in jail for most of the story. He’d coordinated his attack plans from there. When the villain came to taunt him, he’d very suavely escaped and kabedonned her. But just when he expected her to swoon from his good looks and his proximity, she’d pulled out a dagger from under her skirt and stabbed him.

You’ve always wanted a dagger to hide under your clothes. Actually, you wouldn’t mind being kabedonned either, but Sakusa had very firmly declared the gesture ‘lame’ when you’d told him about it, and now you remembered that you were supposed to be annoyed at him for it. Because seriously, the audacity!

DHONN!

You jerk upwards to see the group laughing at you. Sakusa had apparently just banged a juice can on the table next to your face to get your attention.

“Huh?”

“You’d zoned out for longer than usual y/n. and you looked pissed. All ok?” Sakusa asks, but he is clearly amused.

“Kabedons are cool,” you declare, and get up to fetch yourself another slice of pizza.

He just snorts.

For some reason, it sounds cute. And now your brain is filled with images of a cute pink piggy with an incredibly curly tail. Like an oinky Kiyoomi. Kiyooink.

You laugh. You are definitely going to tell him this later.

~~~

The next semester starts, and you and Sakusa don’t have classes in common anymore. You see him around campus less, and spend less time together. Now that he has also adjusted to college life, he is paying more attention to volleyball. The end of the previous semester was filled with matches, but this semester he spends less time with the college team, and more time with the national under-19 team. You attend some practices when you can, sometimes with friends. Keiji-kun and Kenma explain various moves to you, and introduce you to other players they know. It is a fun experience. All the boys are like Sakusa, incredibly passionate about the sport, incredibly talented, and at least a foot taller than you. They towered over you when you first went to talk to them, but you soon learn that they are all sweet goofy kids with only volleyballs for brains.

You notice that they maintain a physical distance from Sakusa, only getting closer to him when necessary. But even so, he seems more at-home with his team than in your motley group of friends. It makes your heart ache sometimes, that there is someone right in front of you, whom you want to be closer to, but there is a seemingly uncrossable chasm between you. And yet he would turn towards you and flash a dimple, and you would berate yourself for not being grateful for the attention he already gives you.

~~~

First year ends, and you all go home for the holidays. You make no plans to meet each other, since you will inevitably meet once the new semester starts. You spend your two-month break laying about in bed, watching anime, and reading books.

You also make sure to call and text your friends regularly. Keiji-kun sends you memes, Kenma texts you about whatever anime character you get obsessed with. Your roommate-groupchat is filled with vacation photos of you 3. Life is good.

You notice that Sakusa never texts. Sakusa never calls. Sakusa never reaches out to you. But when you do call him, you both talk for hours, and time passes by in the blink of an eye.

With every phone call, every text, and every laugh you share, you wish and wish he had started it. You wish he had been the first to reach out to you. You wish, for once, he would call you. You wish, for once, he would share something about himself with you that was only for you to know.

You wish, and you wish, and you wish.

~~~

Second year starts, and all your friendships pick up right where they left off. Except that Sakusa is hardly ever around anymore.

When you asked about his absence, he simply said, “I studied hard and played hard during the holidays. Now I do not have to put in as much effort into classes, because most of the hard work is already done. I can focus on volleyball to my heart’s content.”

And that is what he does. You have no idea whether or not he attends his classes, but whenever he has free time, either he is studying by himself, or he is off doing drills by himself. It has been a full year since you became friends with him, and yet, he seems as distant today as he was on the first day.

It hurts. You miss having more free time to spend with him. And yet, you have no right to complain. His first love is volleyball, and he has made it clear to you that his priorities will never change.

It hurts, but you push it aside. You have other friends to spend your time with. On days when all six of you unexpectedly have free time, or on less academically challenging days, your group, including Sakusa, hangs out together. You generally go to the local fast-food joint, he would sanitise the table, and never take off his mask. But he would be there. He would be there for these small moments, and you cherish every mask-covered smile he gives, every sarcastic comment he makes.

You miss your friend, but for now, this is enough for you.

~~~

Second year passes thus: you are swamped with coursework, you hang out with your group whenever possible, you go out exploring the city with your roommates, and you get fleeting moments with Sakusa.

You’re almost happy with the set-up, but each time you talk to Sakusa, you want more. You want to talk to him more. You want him to talk to you more. You want to listen to his excited volleyball rants.

You want the days when your biggest problem was your inability to focus on differentiation because of a head of gold-infused raven curls. You want your friend.

So you call. You roughly know what his schedule is. Sometimes you go meet him when practice gets over, sometimes you call. He is tired, irritable, and excited all at once, but he seems to love gushing over whatever play he tried that day, and you enjoy the moments you spend with him.

He never calls though. He tells you that he appreciates you calling him, because your company is always welcome, yet, he never calls. You know that that in no way implies that he doesn’t like you, and yet, it hurts.

You tell yourself it hurts because he is your friend, and he has a scarcity value attached to him.

~~~

The only difference between second year and third year is that, Sakusa now has an undercut.

The semester starts with your group meeting up to celebrate Japan’s performance in the recent 2016 Rio Olympics. Sakusa and Bokuto had been second-string spikers on the team, and Sakusa had been called on-court multiple times as pinch server. His nasty wrists made it damn near impossible to dig out the ball, even on the international level – the world stage. You were so, so proud of your friend, and your celebrations continued well beyond midnight.

When the party finally ends, it is with Keiji dragging off a mildly-drunk but sleepy Bokuto, back to their apartment, Kenma asleep on the couch, and Sakusa offering to walk you back to your apartment. The other two girls had left already, since they have classes early in the morning and you don’t.

You walk back in silence, and for the first time, it is suffocating. You look up at him, wanting to gauge his mood after such a raucous celebration, and notice that he hasn’t put his mask back on yet. You figured out pretty early on in your friendship that that is a sign that he trusts you aren’t disgusting enough to warrant wearing a mask around. It’s quite flattering really.

“The weather is nice, isn’t it?” he starts, and stops immediately when you snort at the lame conversation starter.

“Well, you aren’t talking, so I thought I could try,” he shrugs, and you smile.

“Not a bad effort,” you answer. “Well, Sakusa-kun, we are being blessed with sunshine these days, and it’s very nice and warm at all times. Although, one could argue that the warmth right now is due to your inherent hotness.”

You look up at him, anticipating his reaction, and he doesn’t disappoint. He throws his head back and laughs, a quiet, precious thing, and you bottle up this moment to keep with you for the next time you miss him.

“I missed this. Training was gruelling, and the matches were exhilarating. I was always so high on emotions that by the time the Games were over, I was just done. Exhausted. Came home and just slept for the next week. I didn’t realise how much I missed your nonsense until just now, when I have to deal with your nonsense.” His eyes are soft, but all you can focus on is-

“Nonsense?! Sakusa Kiyoomi, I will have you know that the only nonsense here is you...”

He laughs again, and you trail off. You’ve never noticed before, but he’s grown. He was always tall and well-built, but there is a softness in the way he speaks now, that wasn’t there when you first met him. The way he carries himself has changed too, shoulders held back and proud. He is still the wary boy you had befriended two years ago, but there is a manly charm that wasn’t there before. And suddenly you want to continue talking. Comforting as it is now, you don’t want the conversation to trail off into the sweet silence it is heading towards. You feel the sudden urge to know him, stronger than you ever have before, and before you can help it, you blurt out, “You could have called me, you know. Or texted. I missed you as well, but I didn’t want to disturb you during the freaking Olympics! But even otherwise, you do know that I would like it if you reached out to me, right? Like on normal, non-Olympic days, you could text just because you feel like it.”

He frowns, and says, “I probably should. Honestly, it’s not like I don’t text you on purpose, I just kind of… forget. I don’t forget you, I just get caught up in stuff, or my brain is filled with TV static, and I don’t reach out to anybody at all. But I’ll try, okay? Yeah, you would probably ditch me if you are the only one forced to keep this relationship going, and that would be a pity.”

He reaches up to ruffle his hair, a rare occurrence because hair is filled with germs, and that’s when you notice it. The back of his head is buzzed close to his scalp, but hidden by the longer curls above. “You got an undercut?”

He frowns at the sudden change in topic, but nods, “Yeah, my nape kept getting sweaty, and other guys in the national team had undercuts and they found it functional, so I thought I’d try it. It does feel very nice actually. I still have my curls, but I don’t have to deal with too much sweat. Why?”

“I noticed it just now. It looks good. Really brings out your jaw. Probably explains why your jaw looks more prominent now. Good going.” You give him a thumbs up as a reassurance that it does look good, and turn around to enter your building. “Thanks for dropping me off, get home safe, okay?”

He waves, and disappears into the night, his own apartment a short walk from yours. You sigh as you climb the stairs.

Good was an understatement. Hot was better. Sexy was probably apt. You wonder if he will let you run your fingers through his shorn locks, and sigh again.

You are a reader. Perhaps all you can do is dream.

~~~

After the party at Kenma’s, college life went back to normal. Sakusa seldom hung out with the group, choosing instead to spend his time on volleyball. But after your conversation, he made it a point to text you every once in a while. True, they were just forwarded ‘good morning’ messages, sometimes memes about clichéd romance tropes, but it was better than nothing. Each text from him made your heart beat just a little faster.

~~~

It does not come as a surprise to you when you realise you have a crush on your friend. On your friend whose heart belongs to volleyball. On your friend who never opens up to you, and who is happy talking to you once every couple of weeks.

You embrace the feeling, and the sadness it brings with it. What else can you do? He’s one of your dearest friends, and he does deserve to know how you feel about him.

But again, you have a crush on someone you already love dearly. Can it even be considered a crush? You’ve had crushes before, and those feelings were always made of just a combination of wild giggling and nervous excitement. This however, this is a warmth in your chest and a smile on your face. This feeling, is a quiet little laugh, dispersing in the night like dandelions in the wind. This feeling is the excited glint in dark eyes when passions are aroused. This feeling is a cute head bobbing along to your words. This feeling is two moles on a forehead, curly hair over a shorn nape, pretty fingers gesturing wildly.

This feeling, it feels like strawberry ice cream on a warm summer day, when you’ve just returned home.

~~~

Obviously, you tell the rest of your friends. You do need people you can fangirl to about him. They’re quite supportive really, given the circumstances. They encourage you to tell him how you feel, but Kenma adds, “You need to remember that he may not reciprocate, y/n. In fact, there is a greater chance he won’t reciprocate. I don’t want you to get hurt or lose your friend, but I do think you would feel better if you tell your friend that you’ve got a crush.”

And that is the problem, isn’t it? You want to tell your friend that you have a crush on somebody. It kills you that if you tell him whom you’ve got a crush on, he’ll probably avoid you. But if you don’t tell him, you’ll suffer in silence, wondering about all the ‘what if’s’.

For now, you bury the matter. You want to enjoy this, this feeling, just a little longer.

And so you simp. You squeal over his voice and his muscles with your roommates, you swoon over every sweet gesture he does, and you endlessly simp over his pretty, pretty hands to Keiji-kun. He’s probably grown sick of you by now, but it is funny to see him annoyed.

~~~

Third year ends with Bokuto signing on to Division-1 team MSBY Black Jackals.

Your last year of college begins with heavy research for your final-year project. On top of that, you now have to study for entrance exams, and college exams, and explore colleges for further studies. You know that you want to go into finance, and for that you now have to deal with an internship on top of everything else.

All of a sudden, you are under more stress than you have ever been in.

And then in the middle of the seventh semester, Sakusa drops a bombshell, “I think I will move to Higashiosaka after my graduation. I want to try out for the Black Jackals. They have Miya Atsumu and Bokuto-san, and I will be lucky to continue working together with those two monsters.”

Your heart stops. You need to tell him. He deserves to know. You had put off your feelings as a problem for the future, but the future is now.

~~~

Barely a week has passed after this conversation, and you call Sakusa crying, “Kiyoomi-kun, please can we meet? My project is going nowhere, and I think I have way too much on my plate right now, and I feel so selfish saying that to a person loaded with the same coursework as me, and is balancing a professional athletic lifestyle on top of it, but I don’t know what else I can do!”

Ten minutes later finds you both sitting on some bricks in an abandoned alley in your neighbourhood.

You rant and rant and cry out all your overwhelming feelings of helplessness about your current academic load. Sakusa sits quietly, and just listens to you cry your heart out, offering water every time you pause for breath.

“… I think that covers everything, I’m sorry for dumping it all on you so suddenly. I think I just got overwhelmed and had to let it all out of my system. I’ll be fine once I sleep,” you conclude.

“It wasn’t a problem at all y/n. And it isn’t selfish to be overwhelmed, or to tell me that you are. I have been balancing volleyball with studies for my whole life, obviously I’m doing fine now. But thanks for trusting me.”

You sniffle a bit more, and manage a small smile. He presses your bottle into your hands, and you chug down more water.

It hurts. He’s your friend, and he’s perfect and it hurts. You hadn’t sought him out today because you wanted him, but because he is your closest friend and his presence comforts you like no one else’s. but he’s sitting right next to you without his mask, despite your disgusting runny nose, and he’s offering to be there for you when you need it, and he tries to message you because it makes you happy, and it just hurts. You need to tell him.

“There’s one more thing. Just hear me out, okay?” you stand up and start pacing and continue without giving him a chance to reply, “I love you. You are one of my best friends and I love you. Except that I also like you. As in, I like you like you. As in, I have a crush on you. Except that you are my friend and I love you, and is it even possible to have a crush on someone you already love so dearly? Therefore, I think I’m in love with you. And it hurts. It hurts that there’s something, no someone, I want so deeply, and they’re right here, but they don’t want me the way I want them. You love volleyball, and you’ll be in Osaka this time next year, and I could try to look for placements there, but then, I should probably just let go, right? I mean, you barely text me because your brain is filled with ‘TV static’, so really, what are the odds you like me the same way I like you? You find romantic stuff lame and you find germs too germy. So yeah. That’s it. I’ll shut up now before I do irreversible damage to our friendship.”

You finally look up and meet his eyes.

~~~

He’s there.

When you’re smiling, he’s there.

When you get excited about your books, he’s there.

When you worry about your fears coming true, he’s there.

And when you’re at your lowest, he’s there.

How could you have been expected not to fall in love with this man? This man who has been there for you through all your highs and lows, who has smiled for you each time you’ve felt joy, who’s laughed with you each time you planned for the happy days ahead, and who’s just been there each time you needed somebody to be there for you; how could you not fall in love with this man?

You look at him. You look at him and you see your best friend, your confidant, your first love. But for the first time, you see beyond his pretty fingers and his soothing smile and his calm rationale. You see the apprehension in his eyes, the very real fear of what is to come.

And even then, he smiles.

He’s there. He’s right there in front of you and you are looking at him, and for the first time, you see a lover.

He must be able to see the hope blooming on your face, for his own tentative smile unfurls into that quiet chuckling laugh you have grown to love.

“I thought it was all in my head y/n. Your weird flirting and the sexual tension that popped up out of nowhere,” he announced, clearly very proud of having figured you out before you announced yourself.

“Weird flirting? I was not trying to flirt…” you started, before he laughed again and started to stride towards you, gleam in his eye as if you were Miya Atsumu’s toss just waiting for him.

“Wha-“ DHHONNN.

You were too stunned to even flinch. Did he just kabedon you? His left forearm was right next to your right ear, and he had a little smirk on his face, probably excited that he caught you off-guard. It was, without a doubt, a kabedon.

Wait. Did Sakusa Kiyoomi just kabedon you?

Did you just experience the first kabedon of your life from Sakusa-I-think-cliché-romance-hero-gestures-are-lame-Kiyoomi?

Holy fuck do you need to fangirl. Right now.

“You really need to work on your flirting skills,” he breathes, his face mere inches from yours, his arm resting so casually near your face that one would think he practised kabedonning as a hobby.

“EEEEEEEEEEEEE-P“

He shoves his palm against your mouth, cutting off your squeal, and very effectively ruining the moment. Obviously, you lick the offending appendage. He looks scandalised.

“One moment. One moment, y/n! I thought I could surprise you with some lame cliché romance-hero move, and you just have to squeal in my face and lick my hand. You think you can look all cool and profess your undying love for me, but I can’t get one moment to one-up you? That’s it, romance over. We are done here.”

He turns away, as if about to leave, his hand still over your mouth. You reach out to grab him, but before you can, he turns back around and scoops both your wrists up in his one hand and pins them above your head in one smooth swoop, as if he practises this stuff every day as a hobby. His left arm has not moved even half an inch from its place near your face.

All you can do is stare at him as his smirk returns, with a light dusting of pink across his pale cheeks, as though he himself can’t believe his smoothness. Clearly, the ruined moment can be salvaged.

Very wisely, you keep your mouth shut and your squeal inside your throat.

He walks further towards you, until you feel your feet touching and there remain only a couple of inches separating your faces.

He deliberately looks down at your lips, before slowly lifting his face to your eyes. His own lips look soft and pink and pouty, and you have no idea what must be happening on your face, but it must be good enough for him to blush harder.

You have dreamed of kissing the pink off those cute pouty lips for ages and now that you actually can, he isn’t moving. He is just looking at you, drinking you in, as if mesmerised by whatever romantic fantasies are unfurling behind your eyes.

Or maybe he is just waiting for you to consent to him kissing you? Your brain very helpfully provides.

You close your eyes and nod, unable to bear the intensity of the moment.

It seems that that was all he was waiting for because you immediately feel his hand cup your face, leaving its place near you head. And suddenly, you feel the softest pressure against your lips.

The moment ends as soon as it begins, and when it becomes obvious that it will not continue, you open your eyes. Sakusa Kiyoomi stands in front of you, your face in his hand, your wrists in his other hand, his face as pink as his lips, and all you can say is, “hey man when you have your moment, you decide to end it even before it starts! Kiss me properly, I seem to be unable to move.”

He starts laughing, and dives back towards your face, muffling his laughs against your mouth. His fingers tighten around your wrists, and you squirm, wanting to touch him properly now that you have got your bearings a bit. His hand doesn’t loosen though, damn volleyball hand training!

He smiles against your mouth, as if sensing the direction of your thoughts, and you feel his knees parting your own. Very weakly, you part your legs, knowing that at this point, you are very pliable putty in his very capable volleyballer hands.

He doesn’t let the moment escalate though. All he does his keep one leg between yours to pull you close. He keeps your hands out of reach of his body, with his other arm somehow magically around your waist as if to pull you into him, and continues kissing you.

You decide to make as much of this situation as you can and let your tongue peek out of your mouth, but he pulls back. It feels like rejection until-

“One step at a time y/n. I need to sanitise my hand where you licked me, let’s not go into both our tongues licking the others’ yet.” You deem this as enough of a not-rejection, your ears giddily ringing with the word ‘yet’, as he releases you.

He steps back, letting your arms fall back to your sides, and caresses your jaw once before whipping out his sanitiser and practically dousing his hand in it.

“Want me to set it on fire? Alcohol is flammable and it has a greater chance of killing all germs,” you tease, as he pulls your hands towards him, sanitising your wrists where his hand had held you.

Once he is done sanitising, he turns to you and says, “In case that wasn’t a clear enough answer- yes, I want to date you as well. I love you, and have, for a while. We’ll figure out the future together, okay?”

And before you can answer, he grabs your left hand again, but this time, simply holds it as you both walk towards your neighbourhood. The sky has turned darker by now, a pretty shade of pink that you think very accurately matches the colour on both your cheeks. All you can do is turn towards him and smile your biggest smile, as your brain finally decides to reboot.

Sakusa Kiyoomi loves you. Sakusa Kiyoomi is yours for the foreseeable future. Sakusa Kiyoomi is holding your hand in his.

Sakusa Kiyoomi just turned one of your deepest kabedonning fantasies into reality with the same hand that is holding yours right now.

You can’t help it. You are a fangirl after all.

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE……”

“DAMN WOMAN WILL YOU STOP SQUEALING YOU SOUND LIKE A RAT TRING TO EVADE CAPITAL PUNISHMENT!”

But his smile never wanes, and his hand tightens around yours, pulling you closer.

~~~

“Hey, I’m really in the mood for some strawberry ice cream right now.”

“Hah, so you agree strawberry is superior!”

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #sakusa kiyoomi #akaashi keiji #kozume kenma #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x you #pining #slow burn #canon compliant #mentioned bokuto kotaro

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gumballavocadoharry · 11 months

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Cupcakes and Rude awakenings:

It had now been a couple of weeks since Yn settled into her role as a teacher to a bunch of obstreperous children. She had one of the largest Kindergarten classes, but despite the little ones being overzealous at the most inopportune times, they were good kids and mostly well-behaved. Although, her idiosyncrasy traveled over into Mr. Styles classroom and his grasp on his kids. "Okay, who can help me count to ten?" He said with such childlike enthusiasm. "Me!" A bunch of little voices cheered.

A smile crept across Yn's face, hearing the tender voices from across the hall exclaim with such gaiety. She turned her attention to her own children who were anxiously waiting for their expected treat for being so satisfyingly behaved at the school library. But seeing the deep dimples sink into the former's cheeks and the little rasp he had whenever gentle words would fall from his lips and into the student's minds, made everything else seem foggy. Yn glanced over to her class, more focused on coloring their assigned pictures, than she was on them, she was shamed to admit.

Yn sucked in a breath and went back into her cozy class, and handed out the promised cupcakes. "Ms. Ln!" She turned to see Tina, one of her students standing there with Kyle, another one of her students. "Kyle cut himself." A sniffling Kyle showed Yn his finger that had only a little blood dripping. "Okay, thank you Tina. Come here sweetie, let's get you a band-aid." A black plaster with firetrucks designed to it, seemed to bring an assuage smile to Kyle's face. "Okay, now go enjoy your cupcake now." She said, noting how motherly her tone was.

A knock on the door gathered Yn's attention. "Hello Ms. Ln, sorry to interrupt, but can you take these files to Ms. Grigg?" Of course, Mrs. Bailey would ask. After all, no one wanted to step foot into the anathematized homeroom of the misanthropic witch who 'taught' her class there. The poor kids seemed like they were chained by their ankles to their seats, while Ms. bitc-, I mean Grigg gave her racking extensive lectures about nonsense.

Yn turned to her class, almost in despairing shock and choked out words her lungs stung too much to give a shot of air to. "Class, I have to go drop off some important papers to another classroom. Vivian, you're in charge okay?" Vivan was the most mature of the 23 kids she tended to. Her long hair that had two thick strands tied behind her head with a butterfly clip holding it all together, swung like a blanket out of the door frame along with her long tunic.

The heels of her flats clicked against the floor, as Yn goose-stomped her way into the dungeon of Ms. Grigg. She ricocheted a soft knock on the door, instantly getting the abominable teacher's attention. "Yes?" Her voice, loud, harsh and critical. "Um, Mrs. Bailey wanted me to drop off some files for you," Yn strived to have her tone sound confident, like she was not someone Ms. Grigg wanted to mess with.

But still the grisly woman snatched the files out of Yn's hand so hard, it almost made her fall backwards. Her eyebrows furrowed at the aged lady, who was sternly looking through the files. "You're excused." Ms. Grigg, nastily said. Yn was so disgusted, that she couldn't even give time to look at the children with her usual soft aura. Her jaw was clenched and her fist were unknowingly clenched as well as she stomped back to her classroom.

"Wasting time on such a nasty devil....I hope she gets fired," Yn mumbled all the way back. She was so consumed in thought, that she didn't realize she bumped into someone. "Oh I'm so sorry!" She looked and saw it to be a young boy who looked about 10 years. "It's alright." He chuckled before continuing down the hallway. Yn made it back to her classroom, with a more cooled down demeanor. She cleared her throat and calmly began teaching her class.

It was when the kids where in music class, that Yn was sitting alone at her desk, still disturbed by how impertinent a teacher who was supposed to have a cultivated govern on herself, could be. Her thoughts were broken after a knock on the door caught her off guard. Did a student forget something? She opened the door to find Mr. Styles standing there with two cupcakes in his hand.

"Hi.....I heard about what happened with Ms. Grigg....and I felt bad because I know you're new and.....well......no one should be treated that way," He held out the cupcakes for you. "If you would like, I had some leftover." Mr. Styles eyes were filled with question and wonder to if Yn would accept his peace offering.

"Thank you very much," Yn invited him in after taking the cupcakes. "These are delicious too!" She took a finger and dipped them in the chocolate frosting that was swirled over the yummy cupcake of the same flavor. "It seems like she's gotten worse over the years. She used to just hide herself away, only occasionally snapping people up, but this was......" Yn looked at Mr. Styles, wondering what he wanted to say.

She swore he mouthed "Your young," under his breath, but was too afraid to vocally express that. "Anyway, if you need help with anything....just lemme know." He got up from the mini desk he had taken a seat on and started to walk out. "Oh Mr. Styles?" He turned around. "How did you find out about.....well Ms. Grigg and I?" He smiled. "A nice student from her class told a group of us in the teacher's lounge. Apparently, you're known for being a very kind teacher and it hurt them to see you bullied like that.......and you know something? It hurt me too. You're a nice person."

He gave a friendly smile before putting his hand on the door frame. "Oh and please....call me Harry." Yn's cheeks blushed. Harry walked out to his classroom, and left her standing there infatuated. The heat in her body rose to the challenge, faster into her head and cheeks as they stung with the now pronouncing amaranth color. She cleared her throat and head before she gathered the scattered papers on the desks to organize for a project she wanted them to work on.

Yn heard soft hums chiming from Mr. Styles room. She lurked invisibly around the corner and saw him tiding up his classroom, hanging some streamers up on his walls as the decoration had fallen down during lunch. "Sunflower, my heart, wants you more than a melody." Yn swore she had floated up to heaven hearing his angelic voice tickle her eardrums. His sweet fleecy cords made a sweet shiver, shimmy down her back and melt into her belly. She tiptoed away into her own room and finished her tidying before it was time to pick the children up from their music room.

On the way, she passed Ms. Grigg with her desolate classroom, who seemed to perk once they saw the pretty jolly teacher skip past them. "Are those pants appropriate?" The crone croaked. Yn turned around and causally said; "Why of course. It's your lack of professionalism that's inappropriate." And with that, she continued down the brown colored hallway. Ms. Grigg's face was red from a mixture of humiliation and anger that a 'youngin' could speak to her in that manner in front of her class. Yn knew she would be given an even harsher time, now that she had spoken up on her own behalf.

But Ms. Grigg was just a nasty woman. So it wouldn't have mattered what yn did, the teacher would still find a way to be ruthless and petty. But yn, she had it in the bag. And she knew it would all be okay.

Once the school day ended, yn had her bag slung across her right shoulder and her phone in her left hand. "Quitting time," Yn turned to see the ash blonde Ms. Monroe with her items, leaving around the same time. "Yeah," Yn chuckled. "See you tomorrow." Her friendly disposition was a charm to everyone she would ever meet. Her eyes circled themselves to Mr. Styles, who's classroom was empty and the lights were turned off. He left for the day. Yn thought before heading down the steps of main hallway and outside to her car. She rubbed her temples before making a swift turn out of the parking lot and towards her apartment.

Today sure had it's ups and downs. It made yn question more carefully about next day's troubles.

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles and yn #teacher harry #teacher #harry ❤️ yn #harry loves yn #harry and yn #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfictions #harry styles love #harry styles fic #harry x yn #harry x reader #troupe harry #harry troupe

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jules-and-company · 24 days

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nan mais le misanthrope / les femmes savantes / tartuffe c’est la trilogie sainte de moliere

et annie j’aime juste pas les années, la place c’est incrrrr

après prépare toi à potentiellement avoir la princesse de cleves ils adorent le mettre iu de la poésie / lyrisme dans ton prog de l’année pro

pour molière on est d’accord, même si j’ai une tendresse toute particulière pour le malade imaginaire/le bourgeois gentilhomme/monsieur de pourceaugnac, la première parce que c’est la première pièce que j’ai lue (et jouée) de molière, le bourgeois à cause de génovèse et pourceaugnac à cause de la fameuse lecture de corbery et hervieu-léger

j’ai pas lu les années so je vais fermer ma gueule

j’ai la princesse de clèves dans ma bibliothèque et j’adore la poésie donc c’est un win

#à part s’ils me foutent du musset ou du ionesco franchement y’a pas de soucis pour moi #prépa talk

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llatimeria · 7 months

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it just sucks so bad that everything i've ever really loved learning about is just... completely beyond the scope of my academic skills. i wish i got this jazzed about creative writing or learning an instrument or something, not because i think those are easy, i've done both and I can assure you they are Not, but . just because they seem to have, like, less dire consequences for fucking up.

it's not the end of the world if I don't turn in one weekly short story assignment or if I miss one or two writing classes in the way I can completely spiral out of control if I miss anything when i'm studying biology. i can't have a bad day, let alone a week or a month or an entire season, when I'm taking a biology class that actually has content I'm extremely passionate about, because if I do, I miss the prerequisite information that later lessons build on top of. it's WAY harder (for me, at least???) to try and jump from mitosis to genetic recombination if I miss a lesson on meiosis in between than it is to jump from the iliad to the epic of gilgamesh if I miss the lecture about Antigone between them.

i just can't stand learning about the arts in a classroom environment, when i love being in science classrooms. my options for formal higher education right now are either "be disasterously anxious, creatively unfulfilled, and misanthropic because i can't stand listening to a certain type of idiot who loves participating in humanities classes", "collapse under insurmountable pressure trying to push myself harder than my body and mind allow (and also become misanthropic because i can't stand a similar type of idiot who loves participating in science classes)", or "take classes so small in scope and dearth in credits that it'll take me decades to graduate with any kind of respectable degree".

i want to say i hate being alive but that's not really the feeling i'm actually experiencing. i do also hate being alive but when i take a step back i realize i'm filled with pain and rage thinking about this because it's complete horseshit, not because I think I'm not good or smart enough for this. I think I just need more time, grace, and flexibility than other students. i wish i could miss class when my ptsd flares up, but still have a chance to get the information in something other than the teacher's powerpoint and a list of readings. i wish i could go to a class and expect to not have to talk to anyone unless I want to. i want to have my cake and eat it too, I guess, but more in the sense of like... if i only eat one slice of cake i have both eaten my cake and still have it as well. y'know.

#brainposting

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lectures-sur-le-bateau-ivre · 3 months

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Sur Le Misanthrope : Adaptations

Une première mise en scène, datant de 1977, par Pierre Dux (classique)

Casting : Alceste - Georges Descrières, Oronte - Bernard Dheran, Philinte - Michel Duchaussoy, Dubois - Gérard Caillaud, Clitandre - Philippe Rondest, Acaste - Guy Michel, Arsinoé - Bérangère Dautun, Eliante - Dominique Constanza, Célimène - Béatrice Agenin

Costume tout noir pour Descrières, quelques rubans verts qui garnissent l’épaule ; il sera intéressant de noter comment chaque metteur en scène habille son Alceste. Chose étrange, la vue donnée par les fenêtres de chez Célimène ressemble à une vue d’un jardin de Versailles (carrément pas fait au hasard, on vous fait confiance m’sieur Dux). Ô diction naturelle d’un texte classique, mon amour ! J’ai l’impression d’entendre une vraie conversation, c’est magnifique. Un Alceste déjà bien énervé, dans les starting blocks dès le début (j’aime beaucoup le jeu de Descrières), mais qui a une certaine noblesse, une certaine majesté. Intéressant de voir que le costume de Philinte est le même que celui d’Alceste, mais son opposé complet en termes de couleur (rouge vif). On dirait que ce Philinte est le psy d’Alceste, c’est marrant. Psy un peu ferme, car le petit côté misanthrope de Philinte semble ici plus utilisé pour souligner les excès d’Alceste. Pour l’instant je vois l’amitié Alceste/Philinte like two old queens, c’est jouissif pour moi. Bon excusez-moi, les costumes masculins sont tous les mêmes, juste de couleur différentes et plus ou moins ornés. Un Oronte précieux et pétasse à souhait (excellent Bernard Dheran). Philinte qui donne des petits coups de tête approbateurs quand Alceste réussit l’interaction sociale, my autistic king. Potescore à la lecture du sonnet, vraiment mon moment préféré, eux qui se prennent le bec à voix basse mais dont la resting bitch face ressurgit immédiatement telles les fleurs au printemps. Philinte a l’air constamment atterré par son pote, je trouve ça hilarant. Une Célimène MAGNIFIQUE (Béatrice Agenin, quelle belle femme mon dieu), tout en noir, absolument charmante (et qui n’hésite pas à embrasser Alceste dans sa première apparition pour lui donner une preuve de son amour), très ironique, et médisante pétillante. Alceste l’aime, bon dieu, au début d’un amour grognon mais qui garde une certaine tendresse ; sa colère dans l’Acte III après la “trahison” de Célimène est bouillante, mais en sous-main, pas vraiment de grands éclats de voix, une rage plutôt contenue (malgré un poing qui aurait pu partir). Mais ils s’aiment quand même. La grande folle tout en rose c’est bien sûr Acaste (Guy Michel qui ne ménage aucun ridicule), et son acolyte en jaune poussin, Clitandre, plus soft (très bon Philippe Rondest). Eliante (jolie Dominique Constanza) semble prendre un peu après sa cousine dans le ton, mais reste mimi (par contre, un peu plus d’émotion que diable, à certains moments j’avais l’impression de voir jouer une carpe. Avec tout le respect que je lui dois.). Bérangère Dautun est une Arsinoé très méprisante, la voix posée, j’adore. All by myself joue bien fort dans ma tête à la dernière sortie de notre asocial préféré. Je retiens de cette pièce un Alceste assez désillusionné pour garder un certain calme, qui lui confère une aura noble, mais pas assez pour ne pas s’énerver de temps à autre.

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Deuxième version, de 1959, mise en scène (bien sûr classique) de Jean Kerchbron

Casting : Alceste - Renaud Mary, Philinte - Bernard Dheran, Oronte - Jean Le Poulain, Célimène - Françoise Christophe, Eliante - Evelyne Dandry, Acaste - Jacques Ciron, Clitandre - Alain Feydeau, Arsinoé - Malka Ribovska

Caméra qui est le point de vue d’Alceste ??? Innovative ! Surprise de retrouver l’Oronte de la version de 77 en Philinte. Diction pas très naturelle, pet peeve. Perruque ridicule pour Renaud Mary, mais c’est pas sa faute. Mise en scène hyper minimaliste, je suis surpris (agréablement je le concède). Turbopétasse de Le Poulain en Oronte, parfait. Je suis furieusement bisexuel pour la Célimène de Françoise Christophe, hautaine et au rire méprisant jouissif. Turbopétasses derechef avec Clitandre et Acaste, les années 60 n’étaient-elles donc faites que de cela ? Je suis également furieusement bisexuel pour l’Eliante d’Evelyne Dandry, Philinte je vais te piquer ta femme. Même Arsinoé (Malka Ribovska) est MAGNIFIQUE, un joli filon pour les fans de Molière lesbiennes. Dheran est super en Philinte tout doux, monsieur flirtez avec moi svp pour le 14 février. Une bonne vieille interprétation tout ce qu’il y a de plus classique.

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Troisième version, de 2000, mise en scène de Jean-Pierre Miquel (classico-moderne ?)

Casting : Arsinoé - Alberte Aveline, Oronte - Michel Favory, Eliante - Isabelle Gardien, Alceste - Denis Podalydès, Clitandre - Laurent d’Olce, Célimène - Clotilde de Bayser, Philinte - Laurent Natrella, Acaste - Christian Gonon, Le Garde / Dubois - Guillaume Gallienne

Wow, Podalydès avec les cheveux encore très très bruns. Un tout tout petit ruban vert en guise de collier, c’est un Alceste bien mélancolique, comme Podalydès sait faire ce genre de personnage. Je compare avec une autre version dont je parlerais après celle-ci, je sais, mais j’ai l’impression de voir la mise en scène d’Hervieu-Léger en moins bien, les personnages sont placés pareils et rient même parfois aux mêmes moments…Mais il manque la petite étincelle que donnent Corbery et Génovèse dans l’autre version. Non vraiment Podalydès est hyper calme en début de pièce, c’est très bizarre. Guys pick up the fucking pace, ça a pas l’air naturel ni dans l’esprit de la pièce, qu’est-ce que vous faites ??? Et bordel, Natrella, un peu d’émotion merde, j’ai l’impression de voir un ragondin à qui on a filé un texte et un costume de dentelle. Favory, pareil, le ridicule d’Oronte est où ??? Clotilde de Bayser à vingt ans MADAME je suis à vos genoux. Elle est belle, pétillante, souriante, drôle, bref, ma femme. Aussi, serait-ce un lieu commun de foutre Acaste et Clitandre en jaune poussin et rose pétant ? Alceste se réveille un peu à l’Acte II, merci, on attendait que ça. Un tout petit pitchoune Gallienne. Est-ce que c’est aussi un lieu commun de foutre Alceste enserrant de ses bras la taille de Célimène et poser la tête sur ses genoux ? (ça ne me dérange pas, les hommes désespérés on aime ça ici). Un Alceste bien cheum aussi, dont la déclaration “je voudrais qu’aucun ne vous trouvasses aimable” est assez creepy. Wow, Philinte qui fume (*transpose immédiatement ça avec Génovèse et décède promptement par excès de horniness*). Les costumes deviennent hyper sombres à la fin, pas mal. Et Célimène qui reste seule sur scène avant le tomber de rideau ? (dieu quelle femme magnifiquement belle.). Je me suis quand même assez emmerdé, la mise en scène aurait tellement pu être mieux mise en valeur, et les comédiens étaient pas trop au rendez-vous…

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Quatrième et dernière version, de 2019, mise en scène de Clément Hervieu-Léger (une moderne, pour changer)

Casting : Alceste - Loïc Corbery, Philinte - Eric Génovèse, Célimène - Adeline d’Hermy, Eliante - Jennifer Decker (mais j’ai aussi vu Claire de La Rue du Caën), Oronte - Serge Bagdassarian, Arsinoé - Florence Viala, Acaste - Christophe Montenez (mais j’ai aussi vu Clément Hervieu-Léger), Clitandre - Pierre Hancisse (mais j’ai aussi vu Birane Ba), Dubois - Gilles David (mais j’ai aussi vu Christian Gonon)

Comme d’hab je vous ai réservé ma version favorite pour la fin et…j’adore cette mise en scène. Depuis je fais totalement confiance à Hervieu-Léger en matière de direction artistique. Transposée dans un salon d’un appartement haussmannien en emménagement, la pièce reprend un peu de vigueur avec une mise en scène plus contemporaine. Des jeux de lumière, de musique de fond contribuent à l’ambiance et surtout rappellent que la pièce se déroule sur une journée. Mais ce sont d’abord les acteurs qui donnent un nouvel éclairage. C’est la seule fois jusqu’ici où j’ai vu la misanthropie d’Alceste traitée comme une véritable maladie, qui lui fait autant de mal qu’il en fait aux autres. C’est Loïc Corbery (pour moi, un des meilleurs acteurs de sa génération) qui porte cet Alceste blessé, à l’aura de chat mouillé, qui alterne périodes de calme ressentiment avec des explosions de colère stupéfiantes. Je compare avec la reprise de la pièce en 2023 (que j’ai vue hihihi), il a rendu son personnage plus calme par endroits, mais cela fait ressortir toute la violence de ses éclats. Philinte est campé par Eric Génovèse qui donne une douceur indicible à ce personnage ; qui garde cependant une bonne couche de rire devant Alceste et son ridicule, sans pour autant cesser d’agir comme un véritable ami (des petites attentions, l’aide à l’interaction sociale, sa présence presque constante auprès de lui, son inquiétude pour lui, la scène du câlin…LA SCÈNE DU CÂLIN PUTAIN), sans oublier la petite touche de misanthropie inhérente au personnage (et qui le rend complexe). Mention reprise 2023 : il est plus abrasif, plus triste peut-être, plus misanthrope, mais ça relève encore plus les moments de douceur. Célimène (Adeline d’Hermy je vous AIME) est si belle, si pleine de vie, et amoureuse en plus…Le duo qu’elle forme avec Corbery (bouleversants dans l’Acte III) permet de nous rappeler en nous mettant un gros coup de couteau dans le cœur que leur amour restera impossible. Eliante est choupinette outre commune mesure, Philinte sans déconner un jour je vais te piquer ta femme (ou eux deux ? vive la bisexualité). Serge Bagdassarian est un Oronte jouissif par l’interprétation typique et personnelle qu’il donne de ce personnage ; même chose pour Florence Viala en Arsinoé particulièrement âpre ; Acaste et Clitandre, peu importe les interprètes, sont parfaits et confinent aux petits-maîtres quelquefois (même si Hervieu-Léger en Acaste a été la plus pétasse to have ever pétassed). Si les moments de comédie sont là, on oublie surtout pas de nous rappeler que c’est aussi une tragédie, et la fin de la pièce est tellement douce amère…Enfin bref, je pourrais passer des heures à parler de cette mise en scène là, mais mon compte principal est un assez vibrant témoin de mon admiration pour celle-ci.

#j'aime cette pièce bordel #le misanthrope #molière

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txxfiles · 4 months

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an introduction and some books

hi hotties!

the idea for this blog came from the twisted fantasy of my three closest friends and i as a way of producing something collaborative and creative without submitting ourselves to the mortifying ordeal of being known. we all get a fun little code name (i'm ruminating on magnolia, which i like but also think is a bit wanky in a way that i can't reconcile myself with spiritually just yet) and a week of the month to post whatever we want. the idea was essentially to create a platform where we get to talk uninterrupted shit about anything we want to because it’s our fucking blog, goddamit, and you’re not going to come onto our blog and tell us how to post.

and so, to kick things off, i am going to be talking about my favourite books of 2023 because i am cultured and sophisticated and definitely didn’t spend the first half of the year drowning in fae romantasy smut in an attempt to feel something. if you don’t like any of these books don’t tell me because i simply don’t care!! xoxo

non-fiction favourite - the anthropocene reviewed, john green

i spent 2023 working very hard to reprogramme my misanthropic brain, and this book was a huge part of what allowed me to do that. i’m still by no means cured of my hater tendencies, but this book was a beautifully tender examination of that little spark of humanity that connects us all, and the numerous ways in which it has manifested throughout human history and across the borders of nationality, age, and gender. green somehow manages to weave in his own life experiences in a way that avoids being preachy or self-aggrandising in a way that i think a lot of non-fiction writers really struggle with - i’d also highly recommend consuming this in audiobook form as his narration really made the experience for me.

fantasy favourite - a court of silver flames, sarah j maas

if you read this and immediately want to start lecturing me on how booktok is ruining the fantasy genre please know that im manifesting your downfall as we speak. i have my own issues with the flattening of the fantasy genre that takes place on tiktok, but the acotar series is a sugary, pulpy delight and this spinoff novel is where, in my humble opinion, it really hits its peak. as you can probably tell just by reading this, i am what is affectionately known as ‘a prickly unfriendly bitch’ in my day-to-day life, and i love seeing characters who represent me in a way that doesn’t glamourise being an unkind person - and nesta in this book is someone whose tendency to push people away isn’t justified or apologised for, and whose growth i found legitimately inspiring. also i’m still waiting for sarah j maas to stop teasing a dp scene and actually write it, the coward.

sci-fi favourite - the arc of a scythe trilogy, neal schusterman

this trilogy rocked me to my fucking core, bitch. this was another audiobook read from early 2023 and it’s one of the better pieces of speculative fiction i’ve ever encountered. schusterman pulls off some really complicated and in-depth worldbuilding in a way that doesn’t feel like i’m reading an instruction manual - something that’s genuinely hard to do in this genre - and the series only gets better as it goes. as someone who is profoundly afraid of artificial intelligence this offered a perspective on ai that i’ve not really seen in media before now - and i will also be thinking about my pookie scythe lucifer for ever and ever amen.

lit fic favourite - all the names they used for god, anjali sachdeva

i’m actually not going to talk about this one too much because it’s quite a difficult book to explain without giving away too much - not in a spoiler sense, but in a 'this is an experience that you need to go into with an open mind' sense. this is a collection of short stories that play with genre, setting, and character to tell a series of profound stories about the human struggle with fate and the pursuit of meaning. sachdeva manages to build such engrossing and vibrant worlds in the limited space she allows herself for each story - and she avoided the pitfall i find that a lot of short story anthologies fall into where you can very clearly tell that the writer had one story they desperately wanted to publish and wrote the rest as a way of filling up space for a full book.

well, those are some of my 2023 faves. i have a million honourable mentions but i’m not going to put them here because i’ve already written way too much. i’m not sure who’s taking over the reins for week 2 of this little blog experiment but be sure to give them a kiss on the forehead from me!

yours,

magnolia

#magnolia

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ruki--mukami · 1 year

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You have a really big pride for the minor things you've done in your long life.

I mean, you haven't do nothing important, neither for yourself or your brothers. What have you done all this time? Killing people, hooking up with women and despising humanity? You're kinda pathetic, hope you know!

"What a pitiful argument you've presented me with, Livestock. I don't know what is more sad: lecturing a Vampire on human morals, or taking the time out of your day to tell this to someone you supposedly deem insignificant. If I haven't done anything of importance to you, then you're the fool for wasting your breath on this conversation. I can hear an underlying message in your woeful drivel—you long for meaning and purpose that you will never attain compared to me, who has endured so much and led my family to the path of glory in our second lives. All those people I killed...? They deserved it. The women I entangle with? It's for the sake of slaking my thirst as a Vampire and nothing more. If you take a look around you, you will see that many share my misanthropic view; it's hardly pathetic. If anything, it is pathetic that a human like you would have the audacity to complain. So, stop whining and get lost before you're next, either as my next prey or the next person I rain carnage upon."

#diabolik lovers #ruki mukami #mukami ruki #ask #react #diabolik lovers rp

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odysseus-thecunning · 1 year

Text

{ RISH SHAH, 22, AGENDER, THEY/THEM } Is that ODYSSEUS “ODIE” REZA? A SENIOR originally from BROOKLYN, NEW YORK, they decided to come to Ogden College to study ASTROPHYSICS on a FINANCIAL SCHOLARSHIP. They’re THE SLACKER on campus, but even they could get blamed for Greer’s disappearance.

INSPO | PLAYLIST (WIP)

the basics

name: odysseus “odie” artharvaa reza age: twenty-two birthday & zodiac: october 11th. libra sun, scorpio moon, aquarius rising. virgo mercury, leo mars, sagittarius venus. gender: agender sexuality: bisexual positive traits: witty, debonair, honorable negative traits: jaded, antagonistic, sardonic

the surface

faceclaim: rish shah. height: 6′0 ft. weight: 170 lbs. eye color: umber brown. hair: coarse, naturally dark colored and cool-toned, clipped short. semi regularly bleaches and dyes hair different colors, mostly blues, greens, and purples. style: sleek, cozy, slouchy and simple. baggy, vintage tees and loose trousers. black and khaki cargo, flannel, and chunky sweatshirts. definitely thrifts most of their ensemble pieces, so lotsa timeless looks. wardrobe lacks a severe amount of colors; browns, 69 shades of grey, earthy greens, and black, black, black. can be described as some hybrid of soft punk, skater, & goblincore. distinguishing features: dark, alluring eyes. gloomy aura. prominent jaw & a cute lil forehead freckle occupation: line cook at a local diner. intern at a software company. status: single, broke, & fabulous. trope: THE SLACKER

When did Odysseus’ days as a child prodigy end? Instead, falling short of every single expectation their intellect bore from their youth. Partially thanks to the excessive drug use at an early age and what was likely undiagnosed ADHD, Odie struggled in school since their pre-teens. School was boring, and the teachers were too busy catering to the dumbest kid in class to notice the link between Odie’s fulfillment and their behavioral problems.

The schoolwork didn’t interest them, and despite the many lectures given to Odysseus about the importance of work ethic, the lessons never stuck. Though, their learning didn’t stop. They catered to their own niche interests outside of school, spending hours at the public library teaching themself computer language. Despite their insistence to avoid schoolwork, they aced every exam and kept up (or often lead) academic discourse about the subject.

Adults recognized this potential, yet no one possessed the patience to truly tap in to it. Instead, Odysseus was dismissed as a basket case, a know-it-all troublemaker with a chip on their shoulder against authority. Not only were they infamous for unfinished work, but Odie was labelled a disturbance for their classes.

This bred a resentment toward education, which in turn fostered their procrastination and lack of effort. Nothing could convince Odysseus completing a redundant study guide was anything but an absurd waste of time.

College, thus far, has been somewhat of a success story for them, largely in part to Odie being in control of their own curriculum. Odie never intended to go to college, yet their beloved high school physics teachers paid for the application fees himself and insisted they apply to a few schools in the area.

To this day, they are a frustrating, talkative, unfocused student, yet their contributions are often applauded for their depth. Odysseus is constantly hounded by their friends and family for not applying themself, yet they prefer to think their priorities are just greatly misunderstood.

SECONDARY TROPES: badass bookworm, asshole victim, meaningful name, black sheep, antagonistic offspring, anti-hero, don’t you dare pity me, lovable rogue, sore loser, society is to blame, deadpan snarker, intentional heartbreaker, misanthrope supreme, child prodigy, anarchy is chaos

the depths

personality: arrogant, dogmatic, apathetic, forthright, cynical, protective, cruel, articulate, lazy, cerebral, impatient, adventurous, shortsighted, perceptive, resentful, clever, aloof, noncommittal, vindictive, sullen, opinionated, temperamental, gallant (in that sleazy aquarius sorta way), reserved, skeptical, proud, disobedient, unforgiving mbti: estp. the entrepreneur. extraverted. sensing. thinking. perceiving. alignment: chaotic neutral hogwarts house: slytherin hobbies: watching anime, skateboarding, reading, graffiti art, coding, video gaming, running. history:

The second child of the long-married Artharvaa and Ghanavi Reza, Odysseus inherited the same responsibilities and expectations of their older sister without any of the tools to achieve them. They were a moody child, often reprimanded for talking back and blatantly refusing to bend to their parents’ commands. Causing an upset became their norm, the only real validation they received from their parents in the form of long-winded speeches and cruelties posed as punishments.

Odie felt comfortable in the role of the black sheep, seeing firsthand how their parents’ expectations crushed the souls of their siblings. They were determined not to end up a carbon copy of their parents, despite how desperately their father clung to the idea. Yet, their bright intellect caught the attention of several teachers who pushed the hopes of Odie’s eventual success onto their parents, much to their dismay. They have potential, their teachers would preach, you just need to learn to nurture it.

Neither parent had a nurturing bone in their body, instilled with tough love and having raised their kids under the same conditions. Their toughness failed to motivate Odie, instead forcing them to harden and detach lest they crack from the pressure. So what if they were smart if they were just as lazy? They couldn’t be expected for greatness if they didn’t try. It became their unspoken rule of sorts; you couldn’t fail at anything if you never really started it to begin with.

Much of Odysseus’ adolescence was spent in solitude, the tall brunette declining every opportunity to involve themself in anything. Besides a good book. Odie spent more of their time hidden in the aisles of the public library prodding and surfing than they did with kids their own age, but this was a blessing if anything. People were complex, and they tended to lie. They didn’t see the point in entertaining meaningless connection, just as they didn’t see the point in building up a future for themself that was never gonna happen.

People born into a family like theirs never truly had a chance to begin with. It was a simple fact of life Odysseus accepted in middle school, a decision made of self-preservation. They hated the world for making it seem otherwise, and they hated the fools who bought into it even more. More than that, they hated their father, who was a strict devotee to the “American Dream” and the individualistic notion of picking up his own bootstraps by sacrificing everything and putting in the gruesome work.

Marcus was a street rat, just like Odie. He was smart too and just as troublesome. The two instantly clicked, and the rebellious boy was the first person Odie felt had the slightest inclination of how they felt. They were inseparable after their first few hangouts, which consisted of hours of endless rambling about the state of the world and the latest Rick Riordan novel they finished.

Marcus’ home life was complicated. He didn’t like to talk about it much with Odie, but from what they gathered his mother was a hard drug user, often times slumped over in the recliner in Marcus’ living room on their frequent house visits. It was almost a blessing in disguise for Odie, as the two could smoke carelessly in Marcus’ room and come in and out whenever they pleased.

He was only a year older than Odie, though it felt like a decade to them sometimes. Marcus was full of potent rage, though it was something Odie never saw unless provoked. Or if Marcus had a bit too much to drink. He could be so wise, which didn’t align with the reckless, boyish behavior Odie was used to. And somehow, Marcus always had enough money for both of their subway fares. When they would tell him they couldn’t afford to go out to eat after school, Marcus tisked and paid anyway.

In passing, Odysseus wondered how a kid like Marcus always managed to have a few bucks on him, but they hadn’t realized the extent their friend went to guarantee they could eat well. Until a friend of Marcus’ pulled up to his house and he demanded Odie stay in the room and keep quiet. They went back and forth in the living room, until his friend demanded Marcus ride along with him and the boy reluctantly agreed.

They were only gone an hour, if that. Marcus popping up again with his hair in a mess with no words of explanation for Odie, though they’d pieced together the semi-private meetings and his severe distrust of strangers. They kept silent, knowing any words of discouragement wouldn’t sway Marcus and may very well disrupt their space free of judgement. Marcus knew what he was doing, and who was Odie to tell him his methods were wrong?

(tw: violence) As the two grew together, Odie watched as Marcus fell deeper into the scene, his crew and duties practically engulfed his life by the time Odie turned fifteen. On the second week of summer following Odie’s freshman year of high school, they were jumped on their way home from a mutual friend’s house. It should have been a typical beating, retaliation for whatever profits Marcus and his crew swept from under their feet, but Marcus refused to stop fighting and the boys refused to relent.

(tw: murder, graphic injury, blood) With their face shoved in gravel and their arm pinned painfully to their back, Odie pleaded for Marcus to stop and stay down. Their eyes stung with tears and blood as they watched the stubborn boy endure strike after strike, still aimlessly swinging his arms and legs against the assailants. It felt like an eternity, watching the life slowly drain from their friend before he collapsed to the ground beside Odie, pale, bloodied, and out of breath. Only then did they release Odie, running into the black of the night and leaving the dying boy in the arms of his best friend.

Every bone in his face was broken, smashed out of place to the point of almost being unrecognizable. Odie sat beside him limply, cursing at Marcus, telling him what a fucking idiot he was, trying to figure out how to pick him up and get him back to his room without hurting him. It was only a few blocks. If Odie could just pick him up. He would be fine.

He didn’t make it past the end of the street, a broken rib jutted into his lung preventing life from finding him again. Odysseus trekked the path to Marcus’, collapsing in his front yard upon realizing they’d lost him. Odie yelled for Marcus’ mother, yelled for anyone to help them.

When his mother came out to her porch to see Odie holding her son, she became hysterical and charged at them, spewing accusations and beating on their chest. Odie didn’t flinch away from her anger, instead embracing every hit until one of the neighbors intervened and pulled them away. Why? They couldn’t say. Odie deserved to die right beside him.

The police released them of any suspicion despite their refusal to answer any questions, seeing Odie for what they were; a traumatized kid lost in a pit of darkness. Their mother was hysterical upon their release, giving one firm slap across Odie’s face for their apparent involvement in gang activity (they didn’t even try to argue) before sobbing and openly embracing them.

It was a rough few months following Marcus’ death. Their parents had them on lockdown, claiming it was for their safety but Odie recognized it as the consequence to their years of lying. Marcus’ mother never spoke to Odie again, except to let them know they were not to come to the funeral. And they didn’t. They mourned their best friend silently for years, though in all this time they never managed to accept they weren’t accountable for what happened to Marcus.

Graduating high school with a barely acceptable GPA, Odie had every intention of working their family’s bodega for the rest of their life or until it went out of business. By the grace of their favorite physics teacher, an application for Ogden’s financial scholarship (and a lengthy recommendation letter and explanation of Odie’s tremendously poor grades) was submitted on their behalf. Their teacher urged them to go and finish a degree, lest they allow the hard-earned money he spent on their application fees to go to waste.

So, Odysseus went to Ogden and has a relatively unimpressive track record at the school. Not much is known about the laidback STEM major, Odie much prefers to keep to their inner circle and is proud of their status under the radar. Yet as things grow more tense on campus, Odie seems to thrive amongst the chaos of the other students.

the connections

relationship to greer: ex-fling.

Much like it is at Ogden, everyone knew and aspired to be by Greer’s side. She was the spawn of two incumbents of old money empires, and the pinnacle of white privilege Odysseus learned to despise from a young age. They should have resented her, and by all accounts they couldn’t care less about the gossip and rumors constantly surrounding the Golden Girl.

They weren’t friends. They’d barely spoken all throughout high school, despite attending the same institution and their family’s bodega being a routinely, afternoon stop for her group of friends. Odie was civil, if not a bit indifferent whenever she came around.

One of the only parties Odie attended in high school was at the behest of their close friend, at the residence of one of Greer’s many minions. They couldn’t recall where the night went, but eventually they were stuck on the empty patio of the affluent house, with their ride battling alcohol poisoning in the bathroom.

Eventually, Greer stumbled upon Odysseus hiding out in the cold rather than waiting inside with the remaining stragglers. She sat down beside them and asked to hit the spliff in their hands. The words of a pretty face were always so much more convincing, and Odie found themself not hating the company of the girl they’d often sneer at in school.

They sat beside each other until the sun rose, bantering and flirting and debating the purpose of existence. She was easy to admire, and she shattered Odie’s cynicism against her with ease. They were so wrapped in Greer’s world, they failed to notice when their friend finally emerged from the bathroom and left assuming Odysseus had long since returned home.

In the safety of the daylight, a sleep-deprived Greer offered to walk Odie to the station. It felt surreal, being filled with elation in the presence of the most popular girl in town. They gave their goodbyes, but not before Odie leaned down and planted a longing kiss on the Golden Girl’s lips. They stepped on the train, leaving with a heart full of hope and a pretty girl’s phone number.

The next few days, Odysseus watched the clock in anticipation to see Greer walk through the doors of the bodega. When she did, she paid them little mind while she laughed and chatted with her other friends. They gave her a friendly smile upon checkout, one that was returned with a half-hearted laugh and a grimace.

They understood instantly what role they would play for her. A comfort in the night, a heartfelt conversation, warmth by her bedside. Yet, they would never be something Greer could love with pride. They were her shameful secret, a guilty pleasure she couldn’t help but feel magnetized too.

The next several months, Odie played the role exceptionally well. The two would sneak around, wreaking havoc in the night and sending gushy texts throughout the day. Odysseus didn’t complain for the most part, until it became increasingly apparent how serious Greer’s relationship grew with the Big Man.

When they expressed qualms about being a consolation prize, Greer caved and promised the start of her college years would be the beginning to bringing their relationship to the public eye.

Having Greer was never about placing a claim on her, but rather Odie couldn’t fathom her closeness if it was not motivated by their love. They swept much under the rug for the belief she felt the same for them, yet it was becoming increasingly clear they were just as meaningless as the rest of her superficial relationships.

When Greer started at Ogden, she quickly fell back on her promises to Odysseus. “Just another semester,” she urged, yet the end of the semester brought about nothing but the clarity Greer would never be willing to change for them.

Odie broke off their mostly-concealed fling shortly after the first semester of Greer’s freshman year. Since then, any trace of their history together has been wiped clean off Odie’s slate.

friends: tbd enemies: tbd romantic interests: tbd wanted connections: flings flings flings, nepo babies for them to hate<3, alt gang!!!, hate fuck, complicated fwb, casual enemy or two, academic foil (rlly smart/dumb kid who tries super hard), close friends, smoking circle, past situationships, one (1) best friend LMFAOOOO, someone to incessantly argue with, conversationalist, the calm of their storm

the education

school year: senior major: astrophysics extracurriculars: robotics club, chess club, track & field (sprints), boxing club.

#ogdenintro #tw death #tw murder #tw abuse #tw violence #tw depression #tw drugs

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