I remember the days of self-hatred. I remember the moments where I told my mother how much I hated who I was. I remember the people who helped push me down. Little did they know that they pushed me down just for me to jump up twice as high. So thank you to my bullies. Thank you to those white twins from back in the day. That light skinned boy from elementary. Mr. Leblanc for telling me I wasn’t going to amount to anything in just the sixth grade. That girl from high school that asked me dumb questions about my skin as if I was an abnormal animal. My old teachers that always had something to say about my hair. And to modern society, for creating the root of self hatred for millions of little dark skinned black girls with kinky hair like mine. I am so grateful for you all. For if it wasn’t for your wall of hatred, I wouldn’t know how to break through walls today.
(AH, that’s so nice of you!! I’m so flattered *blushing* Don’t worry about it, and yes, I do appreciate specific requests :) No need to be sorry! I hope you enjoy these hcs).
- When someone (I can picture Uraraka saying it) points out Shouto’s
attentiveness toward his crush in the dekusquad, he feels really
- Processes the information slowly, trying to see if what they said is true
- “Huh? I only act this way because crush/name is my friend…don’t I
usually act like this…?” *realizes that he doesn’t* *even more confused*
- From then on, when he interacts with his shy crush, he keeps that in mind
- Slowly realizes that he’s more tender and loving towards her
- Realizes how in love he is with her quiet nature, her laugh, her compassion, and her eyessss…
- Has a crisis…he actually is in love with someone??? Help???
- With this new realization, he’s still quite caring and considerate towards her
- Never fails to be there for her
- Even more so ready to calm her down or use his Quirk as an aid
- But, he also is hyper-aware of the fact that he might just love her, so he sometimes gets flustered
- Probably accidentally intensely staring at her
- Is caught staring at her multiple times
- Everytime she laughs or smiles, he does his best not to blush, and he
looks away (a part of him revives when she’s happy)
One time, when he was helping her with his Quirk, he accidentally used
too much heat because he was so flustered and wasn’t paying attention
(he was, however, paying attention to her pretty eyes…he really likes
her eyes :) )
- Lots of people are figuring out that Shouto likes her, and really the only one who doesn’t know is his crush
Shouto wants to become closer to her, but he knows that she had a rough
past. He doesn’t want to break the relationship they have now or press
trust issues she might have.
- Hesitantly, he might reach
out to touch her hair or shoulder when she’s feeling down, but he always
retracts his arm away. He’s afraid of being rejected.
Despite this, they really benefit from interacting with one another. The
two have higher confidence levels and are both creeping out of their
- Everyone basically thinks they’re low-key dating, except for the love birds themselves!
- The rest of the dekusquad is dropping subtle not so subtle hints
that Shouto and his crush should really go out together, but Shouto
doesn’t understand what they’re getting at, and his crush is too
embarrassed and shy to initiate.
whispers semi-passive-aggressively into the guzma tag……
all you artists are all great and talented and i appreciate all your contributions and i usually always reblog them but are some of you (or tbh? half of you) not aware ya boi is not actually pasty white?? bc no he is not. he is at least half native alolan :^) pls see his mother and official artwork
Summary: Dan’s an asshole and Phil tries to convince himself Dan isn’t one.
Genre: Angst, fluff, smut
Warnings: lil mention of homophobia if u squint, some sexy times too
Word count: 8k
A/N: i started this fic back in june and i can’t believe i finally got around to finishing it dsjfd this is the longest i’ve written and it’s nothing great but pls appreciate it all the same sobs ;; i also tried going for a laidback style of writing but i realized it wasn’t me so i had to start all over again lmao. ok bye enjoy i guess? <3
@fuxkbaz and I were freaking out over Baz writing poetry about Simon, and then they asked me to write the scenario we came up with so-
I tried. It’s rushed and the endings a bit clumsy but here it is.
Simon can’t take it anymore. He absolutely cannot.
Not one more moment of not knowing where Baz has been these past few months, of what he’s doing, of how he’s doing –
No. Enough is enough.
Simon rolls over on his bed and glares at Baz’s, where it is folded and neat and empty. Completely offensive, in every way. Completely devoid of his arch nemesis.
Simon leaps to his feet and starts going through Baz’s drawers.
Really, he thinks to himself, this is all Baz’s fault. If he could just tell the truth for once, or turn up on time for the start of the school year, or stop avoiding Simon – well, -
Well. Simon wouldn’t have to resort to such desperate measures, would he?
I just want some bloody clues, thinks the curly-haired boy as he drops to his knees and starts rummaging with his hands under the bed. I just want some bloody answers.
Simon stands up, glances at the door nervously for a second, and then starts rummaging through the bedding. He finds a mint aero in the pillowcase – that bastard – but apart from that Baz has kept his living area as clean and impersonal as a hotel room.
A hotel room that smells like bergamot and cedar.
Simon must be more desperate than he thought – he’s frantic now, well worked up – Penny would be reciting breathing techniques authoritively right now if she could see him – because he goes so far as to flip over the mattress, scanning the frame desperately.
Then he freezes.
Breath catching in his throat, and feeling oddly giggly, Simon reaches one hand down and picks up the bound leather journal. It doesn’t look like Baz’s other things – the pages are obviously the victim of furious scrawling from the way they stick out from underneath the cover. Simon sets the mattress back down and sits on it, bouncing his knees as he opens it to the first page.
Property of Basilton Pitch
He turns to the next page, leaning in to read what it says. He’s not quite sure what he is expecting – plots for his demise? Study methods? The most efficient ways to vampire? But he frowns. And then his brows shoot right back up.
Basilton Pitch writes poetry.
Well. This is…an interesting development.
Baz would kill him if he found out, but since Simon is pretty sure Baz wants to kill him anyway, he’s not too worried. And besides, this is just too good.
The common theme seems to self-loathing, and melancholic expressions of cynicism. Simon hadn’t realised Baz felt that way. (The self-loathing bit, not the cynical bit.) (He’s not totally clueless, thank you very much.)
And although Simon is loath to admit it, Baz is good. Like, really good. Like, nose-touching-the-paper good.
His language, though somewhat pretentious and melodramatic, comes alive in the room, in the space between Simon and splattered ink, coiling its way around Simon’s over-active imagination. He swallows, eagerly flipping through abused pages.
And then he sees his name.
His heart literally stops. Like, genuinely refuses to pound for two whole seconds. His blood throbs behind his eyes.
Because along with his name, this one also includes phrases like “golden” and “salt water blue” and “drowning” and “skin” and –
Unable to think, Simon’s eyes scan over the rest of the page. It’s all about him. It’s all about him.
Set out in stanzas. Broken off into paragraphs. Dripping as prose, like water from an icicle, down the margins into clearly-hurried scrawls that barely resemble Baz’s usual elegant typography.
That barely resemble Baz’s usual anything.
There are more phrases too. Stuff like “eyelashes” and “roses” and “hunger” and “ache” and “moles”.
Is Simon’s heart breaking? Something is breaking. Something is clambering up the back of his throat. Maybe he should scream. Scream and shout.
The door bangs open and he almost does.
Baz looks up at Simon, one hand on the doorknob, and frowns, before his gaze flickers down to the book.
For two merciful moments, he is just frozen, all the colour drained from his face.
And then he loses his shit.
“THOSE WHO PLAY WITH FIRE GET THEIR FINGERS BURNT.” He literally screams, pointing at the journal with his wand, and it bursts into flames. Simon yelps, dropping the book, and then hastily wrapping it in the duvet trying to extinguish the pages. Because the pages are important. Because – holy hell-
“WHAT THE FUCK BAZ,” Simon screams back, patting down on the book and trying to block Baz’s access to it, as he is currently trying to reach it with the sort of desperation Simon hasn’t seen since the chimera incident, presumably to make another attempt at its life.
“GET THE FUCK OUT MY WAY SNOW.” He grabs Simon by the waist, pulling him back, and Simon twists in his grip to push at him, so that they both fall with a crash to the floor, Baz hitting his head and letting out a string of blush-worthy curses, and Snow landing on top of him.
They both take pause, freezing as they gazes meet, and then Baz’s face twists in distress and he shoves Simon off him.
“Wait!” Simon shouts, just as Baz is reaching for the now extinguished book. “I didn’t read anything – I didn’t read anything bad!”
Baz freezes again, and then turns his head, staring at a point past Simon.
“What?” he says.
“I- I didn’t read anything. Bad. I mean, I don’t know what was there but-”
“What did you read?”
Baz’s voice is drawn tighter than a violin string. He looks as if he’s about to fracture into a million pieces.
“I, um, just some stuff about, you know,” Simon gestures vaguely. “The futility of life and all that. How much you hate being…” He swallows, and look pointedly towards him. “You.”
His voice is still tight.
“Nothing else.” Simon confirms.
The tension in his back loosens ever so slightly, and without a word he stands up, brushes off his trousers, and reaches for the slightly crisp remains of his journal. And then he leaves, still not meeting the other boy’s eyes, and shuts the door behind him with a click.
A week later, Simon finds himself staring at the pale-skinned boy from across the gap between their beds. Shadows fall across them both.
The night after the poetry incident had occurred, Baz had returned at four in the morning, and hadn’t said a word. But it seems Simon’s carefully unaltered actions had convinced him of his maintained ignorance over the course of the next day, because they had returned back to their mutual insults and digs at each other as if nothing had happened.
But something had happened.
Simon clenches his fists and tries to calm his pulse. His mouth forms the name:
His entire torso is shaking. Is that healthy? It can’t be healthy.
“Fuck off, Snow.”
The room returns to silence, but Simon can’t bear it. He takes a deep breath, preparing himself. And then –
“Does my hair really shine like spun gold?”
Baz is sitting up in an instant, his expression the facial equivalent of a car crash. He chokes.
“You fucking bitch, I can’t believe you-” His voice all tangles up, and he lets out what sounds horribly like a strangled sob. He jumps to his feet – whether to murder Simon or launch himself out the window Simon will never know, because he rushes forward and pulls the dark-haired boy into him, and mushes his mouth against his own.
No, I’m not the girl that’s going to break your heart with my beauty. I’m not the type of person to go get hammered every night while partying with ‘friends’, because that’s not my idea of fun. I’m not going to make you crave my touch or be unable to breathe without our skin on each other. But I promise you I will always reply to your texts. I’ll pick you up from that party at 2 am because you care about me enough to ask for a ride rather than risk your life and drive. I’ll be in my sweats, glasses and messy bun on Sunday mornings, and you’re always welcome for chocolate chip pancakes. I’m not going to wear makeup to impress you, or short shorts to make your lungs race. I’m the type of girl who would rather watch movies than go out on fancy dates. I’ll be by your side from everything from your goldfish dying to missing your mom when you leave for college. My mind will always wander to you, and how you treat me. I hope you treat me right. I deserve that. I’ll write poems about you that I never show you, because they’re my most personal thoughts. Know you are always welcome to read them; they’re everything I think of you. So, I won’t be the girl that breaks your heart or stops your breath. But I promise I will love you with every bone in my body and every breath I breathe. I hope you promise, too. I’m worth that much.
the right one will love you anyway, no matter what (TRM)
The children would play “Superhero” every day. the had a supergirl, a superman, a bat man… and a dark-skinned boy from India as their Captain America. They played and smiled and nobody told him he couldn’t be his favourite super hero. It made me happy.