fanfic blog <3
Banner Photo: August 22, 2025, "A Tale of Two Nebulae" by Kent Biggs
Profile Photo: February 25, 2025, "The Little Beehive Star Cluster" by Xinran Li
Here is a full list of characters I won’t write for.
Apply to be on the masterlist here!
More about me here!
Hey. My name’s Sprout usually, but I have a lot of others — Teto, Varesa, Yi Xi, Chiori, Red, Ifa, Beth, Lily… the list goes on.
I am on Tumblr frequently, but still, don’t expect frequent updates. I get burnt out really easily while writing.
Like it says above the cut, requests are open. They will be slow. Please don’t be disappointed or upset if I take forever on your request, or just don’t do it at all. I’m sorry.
I’m autistic. I might word sentences weirdly sometimes.
I might seem aloof. Please don’t be afraid to message me. I love making friends, I just don’t know how to do it myself.
Series’ I’ve written
[HIATUS] - Inazuma Hanahaki AU — #lyvales inazuma hanahaki
im probably just tired but also holy fuck my throat hurts and my head hurts and i can’t get any of my goddamn ideas out I’ve been stuck in this loop for months someone please help me i cant fucking take this anymore i wanna write i wanna draw i wanna play i wanna be able to do stuff but i just cant I just fucking cant
Hey can you message me? I have something important to tell you its about to your account, but i cant message you idk whyy??
Hi, Everyone who follows me and/or just sees this post on a whim!
This type of message is a scam!
I've seen this exact wordage in comments and in my inbox.
I cannot tell you if the person responding is 100% either hacked or just a bot. But yeah. This message is a scam. Do not respond. ❤️ Keep Safe Everyone.
syn. : a certain character in your video game seems like he’s been appearing more and more frequently — not just in his game, but everywhere.
genre. : self aware AU, idk what this classifies as but it’s not fluff
a/n. : reader is in college for this story!
Genshin Impact was taking forever to load.
…
Rumors. They would always spread like wildfire. Seems college wasn’t entirely different in that manner.
Whispers went around. “A new boy,” someone to your right hummed. “People have been saying he’s in here this period.”
You were intrigued. Especially in a speech class- He’d have to introduce himself, probably.
You stared ahead, waiting for the click of the door opening and for your professor to stand up and give a brief overview of the kid, just like he did when Reaya got here — name, where they came from, and then he’d let them take over.
It was 9:28 AM when that door clicked open, and your professor stood.
You felt… off. Immediately.
Something in the room thickened, like fog, trying to choke you.
“Everyone, please welcome our new student. He came all the way from Russia.” Your professor stepped aside, allowing the new boy to lean against the whiteboard at the front.
You felt sick.
Same deep blue eyes. Same messy ginger hair. Same crooked, slightly off smile that never reached his eyes.
You felt your stomach twist.
The only empty seat was right behind you.
“If you’d like to speak a bit about yourself, Ajax?”
MMA Fighter Itto ,,, what we think chat what we think. modern au ofc ofc
The fight had, in fact, been shit.
The man Itto was against wasn’t a kid. That much was obvious — but he looked like one. Lightning fast, jumping too high proportionately to his body. And he was short. Way, way too short to be in this ring. Arataki “The One and Oni” Itto — 6’2”, 200 pounds of near-pure muscle — was struggling.
You couldn’t believe it. From where you were in the crowd, front row, watching the black-haired boy land kick after kick after kick; it was incredible. Hard to believe, considering Itto’s track record — numerous wins, and only a few losses from his rookie days in the professional MMA — but incredible.
The newcomer moved like lightning. Quick, calculated, and relentless.
Each moment, he was in a new spot. The other side of the arena, then slamming a kick into Itto’s side the next. The crack seemed like it echoed.
Itto flinched. Barely, but you could see it. You knew his tics- Knew him. He hissed something out, but you couldn’t hear it over the yelling of the crowd around you.
He swung. And that, was when the fight ended.
It wasn’t clean. And definitely wasn’t pretty. That uppercut was frustration, rage, and maybe a bit of shame, all curled into one output.
The guy’s head snapped back. His body followed. You heard it before you saw it- The snap of something breaking, the thud of a limp body on the bottom of the mat, and then the deafening roar of the people. Some in anger, some in joy.
Itto stood over him while the referees clamoured with the medics. Blood dripped down his lip, bruises bloomed beneath his skin. And yet, he grinned. He’d won.
You didn’t stick around too long. You were busy pushing through the crowd, trying to get back to his prep room. Security always let you through. Your boyfriend made sure of it. He always told them, before every single match- And they always pointed you in the right direction.
You sat yourself down on one of the many equipment pieces in the room and simply waited.
Only ten minutes later, the door slammed open, and your victorious (and very cocky) boyfriend practically threw himself into the room. “Yeah, yeah, I hear ya,” he waved away his manager; Shinobu was hounding him for being “so careless” and “not having good reaction timing” or whatever. You didn’t hear much.
Mostly because Itto had picked you up in a bear hug, and with how tightly he was squeezing you, the blood wasn’t running to your head right.
“Itto- Baby- Breathing,” you sighed as he finally let go. “What-? Oh-! Yeah, yeah, uh-huh. Breathing.” He was trying to ignore his mistake.
note; if this fic ends up being controversial/offensive i will delete it ASAP
You, quietly, walked into your shared house. Kaveh had moved in with you quite awhile ago. Your pretty boyfriend, all yours…
You had a gift for him. If he wasn’t in the kitchen, but Mehrak was around, then he had to be in your shared bedroom. Right? Surely.
When you walked in, you weren’t expecting him to be sobbing.
Kaveh, clutching at his chest, his hair, pulling like it was something attacking him.
“Kaveh-!” You rushed towards him, grabbing calloused hands that were so much bigger than your own. “Kaveh, baby, no no no— Don’t pull your hair, please, baby—”
“Don’t call me that!” He snapped, dragging his hands back to his chest. “No, no— No ‘baby’, too girly, and I’m not a woman! I’m not, I’m not I’m not I’m not; I’m a man! I’m a-… I’m-… I’m…”
More tears fell down his face as he finally went quiet, staring at his palms — to you, rough with callouses, but to him, too soft. Too ‘feminine’.
Warm arms wrapped around his torso, small hands settling carefully over his chest. Then, your forehead pressing against his spine.
“This is flat, Kaveh. You’re right; you’re not a woman. Never were.” Your voice was soft. Gentle. Your hands found the hem of his shirt, tugging lightly. “Can I?”
Once he nodded, you dragged the fabric over his head and circled to sit in front of him, pushing him down onto the mattress. He let you, those gorgeous red eyes locked on you, your movements.
“Look, Kaveh. See this?” You carefully, carefully, traced the scars just beneath his chest. “You were never a woman. And this just makes that more obvious,” you murmured. Soft, gentle. Reverent.
You grinned. “And even if these weren’t here, you’d still be a man. My man.”
He laughed, warm palms landing on your waist, thumbs tracing just beneath your ribs through the fabric of your shirt.
His face was still red and blotchy from the tears. But you didn’t mind.
A notorious gorespammer known as roadkill is currently targeting a few communities. They will post nsfw and gore into varying tags and use reblogs also.
They have been known to send asks to trigger other users and will use anything against you.
A few people have been keeping an eye on the situation:
@/antiroadkill has been keeping track of this users harassment and blogs.
Radiomogai has a post keeping track of the blogs used to gorespam
There is a discord server for the purposes of notifying users of new blogs
The following tags and communities are affected (updated as found, might have missed a few, please let us know):
Intersex
Intersex, intersex positivity,
Shipping
Yumeship, self ship, shipping
Lgbt+
Lgbt, lgbt+, queer, trans, two spirit, 2 spirit,
Mogai
Mogai, liomogai, mogai community
Plural
Plurality, plural system, system
Misc
Agere, objectum, radqueer,
To avoid seeing content when you go to block you can put the url of the blog into the tag and post filters.
Fungus has done so much for humanity. Penicillin. Radiation cleanup. Delicious mushrooms. Deadly mushrooms. Psychadelic mushrooms. And now my boy RA has chosen the humble mold spores as his vessel through which to cure cancer.
I offer: Luka, with the “your freckles are where past lovers kissed you” prompt.
Luka, who kisses over each and every spot, cold fingertips tracing small shapes on your palms.
Luka, who sits on his knees in front of you, glancing up through thick, white lashes between each kiss, scanning your pretty eyes for permission to move on. When he senses it, he’ll continue forward.
Luka, who mumbles incoherent nonsense against your skin — you can hear something about “I’ll replace every stupid past lover that left a mark” — but everything else is too muffled to hear.
Luka, who kisses each spot so gently, but so reverently, intensely, as he tries to erase the past lovers from past lives.
Luka, who loves you more than all your past partners combined.
He kisses your palm next. Not because there’s a freckle there, but because he always does.
“Past lovers,” he scoffs, as if the idea is inconceivable, “absurd.”
Luka’s lips are cold, but you don’t mind. He told you why a long time ago.
His mouth trails up your arm- Gently, quietly, pausing at every darker spot and pressing against your skin firmly. He gets to your shoulders soon, dragging you into his lap from where he was seated on the floor.
“You’re so pretty,” Luka murmurs, cradling your face, rubbing his thumb beneath your eye with a feather-soft touch before dipping back down to kiss your nape.
You flinch, ever so slightly, and that earns a chuckle from him. “What, scared?” He coos against you, picking up his head, rubbing away the saliva that had gathered in the dip. “No need to be, dear. I’m almost done.”
I offer: Luka, with the “your freckles are where past lovers kissed you” prompt.
Luka, who kisses over each and every spot, cold fingertips tracing small shapes on your palms.
Luka, who sits on his knees in front of you, glancing up through thick, white lashes between each kiss, scanning your pretty eyes for permission to move on. When he senses it, he’ll continue forward.
Luka, who mumbles incoherent nonsense against your skin — you can hear something about “I’ll replace every stupid past lover that left a mark” — but everything else is too muffled to hear.
Luka, who kisses each spot so gently, but so reverently, intensely, as he tries to erase the past lovers from past lives.
Luka, who loves you more than all your past partners combined.
