well, with that last aizawa one-shot marks the end of this blog– of badlywritten-hq, cadekagi, and lnarizakis. it’s been fun, everyone! i really made many, many friends. but… with every beginning comes an end, and i must say that i’m leaving this blog.
however! i’m starting a new blog (it is a sideblog of this same account), so if you would like the url of the new blog, please dm me.
hii i was reading your rules and i wanna know what you mean by "ghost reader" 😀 i'm a bit confused here
hello! thanks for still reading my works even though this blog is completely dead TT but a ghost reader is someone who only reads the post and does not interact with it at all (they don’t like or reblog the post)
━━━━orphic. (adj.)
mysterious and entrancing; beyond ordinary understanding
with aizawa shota.
in 0.5k words.
tags the new teacher entrances him, fluff.
To say that you were the talk of the town—that being the school you were now hired to work at— was no exaggeration.
“Ah, so (Y/N)’s your teacher now? Lucky…!” was the common phrase spoken among students, and your name floated between conversations, laughs, and whispers. People adored you—they loved you—for your bright smile, the stars in your eyes, and the way your laugh fills the room with music. To most, you were a sort of idol in the eyes of boys and girls alike.
However, there was one particular teacher that didn’t exactly hold a soft spot for you.
⟳description: christmas parties with your ex aren’t as romantic as hallmark makes it seem.
⥅Hiraeth: deep longing for something, especially one’s home or a homesickness for a home in which you can not return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, and the grief for the lost places of your past
Christmas movies have been a trademark for the holiday for years with the common themes: the joy of giving, white winters, and love are found in unlikely places. And yet, all it seemed to teach you was high expectations for scrouges and romance.
It’s never this awkward in the hallmark movies. It’s anything but romantic and cheesy when you’re trying to avoid your ex. Then again, the guy never seemed to be painfully, socially constipated in them. Always very professional, loaded, and seemingly beyond the standards even if he’s average looking. Your ex, on the other hand, is a brooding volleyball player with an accidental sense of pride.
And yet, your mother, of all people, invited him and his family over for a small Christmas get together like this was every other year…
“Mom, why-” you start, turning around smoothly to follow your mother into the living room, both hands occupying a cup of hot chocolates while she trails out of the kitchen with a platter of snowman and tree-shaped cookies, “-did you invite them? We broke up last year and he has obviously-”
“Watch yourself, dear.”
You duck away from the garland around and above the doorway, narrowly avoiding the sharp cranberry leaves with your arms.
“I know you two broke up, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be friends, does it?”
She stares you down before smiling again with a practiced gaze and enters the living room where the rest of the two families are sitting around. On the sofas and scattered around the floor and walls are friends of your family. The chatter is lively and the people even more so, dressed to the nines in ugly Christmas sweaters and tacky jewelry. It’s more forgiving with the excess amount of LED lights coming from decorations compared to the normally harsh lighting that would wash anyone out in bright reds and greens.
Once everyone settles around in a circle, the gift exchanges begin for a secret Santa game. Most of the presents are gag gifts of stupid card games to socks, one or two people getting perfume or lotions. You get stuck with a bar of soap carved out to look like some musician you had never heard of until tonight. The laughter has died down now, and the calm of winter floods into your humble home before your mother claps her hands together with a content sigh. Her eyes seem to light up when she looks across the room to her best friend, a sly look that gleams in them when she says, “How about some food?”
As if on cue, the small gathering of you all starts back up with exaggerated calls for food and babbling about who brought what. “Can you two help me set up a bit?” Two fingers jab at you and your ex sheepishly and are gone before you can get an answer out.
Before you even enter the kitchen, she turns back around with the claim she forgot something. The two of you shuffle in beneath the doorway, him ducking down under the arch when you’re stopped again by his mom’s tsk. She motions above the two of you, pursing her lips and turning away, leaving you with the taller boy underneath a single branch of mistletoe hanging between the two of you.
He sheepishly rubs at the back of his neck, a habit not unfamiliar to you, and he refuses to meet your eyes for even the briefest second. Yet, it seems he gathers the courage to mutter out something.
“What was that?”
Another mumble.
“Dude, speak up.”
“I said, we should probably follow tradition.”
You scoff at that, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself in a forgiving hug while he frowns. The overwhelming smell of pine is starting to make your nose burn and skin itch and you just desperately want to get out of this situation now.
“This is stupid and wrong. You know, I never took you as the type to take a dig like that and cheat!”
At that, he looks bewildered. His eyebrows furrow and a crease forms and indent itself into wrinkles on his forehead before he sputters out, “Cheat? What do you mean, ‘cheat’.”
“What do you mean, 'what do you mean’. Is that not your new girlfriend?”
By now his face is red, ears tinting pink in embarrassment when he shakes his head, “No! She’s my cousin who had a flight come in early. I- I wouldn’t be able to move on that fast.”
And with that, it’s like the world falls silent except for the soft, fleeting snow outside. The comment making everything tilt on its axis and pause in thought, the grip on the sleeves of your sweater loosening. Maybe…
Maybe it could be like a Hallmark movie.
⥅authors notes ; week two of the secret Santa collab is complete two weeks late. This is probably my least favorite piece because of the character and how I portrayed it. can you guess who this one was about? thank you for reading and make sure you check out the other collabs pieces, tagged below!
➥ synopsis ; Mornings with your husband are the best, rare but enjoyable. Though accidents do tend to occur sometimes.
➥ word count ; 717
➸ orphic ; “ beyond ordinary understanding ”
➤ hello?? hi it’s kael here with the last part of the event! this secret santa has been so much fun, i got to write for characters i never rlly even thought of writing for before. the fics and their characters in respective prefer were;
first week - osamu || second week - suna
third week - atsumu || fourth week - kita
and with that being said, i think it makes it obvious who i had to write for, now that the characters are revelead. so hi @caxsthetic darling, i hope you enjoyed your gifts!! and please enjoy this last one too~
“Hnghh..” you groan as you stretch your arms in your shared bed with your husband. He’s always woken up before you, with his routineー that he somehow still manages to keep up withー forcing him to be up and going early in the morning.
You tug on the red string tied to your pinky, your daily way of telling him you’re now awake. It’s become a small thing between you two, just for you two.
a/n: seriously, it tried- for the curious people, I am a Filipino so yeah lolol. I’ve been trying to gather up the courage to write angst like this. The tag problem is a really bad bump in this new account so hopefully, it gets resolved soon once I post this and my other fics that are ready to be posted along with this one. Thank you for your patience! Let’s get started!
(???) was a magnificent fellow who had girls flocking towards him left and right. And you, being one of his closest friends, let him deal with it alone.
You knew how he was annoyed by them, heck, he would freeze up when his fangirls start cornering him only for him to think of an excuse to walk away.
And he ran to you when these fangirls were bothering him. He sought comfort in your voice, in your personality, in… you.
He wouldn’t know what he would do without you.
He called you over that day. You thought he was about to talk to you about homework or how his fangirls tried to talk to him earlier in the morning.
He sat you down on the edge of his bed, him sitting cross-legged, facing you. He fidgetted in his place, looking down at his hands. You saw pink dusting his cheeks.
You never thought this day would come.
"i-I think I like (male best friend),“ he admitted happily, looking up at you. You had to keep your cool and smile at him. You had to keep this façade up until you excused yourself to head off early.
Only when you reached your bedroom did you start crying.
That was the day you were about to suck it up and tell him how you felt.
It’s been weeks since then.
You stayed by his side even though it hurt you being so close yet so far from him. You stayed by him with that fake cheerful facade you dreaded wearing every single day.
But you had to.
And we are done! Hopefully, you guys enjoyed watching this because I did! Requests are open so please don’t be shy to leave anything in my inbox! Love you guys 💖💕❤️
i am begging ya’ll to interact with your favorite writers and their work. i hate to say it but following simply isn’t enough— it’s so confusing for writers when their follower count is going up but yet the recognition on their work is not matching up with that number no matter what it is.
it makes so many amazing writers, including myself, lose motivation and most of the time stop writing.
this is the offical ‘i care’ symbol this is how it works: basically you reblog this and your followers know that you care and that they can message you about anything anon or not and you will reply back or at least look at there message. if you care about your followers please reblog
Somebody once told him that if he looks up at the night sky when it’s clear and he can see all the stars, there might be a chance that he could see a falling star, and he can make a wish on that. Of course, knowing him, he never fell to such preposterous ideas.
“Why would I make a wish,” he said to that person, “when I could just grant it myself?” He sighed aloud, looking up at the sky. A remnant of a smile remained on his face— he seemed to have hoped that wishing upon a star seemed very real.
