Guys My Jjk Brainrot Is Killing Me, But I’m So Far Behind In Everything Else That I Don’t Have Time

I write for myself

*checks AO3 every few hours to see if I got any new kudos, comments or subscriptions*

i feel like @keepcalm-girls would do a u turn in a busy highway just to drive 581 miles in the opposite direction to see bucees

this stupid little beaver bitch

iwaizumi's favorite shirt is a faded old oversized godzilla tee that he's had since high school. the navy blue fabric has gone nearly threadbare in some places, the neck has certainly seen better days. and there's a finicky hole that needs to be re-sewn in one of the armpits before it gets too out of hand again.

oikawa, mattsun, and makki all learned the hard way at one point or another that one does not borrow iwaizumi's godzilla t-shirt—not even when one is camping and "iwa-chan, you're the only one who has a spare dry shirt left, and it's freezing out, you stingy bastard!"

so when you pad over to the front door early one fall morning to let the boys inside while iwaizumi finishes packing for their hike, you're met with several curious and somewhat dumbfounded stares when they see the shirt you're wearing as pajamas.

“IWA-CHAN, YOU FINALLY DID IT?!” oikawa calls out suddenly.

“does this mean i don’t have to keep it a secret anymore?” makki exhales in relief, fist-bumping mattsun.

“let me see the ring, he wouldn’t show me,” oikawa gestures impatiently toward your hand. “he’s had it for months.”

you blink in confusion. oikawa looks down at your very empty ring finger and also blinks in confusion.

“out. right now. all of you with your big, dumb, giant ugly mouths, get out,” iwaizumi barks from somewhere behind you.

it’s only once the front door swings shut and the entryway goes quiet that you finally turn around.

—and you find your boyfriend on one knee, his shirt halfway on and toothpaste smeared on his cheek.

“i did have this entire thing planned out for later tonight,” he sighs, smiling up at you, the diamond in his hand reflecting in the soft morning light.

(at the wedding, oikawa’s speech is a 5-minute monologue about how a 14-year-old iwaizumi once told him—after punching him in the face for trying to steal that very shirt from his closet—that the only other person he’d ever let wear it would be his future wife.)

Weighted blankets aren't enough I need to be crushed in a hydraulic press

Years have passed, and you no longer write letters to Santa, but still the peculiar, one of a kind gifts keep arriving. The gifts range from opulent jewelry that has a tendency to grow warm, and sometimes even white-hot, at random intervals to small seemingly custom-made stuffed animals of nightmarish creatures turned cute and cuddly. Every year, six gifts come, wrapped in a glowing, reddish paper that was always warm to the touch, just for you, labeled in number order: 60-66. And every year, you and your family ponder who the gifts are from, and if your family should be concerned. This year, as you sit around the tree, the gifts arrive, as usual, but something is different. This year, each parcel of unknown origin is still wrapped with care in the same, ever warm, glowing wrapping, but this time, the boxes are numbered differently. The first is labeled 66.1, and they follow in order with the last labeled 66.6, and that one has a key tied into the center of the large box with a lavish bow. The key is an intricate skeleton key, forged in a reddish metal, blackened by either time or design. Its artfully carved handle looks alive, with its winding serpent-like design, and the gems inlaid at the center of the winding mass, that form an eye. As you go about your Christmas morning traditions, the eye seems to follow you as you bask in the joyful holiday, the ever-present gaze of the key blanketing you in a strange sense of security. Eventually, you get to the special, almost reverent, moment of privacy that you partake in every Christmas morning. You collect the six warm boxes, and bring them into your room, settling onto the lush rug that you had received from your unknown proprietor in a Christmas long since past. You murmur your thanks to the kindness of whatever stranger offers you these gifts, and sit staring at them all at once unnerved by the change, and oddly comforted by the key’s watchful eye. As you sit, your feelings about the strange gifts at odds with one another, curiosity leaps at its chance to take the reins. So, you reach out, and carefully lift the first box, drawing its warmth into your awaiting lap, fighting the urge to draw the familiar warmth into you, much like a child would with a teddy bear. Running your hands across the familiar wrapping, you find the tapeless edge, and slide your fingers under the lip. With a gentle tug the warm paper gives way, and you find the same wooden frame, carved by deft hands into arching landscapes of a far off land that no amount of research can locate. A smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you see the artistry, your fingers reliving the comforting texture of each stroke of the craftsman’s blade. Opening the box, you find the gift, as thoughtful and unique as ever, and murmur your thanks to your anonymous friend. You repeat the process, each gift just as unique and ornate as the last, until you get to 66.6. This box was different from all the others that had come before it. This box's carvings were just as unique as all the others, but the landscape on each side arched and twisted until it gave way to a castle. One with a threatening throne, and a several devastatingly gorgeous men and women perched about the thrones on each side. The box itself felt… different. Something about it made your chest ache, like a fresh heartbreak, but that pain was mixed with a yearning for something you couldn't quite place. Before opening the box, you survey the gifts bestowed on you by your mysterious benefactor.

Should I continue this? Because I definitely have more planned… (read written) I just hit the text limit hehehe…

When you were a child, you accidentally wrote a letter to Satan instead of Santa. Now, every year for christmas you get presents from the lord of hell himself.

167

a

Reblogging w credit bc I am, in fact going to be using these!! 🫶🫶

FYI, y'all have my blanket permission to spam me with as many boops as you need to get those cute badges :3

staring at the blank page before you open up the dirty window let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find reaching for something in the distance so close you can almost taste it release your inhibitions feel the rain on your skin no one else can feel it for you only you can let it in no one else no one else can speak the words on your lips drench yourself in words unspoken live your life with arms wide open today is where your book begins the rest is still unwritten

And the whole changing name business?? 10/10 they got goal keepers spot on. We’re all just morons (/pos) trying to be cool/intimidating Lmfaoo I adore him.

one of my fave ted lasso things is getting really, REALLY attached to one of the secondary team cast. mine is thierry zoreaux. he is so dear to me.

this man has everything. he’s a goalie. he’s jewish. he wants to wear bright red yeezys to a funeral. he walked into your neighbour's house by accident. he gets really into LARPing with dani and some children. he yells the numbers and colours in the lasso special. he’s even canadian.

i did this instead of writing