Bc when i scroll thru tumblr i see all these pics of boys w no expression or emotion in their faces which is seen as more desirable and im like noO let them smile, let them be nervous, let them have a laugh, let them be angry, heck let them cry too

Back to Hogwarts Phandom Meetup ⚡️⚡️⚡️

Hey everyone!!! I know it’s last second but I haven’t seen anyone planning this so I decided to!

Who can participate:
Anyone in the phandom who loves Harry Potter!!

12 AM EST on September 1st for 24 hours!

#back to Hogwarts and #hpphandom and ofc the normal #phandom meetup

I can’t wait!!! See you all soon!! ⚡️⚡️

the quiet things

kyohei rikudoh x mc (misaki kasagi)

Something felt undeniably wrong.

Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, it looked as though nothing had changed; but the sheets beside him were cold. Little Yamada let out a whine and refused to go on that side of the bed, as if it belonged to someone. As if he was waiting.

Losing ten month’s worth of memories was frustrating, to say the least. A tight knot, somewhere between anxiety and irritation, forms in his chest. He balls his fists in the sheets, glaring at the ceiling as if the white paint hid the answers he desperately desired.

There was music he didn’t remember releasing, songs he had no clue existed. The last thing he clearly remembered was recruiting Misaki Kasagi.

According to Takashi, who had sat down with him to explain things, Kyohei had fallen in love with her. Kyo could believe it—while she wasn’t his usual type, there was something charming about her dedication and her eyes. But then Takashi’s story took a wild turn, with Shinya and Misaki and her running away.

In the back of his mind was a hazy image. He focused in on it—he was kissing her, and she was lying on his bed. He remembered wanting her so badly, and wondering if she thought he treated every girl like this—she froze when he kissed her collarbone, and whatever desire he had had felt like a block of ice in his chest. He didn’t want her like this—he wanted her as his.

His throat went dry. He could see her sleeping beside him in the sheets that were left empty. He remembered waking up in the morning and finding her gone—and all there was was emptiness.

The emptiness pressed down on him as he stared up at the ceiling.

Little Yamada glanced up at him, and Kyo sighed as he stroked his dog’s head.

“What happened, boy?” He asked, softly—but there was no answer. There never was.

Kyo stared at the ceiling until he fell asleep.

In the morning he went downstairs, dressed in his workout gear, and was surprised to find someone already awake.

Little Yamada scampered down the stairs ahead of him, straight to the kitchen. He heard Misaki cooing and stepped off the stairs to see her scratching Little Yamada, in his favorite spot behind his left ear. The copper of her eyes glinted in the harsh kitchen lighting, and she froze as her gaze landed on him. Little Yamada whined in protest, and her movements were robotic at best.

Kyo remembered what he had half-remembered last night, and the thought of his lips on her skin made him flush hot beneath his hoodie. He continued, however, to merely stare.

“Morning,” she replied, belatedly. “There are water bottles in the fridge.” Something felt disconnected about her speech, like she was just going through the motions. Like this was scripted.

Kyo wondered if she had braced herself for this specific moment, and if it was too late to somehow apologize. He wasn’t sure what for—maybe just for the fact that he had broken her heart.

Misaki turned back to her coffee, but Kyo couldn’t bring himself to leave. There was something he ought to say, and he knew it, but no words seemed sufficient. A growing lump in his throat made him realize that it was now or never; he panicked.

“Misaki,” he said, and she turned.

“Yeah?” The smile on her face was polite but faint; pressed flowers in a book that hadn’t been opened in a long, long time, faded and brittle.

“What was it like when we were together? Were you happy?” Her expression spoke of a heavy-dealt blow, and she leaned against the counter, smile fading from the corners of her lips. Kyohei itched to move, settling for opening and closing his fists at his sides.

“Yes. And I think you were, too. Your sister wanted us to get married.” She ran her hands up and down her arms as if she was cold. Kyo raised his eyebrows.

“You met my family?” A solitary, rapid nod.

“Your sister is beautiful. I talked to her last night, actually,” she laughed, soft. He could almost see the eggshells she was treading on around him, almost hear them cracking with her every movement.

“You two are close,” he mused, but she only offered a noncommittal shrug.

“She wanted to check in on me.” Her posture made him wonder if she was going to cry. At the thought of it, his heart constricted painfully. She had cried in front of him before, hadn’t she?

“You left once, didn’t you?” He changed the subject quickly, head starting to spin.

“I did.” His eyes skimmed across the floor, and he nodded.

“I remembered that last night.” He didn’t say anything about kissing her, about the tight knots in his chest and lumps in his throat and the feeling that he had loved her, once.

“Whatever we had must’ve been good,” Kyo said, instead. “If my sister wanted me to marry you.” He managed something like a smile, and Misaki did the same. Her weight shifted from one foot to the other, and she bit her lip before she spoke, still not looking at him.

“I was nervous about meeting her, but you said she would love me because you loved me. And you were right,” she said. It sounded familiar, but like a story he’d heard—not something he’d done.

Misaki’s eyes darted up to his, nostalgia in the curve of her smile. All he could do was stare as he tried to piece something together;  a jigsaw of a peace treaty, some rough outline of a future that he was sure had once been immaculately planned, anything to keep her from looking so stiff and to keep him from choking on the lumps in his throat.

“Can we start over?” Her smile, her posture, dropped, and she stared at him like he had sprouted wings.


“I want to know you again. I feel like something’s missing.” Maybe it was too soon, he thought, panicked—she looked as if she was about to cry, and that wasn’t the reaction he was hoping for.

“Okay,” she said, slowly. Then, a little louder, “If that’s what you want, okay. I can do that.” Her voice rang clear, and Kyo felt some resurgence of affection towards her. He couldn’t deny that she loved him—not when she looked at him like that.

“Thanks,” he said, and for the first time in days it felt like they were smiling genuinely at each other. Overcome by a sudden urge to kiss her, or hold her—an alien notion that somehow seemed like it would be immensely comforting—he settled instead for placing a hand on her shoulder. Misaki didn’t start or jump away like the girl of his (stunted) memories; she smiled up at him and blinked for a moment too long, as if savoring the interaction. Kyo found he didn’t want to let go, but it was Misaki who stepped away.

“Water’s in the fridge,” she repeated, as if turning back the clock. Her expression was closed, her eyes and smile sad. The knotted feeling twisted up his heart again, turning it to a stone sinking down into his stomach; he reached for her arm like a reflex, desperate for something, anything but what they had been a moment ago; but the cold professionalism she had shown him.

The desperation translated to unintentional roughness, and she was pressed against his chest. She sank her teeth into her lower lip and looked up as if she wanted to kiss him, and then squeezed her eyes tightly shut, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt.

“Don’t,” she whispered, head bowed. She trembled; her voice and her hands and her shoulders all shook against him.

“I—I can’t, not now that—” Whatever tears she had been holding suddenly began to pour down her face, and, lacking any better idea, he pulled her against his chest. Her tears were warm through his shirt, and she buried her face against his shoulder, fitting as if being held by him was a practiced action. He settled his chin on top of her head, a lump forming fast in the middle of his throat.

“I’ll fix this,” he said, and whether he meant him or them or her tears, he wasn’t sure—but he meant it. He felt the conviction like fire in his veins and lungs.

Kyohei Rikudoh did not break promises, and he didn’t plan to start now; he instead held her tighter, his resolve growing with each sob that trembled down her spine.


haikyuu!! yearbook superlatives [part 2] | based off this post 


⋆ sensory asks ⋆


1. favourite colour(s)?
2. least favourite colour(s)?
3. do you wear glasses/contacts?
4. are you colour blind?
5. what are you seeing right now?


6. favourite band(s) or artist(s)?
7. top five songs?
8. favourite instrumental track(s)?
9. favourite non-musical sound?
10. what are you hearing right now?


11. are you very sensitive to smell?
12. favourite scent?
13. opinion on the smell of blown-out candles?
14. what does your shampoo smell like?
15. do you like to wear perfume/cologne?


16. favourite fruit?
17. favourite non-alcoholic drink?
18. worst thing you’ve ever tasted?
19. do you enjoy any unusual food combinations that others find unappealing?
20. what flavour gum do you usually chew?

T O U C H 

21. do you often rip/cut the tags off of your clothes?
22. any specific textures that bother you?
23. do you have a high pain tolerance?
24. softest article of clothing that you (have) own(ed)?
25. are you a good hugger?


26. do you ever feel like you have a sixth sense? in what way(s)?
27. any prophetic dreams?
28. have you ever had your fortune told? (did it prove to be accurate?)
29. has anyone “read your mind” before?
30. have you witnessed any “miracles” or strange coincidences?