vieno's blog

20 ! Fandom account! Will post art or just rambles on here. | obsessed with JJK AND KNY | MDNI

[crimcriminal]

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

crim , vieno , cove , xyx

20 years old ( 2005 )

all pronouns + sea , sun neos

SUGURU GETO SELFSHIPPER...

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ interests ( italics - more interested )

Trigun Stampede

Trigun

Genshin Impact

Lego Ninjago

My Hero Academia

Jujutsu Kaisen

Call of Duty

Demon Slayer

DC

Touchstarved

Visual Novels

Love and deepspace

+ more

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags

#<3 (favorited)

#textbook (drabbles)

#yap (rambles)

#art (personal art)

#mailbox (asks)

#info

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ other

twitter = squishyshell

bluesky = squishyshell

discord = crimcriminal

[theres-a-body-here]

Having a Minotaur Boyfriend would be so fucking funny

Like imagine crying on the couch and you hear his thunderous, big body SUV built ass footsteps approach you.

"Baby, what's wrong," he says tenderly as he rubs your shoulder.

You look up to explain how bad your day was with tears in your eyes and you fucking see this:

I made a small drabble based on this

[fxdizzyie-deactivated20260219]

I had to draw it HELP

[grenadehearts]

surprising geto or hawks w pretty flowers for the valentines requests mayhaps 🫣

SWEET BOY hawks x f!reader

authors note: so much fluff like seriously.. anyways happy valentines day my lovelies!! kisses 4 all of uuu annnd thank u sm for requesting this anon its the cutest idea ever..extra kisses 4 uu mwah <33 m.list

You had scoured through every single floral shop in town for a specific type of flower.

But none of them had it. None. Zero.

You had originally planned to go to you and your boyfriend’s favorite flower shop, but it was still closed—the owner, a kind old lady, had taken a few days off to tend to her husband in the hospital.

You still remember the first time you went there.

The little bouquet shop, the warm scent of fresh florals, and the elderly woman at the front counter who practically had your name memorized—because your boyfriend loved to spoil you with flowers.

One year, he sold her entire shop out. She even had to import a whole truckload of special flowers, driving straight through the city of Fukuoka, Japan.

You hadn't even known about this until you walked into the shop one day, needing flowers for a friend's birthday. The moment you gave your name for the order, the shop owner practically tackled you to the floor. Apparently, your boyfriend had gushed about you endlessly—like a teenage girl with her first crush. He had described your appearance so vividly that the woman had no trouble recognizing you the second you walked in.

She went on and on about how much he loved you, pinching your cheeks and cooing, "You're such a beaut!" before spending twenty minutes rambling about how much of a hunk Pro Hero Hawks was.

Oh yeah. Did I not mention? You're dating Pro Hero Hawks.

The infamous red-winged hero who soars through the skies, sending swarms of teenage girls to their knees, squealing over him.

Which is why you’re especially pissed off, stomping through the streets of Japan, because today is Valentine’s Day, and it’s nearly impossible to get your boyfriend anything. Simply because he desires nothing.

As much as you love him, it seriously irks you. You want so badly to spoil him, but he never shows interest in anything—except for you. Well, you and food. Specifically, chicken skewers. And, much to your disgust, chicken liver. Yuck.

But you can’t just take him out to dinner constantly. That’s not a real gift. Especially when he’s always doting on you—showering you with flowers, buying your favorite trinkets, paying for your salon trips (which racks up a lot since you constantly change your hair).

And if he ever catches you trying to pay for anything yourself—even something as small as coffee—he’ll insist on paying. He'll even go so far as to let you think you paid, just to console your pouty bottom lip and incessant need for independence. Then, when you're not looking, he'll go to the cashier and swap the cards.

Which is exactly why you’re so dead set on surprising him this time.

Yes, you could just buy chocolates or any random bouquet.

But this is different. This needs to be special—meaningful. Something that comes straight from the heart.

You want him to see right inside you—to your beating heart that only beats for him.

And today marks your one-year anniversary.

You still remember the day you met him. You were stuck in that shitty café job, your manager constantly harassing you and treating you like a scapegoat. You were itching to quit.

And then he walked in.

Glorious. Breathtaking. He made your entire body freeze, your breath hitch, your cheeks flush red.

He looked like no one you had ever seen before.

The sun had just risen, bathing him in molten gold. His messy blond strands fell over his face, his strong arms flexed under a tight compression shirt, and his glorious, large red wings shifted at his back.

He looked like an angel.

Then, he walked right up to you and ordered the most insanely sweet coffee. You actually giggled.

He cocked his head to the side, golden strands falling back to reveal more of his chiseled face. And then, he flashed you the most boyish grin.

And you fell to your knees.

Well—let me rephrase.

You fell because your incompetent manager had spilled a drink and never bothered to clean it up.

It was supposed to be humiliating—a cruel twist of fate, embarrassing you in front of the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

But then—he hopped over the counter.

And proceeded to fall flat on his face.

Whether it was deliberate or he was actually a klutz, it didn’t matter. Your heart pounded all the same.

Then, he laughed—airy, full of life, so refreshing.

And then, he spoke the words that sealed your fate.

"See? I fell too. Guess we’re both klutzes, huh?"

You were sure your heart was about to beat right out of your chest.

Positive your face was a deep shade of rouge.

But you couldn’t seem to care.

Because then—he stood up, extending his hand. It was rough, jagged, yet inexplicably soft against your own.

And when he pulled you to your feet—

The sunlight caught him once more, pouring through the café windows. A golden shimmer of orange and yellow, illuminating his sandy blond hair, casting a soft glow against his tanned skin.

He looked like—

"tiger lilies!"

The word bursts from your lips, snapping you back to the present. Passersbys give you weary glances as you let out a meek, "Sorry."

You blink, reality settling back in as your gaze falls upon a display of fiery orange lilies. And that’s when you realize—

You’re only a block away from your shared apartment.

Keigo had insisted you move in with him after last year's holiday—when he had given you an entire truckload of flowers.

“Kei, there’s no way I can fit all this in my place,” you had sputtered, overwhelmed and on the verge of tears.

But he had just grinned, cupped your face, wiped your tears away, and cooed, "Shhh, it’s okay, baby. Just come live with me."

And before you knew it, you were sharing an apartment with the No. 2 Pro Hero, Hawks.

Your gaze returns to the flowers—realizing they’re right in front of your favorite floral shop.

The little old lady is outside, flipping her sign to Open.

You bolt.

Nearly tackling her in a hug, you babble incoherently. She barely makes out the words "boyfriend" and "flowers" before smiling and ushering you inside.

Which leads to now.

Opening the apartment door, flowers in hand—

And being met with a completely exhausted Keigo.

His entire body visibly relaxes at the sight of you, but the scuffs, loose feathers, and ripped shirt tell you everything you need to know.

Still—despite his rough day—he rushes toward you like an overexcited puppy, melting into your arms.

Then, you pull the flowers from behind your back, grinning.

“Kei, my sweet boy. Look.”

His ears perk up at the name, golden eyes locking onto the bouquet of fiery hues.

“These for me, babe?”

He’s ecstatic. Exhaustion completely forgotten, he effortlessly picks you up, smothering you in messy kisses. Your giggles fill the air.

Then, you nudge him slightly, a pout forming on your lips—only for him to kiss it away.

“Sorry, had to. Now, continue,” he murmurs, amused.

You sigh, relieved, before teasing, “Don’t you wanna know why I got them for you?”

Keigo tilts his head, clueless.

“Because it’s Valentine’s Day?” he guesses. “Which, don’t forget, I have plenty more surprises in store for you—”

You cut him off, pressing a finger to his lips.

“Shh.”

He immediately sits—obedient, waiting.

As you explain the meaning behind the flowers, recalling the first time you met him—how the morning light made him look exactly like a tiger lily, wild and beautiful—

His golden eyes soften.

And then—

He kisses you.

Deep, fervent, breathtaking. A kiss that tells you everything you need to know.

A slick trail of saliva connects you when he finally pulls away, his breath uneven, his golden eyes glossy and intense.

And you know.

He loved his Valentine’s gift more than you ever expected.

[chekplaysminecraft]

Theory Time

The reason endermen don’t like it when you look at them is because they communicate telepathically with one another by locking eyes! Humans are absolutely not designed to do this so when we look at them we are accidentally projecting all of our thoughts into them at the same time and it hurts :(

[ice-block]

But like, since the player is not of the Minecraft world, the player is just what the use to explore it, what if it’s like:

Enderman: *looks at player’s eyes*

Player: 01010010 01100001 00100000 01110010 01100001 00100000 01010010 01100001 01110011 01110000 01110101 01110100 01101001 01101110 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 01110010 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01010010 01110101 01110011 01110011 01101001 01100001 01101110 00100000 01110001 01110101 01100101 01100101 01101110 00100000 01101111 01101000 00100000 01100110 01110101 01100011 01101011 00100000 01100001 01101110 00100000 01100101 01101110 01100100 01100101 01110010 01101101 01100001 01101110

Enderman: oh ok *attacks player*

[tiny-slime]

[viostormcaller]

This kills me every single fucking time

[the-original-offical]

THE ORIGINAL??

[chipper-smol]

the realization that the unhealthy trait you’ve given your favorite oc for funsies is actually something you unintentionally do is like watching a five year old innocently and perfectly mimic your bad habits

[ismenes]

you know those studies showing that cursing helps with pain tolerance or whatever. that’s how i feel about making my weird little noises to get through my basic daily activities. sometimes you just have to go hggblaaaah for a minute so you can find the strength within yourself to get up or wash the dishes or send an email. mmmnneh. urgh. the torments are unending but you can always make some little sounds about it.

[mearchy]

my favorite genre of fictional character is like "i am terrifying to almost everyone, i'm very good at killing, i can endure anything, i've become exceptionally good at playing into my reputation, and if you try to give me positive social interaction i will react with confusion and cower in a corner like an abused animal. and i may try to shoot you. but there is also a chance i may imprint on you like a feral dog receiving its first loving touch! good luck."

[getdiagnosed]

Sugar danger by Damagecontrol.

[paper-lilypie]

subscribed to the yearner Simon agenda

[dudethatsmypillowcase]

Two eridians and their wet dog

[m3llo-artist]

“PLEDGERS OF IMMORTALITY”

Close ups

I like to think Mugman is a bit more "modest" in terms of his ghost form while Cuphead be letting it all hang out 😛

P.s the “Koupa me psychi” is supposed to be Latin for cup/mug of soul.

[fenkko]

drawing my beloved og harbinger trio again

[savedenji]

when you've been searching for half an hour for a good angst fic (all there is 10% angst 90% smut) and you finally find a fic with the warnings/tags: 'angst with no happy ending, sad ending, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, major character death, reader death' and you know it's going to be beautiful (it's everything you've ever been looking for)

send recommendations 🫣

[bee2124]

Real men have failed me but fictional men never have 😛

[sozila]

dear future husband

synopsis: when you were fifteen, you wrote love letters to a fake address. at twenty eight, you received a reply.

pairing: prohero!eijirou kirishima x quirklesslawyer!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content eventually, mdni. currently fluff galore (with a little angst) in this chapter lol! some bigotry, beware

masterlist | next

wc: 2.4k

a/n: this is such a romcom inspired series 🥹 it's loosely based on to all the boys i've loved before and another cinderella story if I'm being completely honest.. but i've included a more serious topic of quirk discrimination in this work and i expect to have more incidents as reader is a lawyer! ⚖️ so potential violence and regular hero fights in the future as well.

valentine's day was the worst.

it was a humiliation ritual. specifically after they stopped the fun class boxes where you were able to get platonically shared candies and cards, morphing into more serious romantic endeavors. every class was interrupted by valentine's grams that your school choir did to raise money, and so you had to listen to cheesy love songs at random. to put it simply, you were sick of the dreaded holiday.

you weren't really unlikable. far from it, actually. you had friends—got invited to the more popular birthday parties, sat at a consistent lunch table. it's just that the department of love wasn't exactly scheduling appointments with you often. or at all.

sure, there was kaito in sixth year who sent you a rose with a cute note. only, you found out later that it was a mix-up and was intended for sana, the girl who was your locker neighbor. later you had a thing for ryota in your eighth year, but quickly learned after a few rumors that he was caught kissing a fairly popular boy named ren in the gym storage room. all the more power to him, no judgment here.

by your first year of high school, you were tired. must love be so hard? sometimes you just wished it just fell into your lap on a warm spring day. you buried yourself in stories of epic romance, yearn far and wide. princesses and childhood best friends, to forbidden lovers and fated ties. your nature of daydreaming conveniently found you at your desk in the late hours of the night, scribbling away on the nice stationary papers your aunt gave you for your birthday. 

with giddy excitement, you hurry to seal the letter in the matching envelope, licking it shut. you look at the corner of the mail, the empty space with the address staring right back at you. a mischievous little smile tugs at your lips. maybe you can make one up? surely no one would actually send it. it would most likely sit in a landfill after the post office would realize it wasn't real, you thought. that's perfect!

you wrote in your neatest handwriting:

142-0934 Shizuoka, Musutafu, 1-43-70 Kyomei Building 150 Japan

you knew that it was a one in a trillion chance that this place even existed. no way, you knew pretty much all of the apartments in musutafu. none were named kyomei to your knowledge. you slipped the letter into your backpack, called a quick “bye, mom!” down the stairs, and practically skipped the whole way to the mailbox on the corner. the metal flap shut loudly after you dropped it in, clanging in finality.

the letter vanished into the vast void as far as you knew because no reply ever came, reaffirming your belief that this was a legitimate way to vent out your feelings.

you didn’t know it then, but the universe has a terrible sense of humor when it comes to granting wishes.

obliviously, you kept writing whenever you felt that ache for something more bothered you too much. you'd pour your heart out to the mystery man who lived at the non-existent address in your city. you told him about bad scores, watching your classmates harness their quirks while you had to silently cheer them on. 

you wrote away about your fears, hopes, dreams that you still selfishly believed in. you even told him about your parents' divorce that came abruptly during your junior year of high school, something that was difficult for you to divulge to anyone about. 

you didn't know how many letter you had sent before you finally ceased them. must have been at least thirty, or something in the range. you ended up opting to become a realist like your father always preached to you. you threw yourself into your studies like your life depended on it. you knew that law was your best route given your status as a quirkless person. it certainly helped that you loved the thrill of a debate. your nice stationary started to gather dust in the bottom of your desk drawer, but you couldn't live in your fantasy world forever. 

eventually, your work paid off and you graduate in the top 1% of your class. you landed a junior associate position at a mid-tier firm that handled quirk discrimination cases right out of university. you found peace in burying yourself in your work, preferring to drown out your thoughts with legal jargon and witness statements.

three years go by, and you find yourself in a position of disgust once more when your office decided to hold a floor valentine's day party. courtesy of your lovely co-worker yuma, a very sparky and jumpy woman who loved to hug anyone and everyone. she was sweet, but definitely a lot to deal with when you already work a high-stress job. 

"listen, it's just one date! pleeeease, i promise you'll have fun!" the pink haired woman is practically on her knees at your desk, hoping you'll cave. you let out a small groan. 

"you're covering annotations for the next three cases i have this week. deal?" she immediately launches into a fit of squeals, jumping up and down. "thank you thank you thank you! ahh, my matchmaking side job is finally taking off," she leaves your office as quickly as she came, you unable to get another word in. you take a deep sigh. whatever, it's just a couple hours.

unfortunately for you, the man yuma picked was probably the last guy you'd approach in a room full of people. 

yuma swore he was ‘normal, stable, and really tall’. he was definitely tall. but along with that came an arrogance that could mirror endeavor. 

"so yuma mentioned you’re quirkless,” he said, leaning in like he wanted to speak in hushed tones. “that’s actually really inspiring. i mean, look at you! working at a law firm, still putting yourself out there. most quirkless people just… accept their place, you know? support roles. administrative stuff. that’s where they shine.”

your chopsticks paused mid-air.

“support roles,” you repeated slowly.

“yeah! like, you’re clearly smart. you could be an amazing legal assistant for hero agencies. or work in quirk regulation policy. that’s important work. not everyone needs to be in the spotlight.”

you gave him your best professional smile, the one you used in depositions when you were trying your best not to rip someone a new one.

“actually,” you said calmly, “i just won a discrimination settlement last month for a quirkless teacher who was denied promotion. precedent-setting case. i argued it myself in front of the district panel.”

haruto blinked, and then laughed like you had told a cute joke.

“wow. feisty. i like that! didn't know they gave young lawyers cases so early on.” you fought the urge to stab yourself in the eye.

"i've been doing cases since i got out of law school. i'm twenty eight."

the rest of the dinner was a slow descent. he kept steering every topic back to quirks, which clearly got old the moment he spoke the first time. you were ready to leave when he went on about how his reinforcement quirk made him 'decent in bed, by the way'. every time you tried to shift the conversation to something normal like books, travel, or literally anything else, he circled back.

when the check finally arrived, you pulled out your card faster than he could react. with haste you say your goodbyes and make up an excuse about an early morning hearing. you leave haruto in the dust of his own bigotry, good riddance.

you finally got home at eleven, kicking off your heels and pouring yourself a generous glass of red wine. and then another, staring at the wall for twenty full minutes. drinking alone with no music was genuinely one of the saddest things you've done in recent times.

you flop onto your bed, looking at your window with a sigh. your eyes wander lower to your desk, catching at a familiar pink box. your stationary box.

you sloppily crawl across your bed, making way to pick it up from underneath all your files. it was slightly yellowed, smelling faintly of your teenage bedroom. your hands moved on autopilot, the wine loosening everything you’d kept locked away for years. against your better judgment, you had already whipped out a pen and the same parchment you had used all those years ago.

you sign it with your full name as you always had done. penned down the address without another thought, slipping on your coat and walking the three block to your mailbox to drop it in. 

you chuckled to yourself sadly on the way back. “idiot,” you mutter. strangely, your chest did feel lighter. when you arrived back at your place, you instantly fell asleep as the drinking ultimately worked as your melatonin. 

a week later, you're back to your routine and forget you even sent the letter. work raged on as it did, and so did your exhaustion. it had been a particularly brutal day with multiple back to back meetings. your shoulders were knotted tight, eyes burning from staring at your computer for hours. all you wanted was a hot shower and some katsudon. 

you almost skipped checking the mailroom on your way up, nearly walking past the row of silver boxed in the lobby of your building. you stop because of muscle memory, unlocking the small metal thing as usual. your pupils skim the papers quickly. junk mail, water bill.. a cream colored envelope. you almost drop the whole stack.

your name was written across the front in clean, confident handwriting. it was slightly slanted, but nice to look at. the return address made your stomach flip so violently you had to grip the edge of the mailbox with your free hand.

the postmark was real, three days old. the stamp was a standard issue cherry blossom design. everything about it look painfully legitimate. you fight the urge to scream in the empty place. for a long moment, you just stood there with your heart slamming against your ribs. this was not funny in the slightest but it had to be a prank. a cruel coincidence! maybe someone found your old letters and decided to mess with you. or you were hallucinating from the lack of sleep and too many cans of celsius. 

with a jerky movement, you don't wait for the elevator and take the stairs like a lunatic. two at a time, shallow breathing. the second you step inside your place you kicked the door shut with a slam, dropping your stuff and the rest of the mail on the floor with no decorum. you sat down at the kitchen nook still wearing your coat and heels. 

your fingers tremble as you slid a nail under the sealed flap. inside was a single sheet of matching cream stationery with red accents, folded once. the handwriting was the same neat and sharp script. you had to read the first line three times before your brain accepted that words were actually there, written.

you lowered the paper slowly, your head spinning.

you were going to be sick.

kyomei 150 has a real resident. a real resident, who got your fucking letter.

he's so nice and cute and i wanna cry

buy me a drink | masterlist

reblogs are highly appreciated ♡

taglist! @riotsgrl @6x-x9 @toffeeepaw @pawwwginaaa

taglist form

peace luv bathtub!!!

all dividers by @cafekitsune, photos from pinterest and art by unknown, credits to og!

© sozila 2026, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other mediums or sites. cross-posted on ao3 and tumblr under same alias.

[chibi-tokki]

Spitting your gum into katsuki’s hand right before an interview.

Your schedule had been packed. Back-to-back segments and interviews all in preparation for the holiday special that had been promoted to raise money over the winter break. The exact charity has long since evaded you, but it's coming up on your tenth hour since your first meal, and between your growling stomach and growing headache, the only thing you can think of is being able to sink your teeth into whatever bland-ass meal catering was offering. 

You chew on your gum as you slouch into the couch, the stage lights heat you to the point of overstimulation. With a deep breath, you let your head loll back, feeling the ache in your shoulders loosen as you relax further, eyes slipping closed for a moment of reprieve. 

“Have you eaten?” The familiar voice of your partner fills your head, then two fingers tap against your temple to catch your attention.

The couch dips as Katsuki sits next to you, the smell of caramel and vanilla engulfing you, sending your mouth watering. Fuck, why did he have to smell so sweet!

You answer with a hum, shaking your head no before opening your mouth, the long chewed up gum on show on your tongue. Sure the display is unladylike and kinda gross but you’ve been together for far too long for it to be an issue.

“Is this you asking me to feed you like a baby bird?” Bakugou chuckles, his calloused fingers running over your cheek.

“Have you eaten?” You parrot his question, finally opening your eyes to catch a glimpse of your fiancée. Dressed in his press suit, the ache in your head eases at his comforting presence. All you want to do is go home, order food and watch tv in bed till you both pass out.

Katsuki grunts. “I had a protein bar but that’s it.”

You groan, flinging your head back dramatically. Fuck you are so hungry!

“Was it good?” You peek an eye open, lips pulled down in a frown.

“No.” Katsuki lies for your own sake. “It was the gross ones you hate, the cookies and cream one” another lie but he doesn’t want to rub it in.

The frown on your face deepens. “I’d fuck up a cookies and cream protein bar right now. I’d eat the wrapper and everything.” Your sigh is wistful, too focused on imagining the taste and feeling of a fully belly.

“Can you order something so it’s ready when we get home, please.”

“Already done, pretty girl.” Katsuki cups your cheek, loving the way you hum and lean into his hand. “Got dessert too.”

“You treat me so well.” You mummer, kissing his palm.

It’s Katsuki’s turn to hum. “It’s the bare minimum, baby. Gotta make sure you’re healthy and fed.”

You open your mouth to speak but are interrupted by production announcing you have a minute before cameras start rolling at you go live.

“Dynamight, could you leave the stage please.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes, jaw clenching in irritation but he stands nonetheless, too tired to cause a scene.

Your hair and make up team rush in to prep you, fixing smudge liner and fly aways in a frenzied rush.

“Knock ‘em dead, sweetheart. Love you.” He leans in once more, ducking around your team to press a kiss to your forehead.

Your make up artist huffs as she swipes more powder over the kiss.

“Live in, 10, 9, 8..”

The girls leave you as quick as they came, Bakugou backing away with them.

“6, 5, 4..”

“The gum!!” Your manager’s voice cuts through the count down. Fuck. Eyes widening, you turn to scan for a bin, the piece of confectionary already between your teeth.

“3,2..”

You are met with Katsuki’s hand under your chin and a simple “Spit”

As if on autopilot you open your lips and spit the gum into his waiting palm, quickly wiping at your bottom lip. With a quick burst of flames, the gum is incinerated into dust as Katsuki takes a step back out of frame.

You turn to the interviewer, a long time friend from back in UA, ready to smile and laugh but they are staring back with wide eyes. Their eyes dart from you to the camera, then back to a cackling Katsuki standing in the wings, your manager the complete opposite next to him, already furiously typing on their phone.

The red light of the LIVE sign casting a glow around the room. Shit. Yes, the world knew you and Dynamight were close but the exact nature of your relationship had been kept out of the tabloids by request of both you and Bakugou, and now well, there is no denying the rumours constantly circling you.

The phone in your pocket buzzes with a text from the prohero as he is ushered to his last segment.

Imagine if you had spat it into my mouth instead

a/n: reupload from ages ago

[golden0smell]

It's new clothes, friends!