#will never be over the amount of expression/emotion you are able to convey between their faces and body language

[syndrossi]

And that's not all! Presenting this adorable picture/meme, also by the incomparable @immortalwalnut, featuring Jon's hatchling at his Dance-era-size with his cousin Arrax.

"When your younger cousin is bigger than you."

[nidhikapoorofficial]

9 Things Toxic Parents Say to Their Children

Although all parents make mistakes, certain habits can be particularly damaging to children. Parenting is a challenging task, and toxic parents, whether intentionally or not, often make remarks that undermine a child's self-worth, inflict lasting emotional wounds, and impede their development. In this post, we'll explore '9 Things Toxic Parents Say to Their Children,' examining the impact of these harmful statements and explaining why it's crucial to avoid them.

1. "You're too sensitive"

One of the most frequent disparaging remarks made by toxic parents is this one. When kids show their feelings, abusive parents might label them as "too sensitive." This teaches the kids that expressing their emotions is inappropriate and invalidates their sentiments. The youngster may eventually learn to repress their emotions, which could result in emotional repression and trouble regulating emotions in later life.

2. "Why can't you be more like your sibling?"

Making comparisons between kids can lead to insecurity and resentment. Sibling rivalries and insecurities are fostered by toxic parents who use comparisons to set their children against one another. Phrases such as "Why can't you be more like your sibling?" cause inadequacy-related feelings. Children's self-esteem may be impacted if they grow up believing that they are not good enough or that their worth is dependent on the accomplishments of others. Read more: What is the Subconscious Mind?

3. "You'll never amount to anything."

Telling a youngster they are unworthy or that they will never succeed will have a negative impact on their confidence. This remark may limit their goals, discourage them from attempting new activities, and cause them to lack confidence for the rest of their lives. When toxic parents say this to their kids, it's usually out of irritation, but the consequences can be disastrous. Children absorb this idea and may come to believe they are not capable of succeeding as adults.

4. "I sacrifice everything for you"

Parents unfairly burden their children when they say things like, "I sacrifice everything for you." It puts pressure on the child to somehow "repay" their parents and makes them feel bad for just being alive. It's not ideal for children to feel that their upbringing solely depends on their parents. By emphasizing the parent's sacrifices, this statement also downplays the needs and emotions of the child, which can cause guilt and emotional manipulation.

5. "Stop crying, or I'll give you something to cry about"

One of the meanest and most intimidating things a parent can say is this. It teaches kids that showing their feelings is inappropriate and may even result in physical punishment. The hidden message is that the child's emotions are unimportant and should be repressed, which can lead to emotional repression and trouble controlling emotions later in life. Learn more: 10 Habits of Successful People

6. "I brought you into this world, and I can take you out."

Toxic parents use this remark to instill dread in their children and show their authority over them. It's a controlling and manipulating emotion, frequently expressed with rage. This term conveys the idea that the parent has complete control over their child's existence, which can be extremely unsettling and frightening. Hearing this as they grow up can cause problems for them later in life when it comes to fear-based relationships.

7. "You're a disappointment"

When a parent tells you, "You're a disappointment," it can seriously harm your mental health. It gives kids the impression that no matter how hard they try, they will never be able to live up to their parents' expectations. This expression encourages guilt, insecurity, and a persistent feeling of failure. It may cause the child to give up completely or to develop an unhealthy fixation on getting acceptance, which would leave them anxious all the time.

8. "You're lucky I even take care of you"

When abusive parents say things like, "You're lucky I even take care of you," they are undermining their children's right to love and care from their parents. This expression implies that the parent is doing the child a favor by providing for their necessities and that the child is a burden. A youngster may feel less secure and valuable as a result, deserving of less love and attention. Learn more: How to Take Feedback Positively

9. "You'll never find anyone who loves you as I do."

Toxic parents frequently use this term to instill emotional dependence in their children. It suggests that the child should be appreciative of the toxic parent's affection because they are unlovable to others. Even in cases when a relationship is toxic, this kind of manipulation can make the youngster feel stuck in it and make it harder for them to build autonomous, healthy connections in the future.

The Effects of These Phrases in the Long Run

The words and phrases that toxic parents use can have a lasting effect on the emotional and mental well-being of their children. Relationship problems, anxiety, sadness, and low self-esteem can result from growing up in a toxic environment. Many kids with toxic parents have trouble believing in themselves or others, and they also struggle with self-worth. A child's inner voice is shaped by these expressions, which frequently lead to internalization of unfavorable messages and their acceptance as fact.

How to Recover from Harmful Parenting

Self-awareness, counseling, and time are necessary for recovering from toxic parenting. It's critical to understand that the remarks made by toxic parents were manifestations of their unresolved problems rather than reflections of who they are. In order to recover from the emotional harm and learn how to go forward with creating wholesome, fulfilling relationships, therapy may be a crucial tool. Learn more: How to Develop a Winning Mindset

Taking Action and Developing Into a Better Parent

If you have personally been the victim of toxic parenting, you must actively work to stop the cycle with your kids. Please make an effort to validate your child's feelings, speak positively to them, and promote candid communication. Steer clear of guilt trips and comparisons, and keep in mind the influence your words have on your child's growth. You may foster a loving environment where your child can develop into a self-assured and emotionally stable adult by helping them become aware of poisonous behaviors.

Conclusion

Children of toxic parents often suffer lifelong emotional trauma as a result of the things they say. These damaging remarks have the power to undermine one's sense of self, encourage uncertainty, and impede emotional growth. By being aware of the effects of these expressions, we can endeavor to end harmful patterns and encourage more positive parent-child connections. It is right to speak to every youngster with love, respect, and understanding.

[husbandohunter]

Moments of Despair #2 [Genshin Impact/Albedo x Reader]

Synopsis: "The alchemist who relished in his gifts only to fall from grace."

(A series of works where the boys deal with the passing of their beloved).

Diluc’s despair

Warnings: angst, tragedy, major character death and psychological horror (correct me if otherwise)

(A/n): I decided to take a slightly different approach this time. Regardless, it’s still killing my heart TwT.

---------------------------------------------------

Out of the many wonders of Teyvat, one thing Albedo loved most was how you were so different from him. 

Difference ties to the unknown, one that must be discovered. He was drawn to you the first time he had laid his eyes upon your form standing at the heights of Mondstadt's cathedral. The Sisters scolded you from below, but all you did was reply with a wink amidst their chaos before soaring into the skies and letting the wind carry your glider. Reckless they said. For him, your recklessness was intriguing. 

As the sun's light blinded his vision, everything he saw seemed like a glass barrier. For the ground was where he thrived and chalk was his core, it became the basis of Albedo's very existence. Even the geo Archon granted him a Vision of the same element to affirm his identity. The earth will forever be attached to his feet as he will keep on his stride until every last truth of Teyvat have all been realized. You, on the other hand, hailed from a place where he couldn't quite reach. What lies beyond this glass ceiling? Albedo found himself gradually holding onto a string of curiosities, a string he could touch but was not able to feel. 

'Interesting,' he thought quietly, while the breeze slip between the fingers of his outstretched hand. 

He was a character of logic, possessing sharp eyes that could pierce through the depths of the most complex formulas and a mind to predict their outcomes-  as long as alchemy was still related. All impossibilities thrown in his way only paved a path for him to become the well known genius he was now. Whether it was alchemy or  investigations with the Knights of Favonius, Albedo never failed to deliver the answers. But despite it all, he always found himself endlessly contemplating over things that were considered intangible. He wonders why you smile when there was nothing to laugh about. How could you tell between the complexities of the human heart? Albedo can't seem to put a finger on it. 

'Why? What drives you? What are you thinking?' 

The Chief Alchemist couldn't resist being fascinated by your unpredictability. It reels him in similar to a fish being baited out of the waters. However, unlike those creatures, Albedo only tightened his grip on the strings as if they were a lifeline, determined to find out what they truly felt like to the touch. 

"I can't really say it's much of an answer," you hummed, clasping both hands behind your back before declaring with a grin, "To put it simply, you just gotta follow your heart."

'Follow your heart...' What does it mean to follow your heart? 

"I'm afraid I still don't understand," he replied in a thoughtful manner. The statement never really resonated with him and it certainly weren't the words his Master taught when he was in the early stages of being created, "But it does suit you very much." 

"Really? But still bring your head with you," a playful laugh escapes and you add while pointing a finger, "At least, it's what everyone tells me these days." 

"Hm," Albedo then affirms with a nod, "I can definitely see why they would tell you that." 

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" 

The days go by and his repetitious march towards the truth remains the same. However, there was never a dull moment when you were at his side. Perhaps that was the reason why Albedo became so attracted to your aura. The way you'd follow around his experiments, eyes so full of enthusiasm at every step of the activity. Sometimes the events can get a little too out of hand in which he needs to step in and save you from getting stuck in slime condensates...constantly. Albedo grew fond of your childlike excitement even when you weren't entirely sure what was going on. He normally distanced himself from socializing as it never sparked his interest. Frankly, he was too much of a genius for mundane conversations. Your presence was rather refreshing in this case. You were an oddball, just like him, and for once the alchemist felt like he didn't need to place that glass barrier between the two worlds. 

"You seem to be in a very good mood today Mister Albedo." 

He was a man of subtle expressions yet anyone could notice the small gleam in his eyes whenever he saw you walking in the hallway. Sucrose often remarked with a giggle after she noticed her teacher holding his documents upside down. But who could blame him? Joy, fun, laughter. He was able to experience those emotions all because of you; his beloved. You were the colour to his canvas and the meaning to his flower. You were a force of nature. Like a warm breeze gracing upon the terrestrial lands, you move him. 

Thump- thump- thump- 

Strings around his world began to weave one whole picture while they also tugged inside his chest. God had finally blown the breath of life into mankind's body, it was only a matter of time before Albedo came to follow his heart too. 

-------- 

"Alright, just one more detail aaaaand done!" 

You gave a small tap using the tip of your pencil and leaned back to examine your artwork. 

Masterpiece! 

On days when Katheryne had no commissions assigned to the guild, Albedo would accompany you to the Whispering Woods and conduct his sketches there instead. He was aware of the discomfort Dragonspine brought as the temperature wasn't ideal for anyone except for him. You eventually learned that your lover was not only intelligently different from the rest but physically too. Albedo, aside from the Cavalry Captain, was mysterious in his own way. He was hard to read yet never came off as intimidating, no one knew of his origins nor they knew how he came to Mondstadt. You wondered why someone like him would have wanted to get involved with your shenanigans. Rosaria often gave warnings regarding the alchemist's 'hidden intentions' in which you'd roll your eyes in response. The Albedo you knew was far from that. He was a big brother to Klee, a man passionate about his work, he was the one golden star among the many silvers in your sky. He was your lover. 

My Albedo. 

Brushing a hand upon the drawing you made of him, you glided down the lines of his cheek before resting your finger on the mark by his neck. You gazed at it with fondness. Truly a masterpiece indeed. 

"You do realize I'm still here?" 

The paper nearly flies out of your grasp and you snatched it back to your chest, "HUH A-ALBEDO, WHEN DID YOU APPEAR???" 

"I was with you the whole time," he states. The corner of his lip tug upward ever so slightly, "You said you wanted to sketch me." 

"A-Ahahaha, so I did," you reply while scratching your head bashfully. 'I thought I was looking at a sculpture!!'  You rushed to cover your face with the sheet. It wasn't that you forgot he was there, rather, you forgot he was still a living and breathing specimen who just witnessed your little serenade. As Lisa had once said, Albedo was easy on the eyes. His graceful features made him seem almost like an oil painting that could only be found in  halls of the most prestigious households. You made sure to capture everything, every detail, every curve just like he had done with your portraits. Only now you noticed the sun already began its descent below the lakeside, dusting the landscape with hints of bright orange as it marked the day's end. If only time could slow down. But duty calls upon your next journey and there was no telling when you'd return. At the very least, a simple portrait would suffice to fill in the temporary gap of his absence. 

"Can I see it?" 

You glanced his direction while keeping the drawing close to your nose, "Are you sure about that? It might not be up to your expectations." 

"I'm sure," Albedo affirms with a straight countenance, "I can already tell you've put a great amount of effort, otherwise you wouldn't have taken this long." 

"Yeeaahh I kinda lost track of time. I guess it's only fair that you get to see the finished product," you say and shoved the drawing in front of him, "Tada! I present to you, my masterpiece!" 

Albedo takes it out of your grasp and you watched the way his eyes expanded upon sight. 

"Well? Whaddya think?" 

Words could not describe the mixture of emotions that erupted within him. Was it distinguishable or abstract? Albedo spent his time pondering between the two answers as he examined the drawing closely. Despite the lines being slightly jagged and the unevenness in the placement of his eyes, he managed to make the shape of the entire image you were trying to convey. Perhaps it was all thanks to his well trained artistic vision which gave him the ability to do so. Or maybe he was simply biased. But there wasn't a shred of doubt that this was indeed your craftsmanship. 

"You even added flowers in the background," he pointed out with amusement. 

"It's the thing you make when using your elemental burst, I couldn't fit your hand in the picture so I decided to put it somewhere empty," you informed, "Out of everything, that one took me the longest." 

"And the rabbits?" 

"They resemble Klee's bombs!" 

He lets out a chuckle, "I see." 

Albedo kept his attention downward until he was mindlessly staring at the paper in hand. This was a memory made to be carried as you moved on to your next journey and it saddens him that he could not accompany you. If only time slowed down. Albedo wanted to hold onto the memory forever, because he knew once he gave it back, he wouldn't be able to see you for an uncertain amount of time. 

"Do you really have to go?" 

His voice was barely above a whisper. Guilt crept into your heart and you gingerly layed your fingers on his gloved ones, bringing down the paper that blocked his face. A pair of teal orbs held a reflection of your image as the sun's rays casted from the side. You returned it with a reassuring grin, hoping to soothe his worries somehow, "I just need to pay a visit to my father since he's been very sick lately. I'll be fine, so don't worry too much okay?" 

Albedo turns over his palm and gave your hand a squeeze, "How long will it take?" 

"I'm not sure but it will be a while. Snezhnaya is pretty far so..." you trailed off, "But my time in Mondstadt, with Klee and with you, I will never forget! I won't even if I tried." 

When you were met with no answer, a breeze came in to fill the melancholic silence. He too will not forget and he would ensure that it was the same for you. Slowly, Albedo brought your hand up, past the center of his heart all the way to cupping his cheek. He allowed himself to indulge in your warmth, tangling the strands of his hair with your fingers while closing his eyes. Sweet flowers. You always carried the smell of sweet flowers. 

"Albedo?" You gawked, "What's the matter?" 

"...There are certain aspects where drawings can't imitate,"  he says, grip tightening ever so slightly, "How I feel against your skin, the shape of my jaw, your warmth radiating with my own. These are the things I want you to remember." 

Breath leaves your slightly parted mouth. It was unfair how straightforward Albedo could be when showing his affection. Doing as he pleases without anyone's approval to the point it would even catch you off guard since he often absorbed himself in the arts of alchemy. But during times when Albedo did choose to express his feelings, you knew they came from a place of pure genuinity. The thought made it hard for you to tear away from him, "Did you ever find out what the strings felt like then?" 

Albedo returns his gaze, long golden lashes hovering them as he smiles softly, "...I have." 

As he began to reveal his stories, the dusk sky continued to flare across the landscape with colours of passion. Red, it was the thread that had led him to you, the same string that weaved him together as a whole. Albedo lays a kiss atop of your pinky, there was a reason why Mondstadtians called him the Chalk Prince. You didn't know the intention behind his sudden affection but he knew. It was a promise, one to ensure that the thread would also have you return safely back into his arms. 

Oh how he hated the colour red. 

"Al...bedo..." 

With speed he never knew he had, Albedo scoops you into his embrace and held you close. How did everything happen so fast? He curses his mind as it proceeds to scan your injuries, drawing a conclusion where he wished to be wrong for once: 

You were beyond help. 

"Ah..haha..." you managed to laugh through bitter tears, "You don't have to say it. I know." 

His breath hitches, trying to make sense of the feeling that was slowly tearing him apart from the inside. It's not real. Of course it wasn't, it couldn't be. What other possible answer was there to explain the numbness stinging his fingers? The reason for his shaking? Everything felt so cold. Your body hardly registered to his to touch, you were losing so much blood. You were losing. He was going to lose you. 

"No," Albedo shakes his head, "We still have time. I'll go find help." 

Please, hold on. 

He forced himself to think. The ruin hunter ran off shortly after it had ambushed you, by now the Knights would eventually noticed and apprehended it on sight. They couldn't be too far. All he needed was to carry you back to safety and everyone can go home. Albedo darted his eyes all over the place, breaths becoming shallower with each passing second. Where? Where to go? Which route was best to not overexert your wounds? Think. Think. Think. Why couldn't he think? 

"A..." You watched him in your helpless state. Every part of you throbbed with pain but it pains you even more to see the renowned genius who stood atop the pedestal of elegance and grace so utterly, undoubtedly lost. This was not the goodbye you wanted, though death already had you tight in their grasps. Not yet. Using the last particle of your strength, you tried to stay alive as long as possible. Just a little bit more time. 

Albedo freezes when a trembling hand extends itself to cup around his cheek. Every single thought he had in mind vanished and was replaced by a loud ring resonating in his ears. Dreadfully, mechanically, he turns his attention to where you lay. 

"Don't cry," you whisper, "I love you, don't cry- okay?" 

Albedo grimaces, shutting his eyes closed as he allows the pent up sadness to flow out of him completely, "I can't," he said in a shaky voice, "Please. Stay." 

"I'm sorry," Your vision blurs and he hugs you even more. Drawing your final breath, you relay your most cherished words through a broken smile, "But no matter w-where I go...I won't for..ge.." 

The moment your hand fell, Albedo finally understood the difference between death and loss. 

It was...suffocating. Having the air trapped in his throat, begging to release yet it hurts to speak. The never ending stabs that pulsed within his veins rushed forth like the scraping  blizzard of Dragonspine until his whole body lost all its senses. The world was shattering. He could no longer feel your weight. He could no longer feel. 

(Y/n). 

Albedo glances at his blood stained fingers where the thread had been severed, wide eyes drowning in sorrow. What a horrible feeling. Was this a warning sent by the gods? For stepping into the boundaries of knowing too much? Ah the curse of knowledge man must bear when eating the temptatious fruit. It was the result of choosing to love you. With life, death is inevitable and with love, it will eventually bring pain. Everything had a price to pay and as an alchemist, Albedo knew that better than anyone. 

"...Meaningless..." 

But he refused to accept it. 

Cradling your corpse, he leans in and places a kiss on your forehead, lips quivering as they lingered for a second too long before gathering the strength to stand back on his feet. Nothing will stop the alchemist from reuniting with you. If the laws wished to take you away from him then he will use everything in his power to fight against those laws. 

"This is not goodbye..." Albedo said to the sleeping girl, "And it will never be." 

When the sun sinks below the plains and the stars lose their light, the sky had been replaced with a palette of darkness. It was time to go home. 

------ 

"Have you all heard about the rumours?" 

A group of knights gather in the corner as they whisper about. Sucrose stops on her tracks and hides behind a wall, clutching the book close to her chest in an attempt to stay hidden. 

"Another criminal disappeared from the dungeons? Crazy..." 

"More like creepy. I was told that place might be haunted by some dead prisoner's ghost. Even the Church is hopping onto this case." 

"Well I hope it doesn't get any worse. So many of us started going on night patrols..." 

Their voices faded out of range as the anemo user backtracks her steps carefully. Several months passed since the news of mysterious kidnappings have been announced to the public. Rumours of their whereabouts swirled around the city and much to her discomfort, Sucrose happened to catch every single one of them. There couldn't possibly be evil spirits lurking in the Favonious Headquarters right? She silently shrieks at the thought, shaking her head furiously to stop her mind from going too deep. No, I have to find him. Without wasting another minute, the anemo user sprinted towards the stairs all the way up to the second floor before stopping directly in front of her teacher's office. Despite the adrenaline that occured at the same time, she made sure to knock. 

No answer. 

"Strange, he told me he would be here today..." Sucrose muttered to herself. But suddenly she heard the sound of objects shifting from the otherside, signaling that there was indeed someone occupying the room. Without realizing, she held her breath out of anticipation. 

"Come in." 

The door creaks as she opens them, giving her enough space to slip between the gap, "Mister Albedo?" 

"You're early today," The Chief Alchemist noted from his desk, "Is there something the matter?" 

"Y-You mean you don't know? There was just another case about a person disappearing from the dungeons," Her tone became more frantic as she rambled to herself, "The kidnapper never leaves a trace and no one knows how they were able to get out. Even when we ask the guards what happened, they can't seem to remember as if...as if someone casted a spell on them!" 

"A spell?" He inquires, "I suppose that could be a possibility." 

"I think so too. I-It's the only explanation that makes sense! I mean...ghosts don't exist after all," Sucrose nervously looks down at her shoes while giving her book a squeeze, "But why? Who could be capable of such advanced techniques? No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to understand their intentions." 

"...Yes. It is a very strange occurrence indeed." 

Noticing her teacher's withdrawn attitude, Sucrose couldn't help but feel flustered at her own behaviour, "Ah my apologies Mister Albedo, I didn't mean to go off track. Have there been any progress on the investigations so far?" 

Albedo briefly glanced at the various documents splayed across his table. His reputation as an incredibly intelligent individual had reached far and wide through Mondstadt. This led to the authorities requesting his assistance regarding the recent matters, despite him specializing in the alchemical field, he was also the Captain of their Investigation Team. Although, Albedo detested partaking in things he deemed irrelevant to his research; 

"I'm afraid I would need more evidence to draw a conclusion." 

"Eh? You still need more?" 

He could not deny that the given authoritative position had provided much benefits to his own accord. 

"My expertise lies in the subject of alchemy," Albedo reasoned and proceeds to intertwine his fingers in front of his mouth, "Humans on the other hand, are very unpredictable in nature. Even the essence of their existence is hard to obtain." 

"Essence of their existence?" Sucrose repeated softly. She wanted to ask what he meant but the blank expression was evident  enough to signal his impatience. At least, that was what she thought, "Nevermind! I have something that might help," taking out a slip from her textbook, she handed it to him, "It's the report Captain Kaeya gave me. He said that the culprit might be a traitor coming from the Knights of Favonius." 

He narrows his eyes. 

"I-I think he might be right! Just think about it, we haven't found anything at all for the past few months but when we do, I sometimes feel like we're just running in circles...oh what if it's becau-" 

"Sucrose." 

"Y-Yes?!" 

Albedo calmly looks at the flustered girl, not realizing how sharp his tone was, "You're overthinking again. Perhaps it's best that you take this day off." 

"But I came here to help," she insisted, "I know it hurts to lose someone you love! Don't you understand that we're all worried about you? And Klee, she..." 

"..." 

"Please Mister Albedo, if there's anything I could do-" 

"No need," he cuts her off once again, "Your stress levels are too high. We can't go any further if you continue to act like this." 

"Oh," her ruby eyes casted to the side, "I understand..." 

"Good. Now, if you would excuse me," Albedo bid her farewell and watched as the door clicked behind her, observing every detail until he was sure that the absolute silence had returned. He picks up Kaeya's document. Such remarkable handwriting. But of course, appearances are only meant to be displayed on the surface for the Captain was a sly man, wearing a mask to shield what lies underneath. Just like his letter, they were full of innuendos and condensed meanings, orchestrated together until the truth spoke loudly to Albedo himself. 

"So, that's what he thinks." 

Perhaps the alchemist should have been a little more discreet. 

-------- 

There was a certain place in Dragonspine that no one dared to enter. But those who have, they never return. 

"Hm, no response. Now as for the next step..." 

And he was the reason why. 

Taking the sword out of the transmutation circle, Albedo turned to the snowy hill nearby and activated his alchemy. A small portion of it dissipates, revealing a trench that went so deep underground that even warmth couldn't outplay the sheer cold. It was the perfect hiding place for the evidence to lay out of sight and an environment where only he could handle. The alchemist tossed the leftover along with the others before exiting quietly, summoning back the ice to bury his victims once again. Another day, another experiment, another stain goes to his title. The path he walked upon was one littered with corpses and the sins he committed. But despite the bones crunching beneath his feet and the weight of the dead hanging on his shoulders, the alchemist was numb to it all. Like an entity floating in space with nothing to hold, he became unable to feel. 

"I'm back," When reaching the center of Starglow Cavern, Albedo puts his hand on the icicle and caressed it's hard cold surface, "Did you sleep well?" 

The girl did not respond. Her eyes were closed and her skin was as young as ever. She was frozen in time. 

"You must have." 

Albedo felt the sword beginning to shake in his grasp as it resonated with his energy. Dust particles emitted from the hilt and slowly made their climb to the side of his arm. Still, Albedo's attention did not waver, "To this day, I've been thinking about what you told me the first time we met." 

"..." 

"Follow your heart. I couldn't understand it at first but after being around your presence, I believe I can finally recognize what that term means." 

He closes his eyes as he envisioned your lively form running across the landscape. Albedo, Albedo! The sound of his name was mixed with your laughter while Klee came into the scene and caught the dandelions with you. A content smile formed on his countenance as he watched from afar, even if it was just a memory, "It's everything. The breakfast we ate together, to the nights spent camping outside, and the silly moments we shared, they bring all these colours that I never knew existed." 

"..." 

Albedo curls his fingers against the ice as he continues to lament, "Perhaps that's why I began noticing the strings around me. The closer I was to answer, the more I felt it was necessary to discover what they are. All this time, you were the answer I was searching for," Moist begins to build up in his eyes but they freeze up once reaching the corners. How cruel. Despite what he went through, he wasn't even granted the liberty to cry, "Because with you, I'm able to feel them." 

He wonders what you would think if you saw him right now. Albedo peers at his reflection casted on the crystalline surface, the frame of his face had been decorated with streaks of purple and red, spreading out like tree branches as they both fought for dominance. The teal coloured orbs you once adored were beginning to transform to a colour that reminded him of his darkest days. This was Albedo's true nature- a monster, a being that wasn't human, the essence in which you never had the chance to see. 

"I know I may not be the same as I was before," he added, "But if that is what it takes to follow your heart, will you let me feel the strings again?" 

Would you still love me the same? 

"..." 

"If so, then please understand my actions," Albedo takes a step back as he held out the sword in front of him. At last, the preparations have finally been completed. He plunges the blade to the ground with full force and the surrounding area begins to shake under the power accumulated through many, intentional sacrifices. To revive the dead was a forbidden art as it came with heavy consequences. If it weren't for Albedo's talent and quick wit, the process would have consumed him long before executing the last stage. He winces, the pain was excruciating. It was hard for him to ignore the sound of his skin cracking below his ears and all the way to his nose as they fall off in the shape of small rock-like chunks. Everything hurt so much that even death sounded like a sweet dream but Albedo couldn't afford to give up. He had already come this far, his hands completely washed with sin and his reputation already broken beyond repair, Albedo had nowhere else to go. This was his last destination. 

"Soon-" he pants between choked breaths. Soon your eyes will open. He could drown in your embrace, one that was warm and not cold. Soon he will be able revive those cherished memories from a frozen past. It was all he could think of right now. Your existence was the reason why a part of him felt whole and your death made him realize how painful it was to tear away those pieces. Albedo refused to let go of those pieces, they had already become a part of him. And if this path ended up tearing him even more, then so be it. 

"I should have stopped you the moment you were born." 

The intruder snapped him awake and he swung around to where they stood. But before Albedo could make out who it was, they lunged past him with incredible speed, kicking the sword off the ground while severing his two arms once and for all. They flew to the side, blood dyed purple trickling from the edges of his joint as he struggled to stay upright. 

"Dains...leif..." 

Dainsleif watched the alchemist fall onto his back as the light around him slowly faded away. He turned his gaze to where the objective was and noticed a girl encased within the ice. The man sighs out of relief when she shows no signs of life, he came just in time, "So this is how it ends." 

Albedo weakly stared at the blonde man. He attempted to say something but the blood caught in his mouth prevented him from that. 

"Save your breath, you won't be having any," Dainsleif remarks in a cold manner and glared at his bloodied form, "The renowned Chief Alchemist of Mondstadt and an important member of Ordo Favonious. Hmph, what an interesting turn of events. Out of everyone, I never thought you were the type to act so foolish." 

Foolish...what a foreign name to be called as. He never heard anyone tell him he was foolish. 

"Truly a pity," With a flick of a wrist, Dainsleif brought his sword to Albedo's neck. It was unbelievable how he had the endurance to go through all that pain while still breathing at this point but what is there to be expected from a monster? "Remember that all actions have consequences." 

The alchemist watched as his life flashed before him, the weight of his sins had finally caught up. He had always seen the world as a platform for his objectives and results were merely a natural cause after attempting many experiments. But death as a consequences was an unbearble realization upon his final moments. He abandoned his title, his pupil and his dearest sister. In the end, he was still unable to fulfill his duty. 

"I just..." Albedo mumbled, his words slurring together, "wanted..." 

As the ashes turn to ashes and dust becomes dust, chalk returns to the earth, forever yearning a place that can never be reached.

[cherrywoes]

cuddle headcanons. (ft. diluc and kaeya.)

title: cuddle headcanons

characters: diluc and kaeya (separate.)

fandom: genshin impact

requests: open.

rating: nice and fluffy

a/n: thank you @sullen-angel24! i'm glad to see you in my ask box dear! <3 istg kaeya's was throwing me for a loop so i went with my best interpretation of his personality and in-game actions thus far. i'm a kaeya main and i struggle to write him smh. anyway! i hope you enjoy it! <3

diluc: cuddle headcanons

i feel like diluc would be one of those people who are intentionally a little skittish around intimate contact of any kind, but secretly loves it on the inside,,,

like there are only so many ways he can express his emotions through his words, usually which come out either wrong or not quite what he meant, so he can convey his emotions better through small actions, whether that be a hug or something else *wink wonk*

but on a more serious note, i do believe diluc is an actions over words kind of guy. he values actions over words, at least, because they mean more to him than anything you could say in the long run.

so cuddling with diluc would more than likely be a "behind close doors" affair, so to speak, he isn't fond of public affection and would much prefer it to be on his terms in a place where he feels safe.

that said!

cuddling with diluc is like cuddling with a heater. it can be comfy, depending on the weather (dragonspine) or it can be absolutely awful depending on the heat (mondstadt or liyue), but either way, the man runs pretty hot on a regular basis due to his abilities, so cool clothing--or none at all--is a must.

diluc very rarely wears much of anything because of it (this is if nighttime cuddles are a thing) so you'd have to be comfortable with an unusual amount of skinship with him. at first he might be a little wary and wear clothes, for propriety's sake, but would quickly grow weary of the whole thing and be as comfortable as possible.

since diluc has strong upper body strength (he has to, being a claymore wielder) he has a rather firm grip when it comes to holding you to his chest. it is pleasant and comfortable, not too hard and not too loose, but just enough to where you can feel comforted and protected--which is the goal.

if you are ever in distress, tired, sad, or anything at all, you can always track down diluc at the dawn winery and know he'll be ready to offer cuddles at a moment's notice, but only because it's you.

play with his hair. do it. he says he doesn't like it but he does. do it when he turns his back to you and just cuddle him from behind and run your fingers through his scalp, twist his hair into braids, muse it thoroughly--he'll be much more compliant and at ease than if you hadn't.

his favorite cuddling position is when he's on his back and you're snuggled right up to his side, resting your cheek somewhere between his shoulder and chest and a leg thrown over his hips, comfortable and leisurely. especially in the mornings, when neither of you have nowhere to go immediately and can just sit and bask in each other's presence.

his second favorite would probably be face to face but it's rare that it happens because he'd much prefer the first. he enjoys just flicking his gaze over your face if you've fallen asleep, or just staring into your eyes in general if you're awake, feeling as if his stare alone could convey the many words he would never say.

at the end of the day, diluc is a pretty soft boi with a fairly rough background so handle his heart with care please!

kaeya: cuddle headcanons

the opposite of diluc, i think kaeya would be opposed to any kind of skinship--for the most part. while he certainly appreciates a good hug or pat on the shoulder here and there, he's averse to contact for extended periods of time lasting longer than maybe a few minutes.

he is able to express himself more thoroughly with his words, i believe, than his actions, because his actions can be easily misconstrued, as past actions indicate. *cough* so he much prefers verbal affirmations to physical ones, but however, if the traveler (yourself) is more skewed towards physical affection, he supposes he can't complain, since it's you, after all.

with kaeya, you would have to start out small; lingering touches, never fully encompassing or heavy, but light and delicate. get him used to your extended presence, so to speak, and he'll be more inclined to be touchier because, despite what he says or indicates with body language, he does crave that interaction with you even if his mind vehemently opposes it.

in a compromise, he'll sit as close to you as possible, but the rest will ultimately be up to you.

cuddling with kaeya, at first, is a bit of an awkward thing. he isn't sure what he wants, so he tries to do what is natural--deflect with flirtatious comments and fond words, distracting you from his uncomfortableness, but you see right through it.

over time, as he grows more accustomed to it, he grows clingier, even going as far as cuddling you in public spaces. the knights of favonius' hq has never known him to be as close as he is to you at any given time.

if he's working late and refuses to come home, you can easily wedge yourself into his lap on his chair and cuddle him that way, which is counterproductive since he can't resist when you do that.

because he runs quite cool, being a cryo user, he's the best to have during mondstadt heatwaves or impromptu trips to liyue. he sleeps with several blankets so if you end up having a cuddle session before bed, either wear cool clothes or be prepared to sleep naked (not that he would mind). *wink wink nudge nudge*

he's a blanket hoarder and collects blankets. you can't persuade me otherwise. i will die on this hill.

in an interesting turn, he doesn't like his hair played with, but he will play with yours, although not in the neat and pretty designs you probably would. usually it ends up knotted and matted worse than before if you came off of a mission, because while his touch is playful, it more than often comes with disastrous consequences.

his favorite position is cuddled up behind you, as close as he can be, with an arm under your head and another wrapped around your waist, his hand close to your heart. you can either hold that hand or reach up and stroke your fingers down his arm and he'll be happy. bonus points if you twine your legs together with his, he loves that.

his second favorite is less of a cuddle and more of a bear hug; specifically, more like a koala hug. it's less of an intimacy thing and more of a "i enjoy being greeted this way" thing, especially if he's the one coming back from a lengthy trip or mission. just leap on him and hold tight with your arms and legs (don't kill the poor bby tho) and he feels loved and appreciated and actually wants to return to you than mondstadt.

kaeya, when all is said and done, yearns for affection and affirmation, so be careful with him; he does, despite what he claims, breaks easily.

[spenciegoob]

Swing to the Stars

this fic swap is for @reidgraygubler​ ... I really hope you like it, shadow :)

A/N: AAAAH! this is my first fic swap and I’M SO EXCITED!!!!

Summary: Spencer meets someone in his little hiding spot, and desperately hopes to see them again.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral!Reader

Category: fluff with a dash of angst

Content Warnings: mentions of Maeve & William Reid, talk of a case involving teens, mentions of bullying, mentions of guns and pepper spray (not used)

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4K

___

The first time I climbed that treacherous hill, dirtying my converse for all to see what my night activities truly consisted of, I was alone. I enjoyed it like that, I came here by myself, and I intended to keep it that way. When I sat on the swing dangling by two dangerously flimsy ropes, I thought how ridiculously large the slap of wood used to make it was. My elbows were bent a little over a 90 degree angle just to reach both sides, but I never thought past it. I had other things on my mind that night.

I thought about my mom. I knew she would have loved a secluded, little space like this. She would’ve probably read to me here, using different voices that held deep emotion to convey each story with a precise amount of dedication and love. Each story to her was special, and I silently thank her every day for passing that trait down to me. 

Unfortunately, if I thought about my mom, I thought about my dad. William was never a kind man, and I could pride myself on one thing; I would never be like him. He didn’t deserve to know a place like this. It was too serene, too beautiful to house a man so willing to abandon the two people who should’ve been the most important to him. I was glad he would never get the chance to sit on this swing.

I thought about my family. How Garcia would jump with excitement at the prospect of having a picnic overlooking the city, yet quiet and missing the sounds of cars zooming by or overlapping chatter. I thought about JJ, and how Henry would beg her to push him in the swing, because to a little kid, it was perfect. He didn’t look at the frayed rope and fear that it would snap. I hope he never starts to fear the world like that.

The second time I found myself back at the bottom of the hill, I made it halfway to the top before seeing a couple getting up from the swing they were sitting together on. I realized then why it was so comically large; it was meant for two people. Thankfully when I reached the top only half out of breath, the two were starting their descent to where I came from.

This time when I sat down, I thought about Maeve. I would’ve brought her here, shared the little secret corner of the world I built for myself. She would’ve loved something like this, and I know if life wasn’t so cruel, and I was given the chance to show her, we would’ve talked for hours. So that’s what I did that time; I talked to Maeve. To anyone else, I probably looked like a crazy person talking to himself, but much to my delight, not many people made the trip up the hill to find this place.

Now I go whenever I need a break from my mind, which unfortunately is more times than my schedule allows me to take that leisurely walk. I spend my nights sometimes after a particularly hard case there no matter the time, using the ropes that scratch my hands as my lifeline down to Earth. I watch the stars, screaming and cursing at the world in my head and waiting for the sky to respond. It never did, and the next case always came in the following morning.

This particular time that I found myself at the bottom of the grassy hill waiting to be climbed, the case I just returned from involved kids across the board. A teenage unsub was killing his fellow classmates that have wronged him. Unfortunately, the BAU had to witness his stressor recorded for the whole school to see. It involved vile insults being thrown at the young, defenseless boy only for the bullying to escalate to violence.

It was awful.

As I trudged up the hill with less excitement to look into the vast unknown than usual, I couldn’t stop thinking about the unsub. All he wanted in life was a friend, someone to talk to, laugh with, share memories together. No matter how wrong it was, I saw myself in him. Our souls held the same scars given to us by people who had no right to go digging for such a deep part of ourselves. If I didn’t make it, would I have turned out like him?

When I reached the top, completing my journey once again, I saw them. Sitting there, staring out into the sky, mimicking my thoughts to do the same on the jet ride home. I could only make out half their face lit up by the light casting down from the full moon, but I didn’t need to see more to know they were breathtaking.

I would have turned around to return home to nothing more than books reread thousands of times and stale coffee, but I already made the mistake of stepping on a rather large branch that broke in half. The crunch coming from their right immediately had them on edge, and reaching for their bag that I could only assume had some sort of weapon inside. I hope it was legal.

I felt terrible for breaking them from the trance they were in. They were deep in thought about something that was probably going to become a solution if I hadn't interrupted their musing. 

“H-hi, I’m sorry to scare you. I didn’t expect anyone here this late. Not that you being here is a problem! I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I frantically shouted, although there was less distance between us than I originally thought, and probably seemed crazed by my volume level.

They just giggled at first, but upon seeing my distraught expression, their face turned more kind than humorous.

“That’s okay. I’m just glad I didn’t jump so fast to pepper spray you. That would definitely be the worst case scenario.” I let out a breath of relief for some reason. Here I was, in front of a total stranger thankful that their weapon of choice wasn’t a gun. I’ve been on the wrong end of too many during my years.

“Did you know Chemical Mace, more commonly known as pepper spray, was invented in the 1960s by a man named Alan Lee Litman and his wife Doris Litman at the time. Their reason was actually because one of Doris’s female coworkers was attacked and robbed, so they thought to create a nonlethal weapon with easy accessibility and use, considering not everyone is able to use a gun. It wasn’t until 1987 however that the Litman’s sold their creation to Smith and Wesson where it was mass produced and later sold to law enforcement.”

“Wow, I don’t think I did.” They laughed again, but something in my heart told me it wasn’t meant to come with malicious intent. “Do you do that a lot?”

“Do what?” I asked, even though I had some inclination of what they were referencing.

“Spout random facts. I’m not complaining, that was very cool, but I am fully intrigued.” They smiled again at me fondly, the kind of smile that left me a little breathless, even more so than the 45 degree incline I had to climb to find myself in front of them. There was nothing to convince me they weren’t authentic in every word they stated.

“I do it quite often, yes. It gets annoying after a while though.” It was true, I was told on many occasions that my rambling got old very fast. I suppose that’s what happens when you’re close to me for too long. I tend to stop being the awe-striking genius, and become the nagging, walking encyclopedia.

“I don’t see how that could become annoying.” It sounded sad coming from them, like I had insulted their oddity. I would never, and I was really hoping to find out what it was.

I had nothing further to say that would express my shock, and slight fondness over their praise, wary of its honesty even if it did come from them. I hadn’t known them for more than 4 minutes and 36 seconds, but it was enough to figure out that they weren’t a liar. It wasn’t from profiling either.

“You know, there is room for two people here if you wanted to join me. I’m sure you didn’t climb that hill for nothing.” They continued for me. If they noticed my surprise, they said nothing about it. 

Usually, I would be skeptical of being in a close proximity with a stranger, but as I approached them carefully, even if their hand was no longer reaching for mace, I felt the passing between our eyes. It was as if we had shared every part of ourselves with eye contact, and as crazy as it sounds, I felt the somber thoughts that lingered from their previous reflections.

So I sat down, grabbing onto only one of the scratchy ropes, and enjoying the way I could rest my elbow against my side now that I was using the swing to its fullest potential. I stopped caring about the probability of the ropes snapping under our combined body weight. The worst that could possibly happen was I bruised my tailbone a little bit, but I wouldn’t care past the initial embarrassment. At least I had someone to show that with.

“Do you ever think about what’s out there?” They asked once I was settled on the wood slab as comfortably as I could muster. Being boney didn’t necessarily help. Before I could answer, they continued. “I can tell you’re a man of science, if the fact dump wasn’t any indicator, but I mean beyond the facts, and the known.”

“No, I don’t think about it.” It was a lie, I think about it every time I’m here, but I wanted nothing more in this moment than to know how they saw the stars.

“I do. Quite frequently, actually. I mean, I’ve read every book there ever was about the stars and space, but there is still no answer to my question.”

“What question?” I had to know.

“What’s exactly written in the stars,” they replied, using their hands to showcase the sky above us. I sat back and thought for a while. Like the books they’ve read, I too didn’t have the response to their question. God, how I wish I did.

I don’t know how long we sat there quietly. One of the perks of total darkness in the dead of night is that the moon couldn’t tell time the way the sun did. We got lost in the cosmos together, contemplating sharing our own troubled thoughts with each other. It would have felt right if we did, but alas, the ringing of my cell phone dropped a pin in our reflections.

“I- I’m sorry, I have to take this,” I rushed out before standing up and accepting the incoming call from Penelope. I knew it was a case before her bubbly voice rang through my celular. I allowed the disappointment to bleed through my tone when I told her I would be back at the BAU shortly, hoping that the small release of the emotion would be enough to ward it off in time to turn back around. 

It didn’t.

They were already looking at me expectantly when I made my way back to the swing, bending down to retrieve my satchel I had abandoned on the ground. The amount of guilt on my face must have been enough to tell them I had to leave abruptly, despite the fact that the only thing I wanted to do was stay for even just a second.

“That’s okay,” they spoke softly, giving me a tight lipped smile. “We’ll see each other again.”

“How do you know?” I couldn’t help but be skeptical. Life never did work out in my favor. They looked up at the sky once more before answering.

“Just a feeling.” I let a full grin break out at their response, the first one I’ve had when visiting this place. I turned around to start my journey back to the office where dark, and twisted things lurked behind manilla folders. Before starting my descent however, I spun around quickly, almost losing my footing and taking a tumble.

“Woah there tiger, don’t hurt yourself,” they giggled at me, one that I returned with my own breathy laugh.

“I just don’t know your name.” It baffled me a little bit that I hadn’t thought to ask before this, but they just gave me one last smile, tilting their head in faux contemplation.

“Ask me next time.” I will.

***

It’s been a year since I met them, and I haven’t seen them since. Not for a lack of trying however. After that case, I went there every night until a new one arose, this time taking me to Oregon. They hadn’t been back, and part of me wondered if it was because of me. Did I not try hard enough the first time? Should I have ignored my ringer until my phone had 5 missed calls from Penelope?

But then my eidetic memory swooped in to save me from going down that road, one of the only times it wasn’t the cause of my self destructive thoughts. Because while I replayed the conversation over in my head wondering where it went wrong, I remembered their eyes, and their smile.

I remembered what it felt like to sit with them, and thankfully that was enough to convince myself our meeting wasn’t in vain.

I never was the kind of man to believe in the universe. The whole notion that “everything happens for a reason,” felt like a lie created to somehow blame an external force on the chaos in one’s life. There were so many things in my life that had no reason for happening, and to blame that on anything or anyone but myself would be a cheap excuse of a way out.

But for some odd reason, the universe aside, I believed in them, and strangely enough, I don’t think they would have blamed me for the life I had to live. So, as I sit down tonight on this familiar piece of wood, I choose to stare at the stars instead of the ground, and believe that if I spoke aloud, maybe they would hear me.

And they did, because my efforts to sit on one side of the swing in case they returned to me were not in vain. I didn’t look over, I didn’t have to to know it was them. I had already relaxed once their presence was known in my peripherals.

“Y/N,” they spoke, causing me to change my view on the stars to their side profile. It wasn’t all that different than staring at the constellations spread around us. “My name’s Y/N.”

___

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[enjeolmii]

coffee - s.jy

genre: mostly angst, a little fluff towards the end

word count: 1.7k

warnings: overdose on caffeine, passing out, i think that’s all :))

"Y/n, you should stop drinking coffee. You have to watch out for yourself, too," Jake says slowly, sitting his hand on your shoulder with the other one on the heavy cup you are holding. "Four is enough."

Your eyes shift to his expression, one that conveyed clear emotions of concern. This was supposed to be your fifth cup of the day.

Studying for the exams has never been so stressful. The amount of pressure dangling on your shoulders is much unbearable than how you expected it to be. Having parents who never supported your dream certainly took a toll on you, and living with a flawless sister all your life was never any help for your self-esteem. Being the low-grade sister between you two gave you comparisons aplenty. Everywhere you look, no matter where you go, you always find taunts and mockery preying on you. All your life, you got discredited by most of your relatives in light of your sister.

And you want to prove them wrong.

Getting higher grades is what it is. All she's ever good at is cheating off of her friends' answer sheets. It's a secret she threatened you to keep. Ever since she saw you and Jake hanging out alone in the swimming room, a picture she'd taken is all it would take for your parents to wash their hands of you.

And then, there's also getting the favor of all your family. She's prettier, sweeter, hard-working, and smarter. Everyone is biased on her nonexistent efforts, yet you - who has tried everything she can do to show her utmost best to be acknowledged by the people around her - were forsaken and left overlooked.

But it wasn't until Jake happened.

Only he saw the struggles you faced and outweighed. He conceded how far down the road you'd made it yourself and never forgot to make you feel worthy of his praises. He is the only one who understood the motive behind your desperation, and he is the only one who supported your dream.

So you wanted to make him proud. This exam will serve as the last movement to get into the performing arts school you long sought to join. To lose this opportunity means losing all you endear, and you wouldn't be sure how well you will hold up if you let this chance slip away.

That is all you can say for five cups of coffee.

"As much as I would love to stop, I'm not yet done studying. I need to ace this test." You peel his grip off of your cup, squeezing it as you offer a hesitant smile of reassurance, and he lets out a sigh.

"You aced all your activities and went home bringing the highest grades in your class," His palms find purchase on your shoulders. "You are doing so well now. Why do you put so much pressure on yourself?" A short silence follows your sigh.

"Jake, I have only been compared to my sister all my life. This is the only time I can prove them wrong. I want to feel incomparable, too. I want them to know that I am not a punching bag that they can just play around with," You clarify through clenched teeth, a recollection of all the memories flashing past your eyes. "You know that better than anyone."

Your boyfriend couldn't help but feel bad for you. He understood. All those times you leaned on him when you felt like giving up, every moment you called him and texted him asking for motivation, he knows how much you went through, and it casts him down that you never acknowledged how much progress and improvement you have shown.

You became more assertive and bolder, and he is happy that you are finally standing up for yourself. However, he couldn't learn to accept seeing you lose long hours of sleep over studying. For days, you ran on caffeine to help you stay awake and scan through your textbooks as long as you were satisfied. You pushed yourself to the limits, bypassing the pleasure of taking a rest and instead etching all significant terms on the topic of your exam in your mind. You disregarded the accomplishments you made for yourself and went on thinking that you never achieved enough to get a compliment from your loved ones, which is what Jake could not understand.

"Yes, I know that. But drinking more coffee isn't going to help you, is it?" He signifies, and you let a dry laugh through your nose.

"Give me one reason caffeine doesn't help." You smirk at him. Sure, your method is trash, and everything about it is not entirely definitive. But, can you really do anything about it? No, well, not that you know of. Your sister is studying in the same field, and it is only a matter of skill to win against her. If you gain a point or two higher, it is more than enough to crush her pride and bring yours up. The hidden thirst you have for acceptance is slowly showing, and you all but feel determined to see how far you can take it to get the better of her.

"Too much of it doesn't bring you to the top. It brings you to a hospital bed."

Your smile vanishes at his answer. What he said is true, but to hear an accurate response to your insincere quest only irritates you. You set the mug down on the countertop before crossing your arms, feeling the weight of his hands on your shoulders disappear, and you poke your tongue to the side of your cheek. "So what do you want me to do?" You assert, voice laced with irritation and disinterest.

"Take a break. Continue studying when your mind's not exhausted."

"My mind is not exhausted."

"Babe, you've been in front of your books since early sunrise. It's already two in the morning." He protests, and you look at him with a tinge of bitterness.

He shoots you worried gazes as his hands travel to yours, squeezing and swaying them side to side, and you sigh. "I don't care what time it is. I can take a rest tomorrow after the exam." You retract his grip from yours, taking the coffee cup back in your hands before stepping back into your room. "I need to study."

"Y/n... Please!" Jake follows close behind you, continuously begging. Suddenly, your head becomes heavy. Pain strikes your upper nape every time he calls for your name, ears abruptly ringing at the volume he whines. Black spots appear in your vision, along with the feeling of getting lightheaded. Your eyes shut tight in discomfort. As though your head will fall off the moment you move it around, you lose all senses, the sound of him calling you blurring away.

One moment, you groan with a hand rubbing slow circles at your temple. And another moment, the shattering sound of your mug against the floor reaches your ears, legs giving out as you feel your boyfriend's arms supporting your fall.

Panic replaces the distress in Jake's expression. Frantically, he lightly shakes your body in an attempt to wake you up, and when all taps and raps decline, he locks his arms around your arms and knees, hastily lifting you towards your bedroom.

Through the piles of answer sheets sprawled on the floor, he tiptoes his way to gently lay you on your bed, snatching the pillows under your head to pile them beneath your feet.

A heavier sigh escapes. He moves to sit by your side against the headboard, looking down at your vulnerable form as he sweeps strands of hair away from your face.

"You're so stubborn, you know that?" He utters through whispers. "You just never learn to give up, even when you know it's going to be hard on you."

Running his fingers gently through your hair, he frowns. He admires it of you - how you always manage to get what you want.

It's how he fell in love with you. It's how you caught his heart. The confidence that inclined his interest when you represented the class's agitated thoughts towards your unqualified professor, not a single fear of the consequences ahead.

Then, having made known that you were never able to use that confidence in front of your family hit a soft spot in his heart. So he wanted to help you get the recognition you desired, stayed with you in your highest and lowest, up until now.

"Why can't you see the significance behind everything you have outdone? You've fulfilled enough to show your family that you are incomparable, yet you're never satisfied with yourself," The air grows silent. "I guess you want to hear it directly from them. Is that how you're going to be? Thinking of yourself the way others think of you... Do you know why I love you? Because you are a kind, persevering, and confident person. I didn't love you because you are smarter than your sister. Hearing confirmation from others isn't everything, love, there are still other people who think you are flawless."

A few more minutes of stroking your head and one good look at your subtle breathing are all it takes for Jake to get up from the bed before bitterly watching the spilled coffee wither onto the corridor floor across the open door. "Now, look at the mess I'll have to clean," He stressfully stretches his neck, eyes closed. Just as he takes a step away to tidy up the mess, a hand reaches to grab his arm.

"I'm sorry," You mumble, eyes still closed. "I was getting too competitive I didn't realize you were here for me. I didn't mean to get mad at you," You tug at him. "Stay here, I'll clean that later when we wake up. For now, let's go to sleep." You make space for him on your bed, a small smile pulling at his lips as he gladly lays down beside you, setting his arm under your head while you wrap an arm around his body. "Thank you, love."

Jake looks at you, smile growing wider before placing a long kiss on your forehead. "I'll always love you no matter what."

You mirror his expression, snuggling closer to him as you say, "I love you, too."

a/n: i saw that there are lots of you who are preparing for exams right now... if you are one of them, then thank you for reading this and procrastinating a lil bit :D i wish you all the best!! drink your water and stay healthy always!!! 💖🥰

[theredsuzuran]

Douma x reader - Innocence

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Took me a long time to upload a new content am so sorry for the delay I was really busy with school assignments therefore I cannot manage the time to write. I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors on my behalf, I hope you enjoy.

Warning : Dark themes like gore, blood and violence, degradation and swearing, mature content.

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The moon shone brightly above the sky as it's light leak through the branches illuminating the famous building of the eternal paradise cult. A new set of followers rushed into the dwelling in hopes of fulfilling their selfish desires, diminishing their agonies and enriching their possessions. However a particular human with her tattered kimono seem not to be interested to convey anything although the people around her would die to witness even a glimpse of the charismatic leader as for now she was busy running along the wide long corridors

The sound of thumping footsteps echoed throughout the building as a herd of followers attempted on catching the miscreant who disrupted the peaceful atmosphere prevailing over the supreme cult. The already annoyed and frustrated people were all worked up to catch the energetic human who on the other hand have thoughts of escaping this place they called paradise. If only she was careful enough to notice her mother's strange behavior soon as they entered the place but how can you possibly blame an innocent little girl like her, or so she thought. Afraid she might lose sight of her treacherous mother who abandoned her just moments ago she desparety stumbled her way out although that didn't concerned her simple thinking process but that's exactly how complicated the situation was.

Turning one last time to look behind if those weird people were still following her or not when suddenly she bumped into a Tall muscular figure standing infront of her soft delicate frame she must have missed him approaching while focusing on looking behind. "Please just leave me alone!" The girl fumed coherently still overwhelmed by the amount of people rushing towards her like waves something that she was not accustomed with as for eighteen years she lived indoors interacting rarely with anyone and playing with dolls most of the time.

"Watch your tongue brat" one of the men standing beside the tall man spoke with disgust hinted in his voice. "Crouch down you insolent woman, where's your gratitude it's because of lord Douma's benevolence that you are still here or you'd be rotting in the street thanks to your mother", the people around her started whispering and murmuring behind her back but she was not bother since her senses were filled with newfound wrath how dare they insult your angel like mother? No longer able to contain your anger you shouted with tears "Then take me to my mother, I don't want to stay here alone".

"Your mother abandoned you here so shut up and deal with it, now move your way for master" the man grunted irritatedly motioning the other followers to grab her and take her away.

"No don't touch me" she wiggled under their grip rushing towards douma blocking him from entering the room by grabbing his arm tightly "I am not going anywhere until I know where my mother is" she cried loudly making the demon flinch with surprise, how pitiful the creature looked in his polychromatic eyes. He have seen many humans crying before him for obvious reasons which honestly have become his monotonous routine but somehow this girl acted quite weird being her age, interesting him enough to investigate. As he was about to speak the man beside him pushed the girl hashly making her lose her balance and fall on the wooden floor.

"How dare you touch master with your filthy hands bitch" he lift his hand to slap her tight in the face but someone grabbed his wrist just in time to save the girl from further humiliation.

"Silence" all the questioning glances, judging looks and whispering stopped at once as douma spoke nonchalantly making the latter shiver in regret.

"I am sorry douma sama" the man uttered in pure horror having no intentions to displease his beloved lord. "I was-"

"I don't want to see that happen again, understood?" He replied coldly still maintaining his wide smile as the previous chaos shifted into complete hush. The man lowered his head down with shame nodding silently. Douma averted his attention and glanced at the figure underneath making the girl jolt a bit but his once frightening demeanor changed into a cheerful and optimistic one in matter of second upon seeing her.

"Please take her to my chamber and treat her wounds" the man clapped with a wide grin plastered on his face. A group of female servants came rushing to help picking her up. The girl being too bewildered did not protested and simply follow his tone as if she was hypnotized by his neatly decorated persona.

The girl was immediately taken away without delay and as per douma he needed to attend his cult duties. First of all she was washed and changed into a beautiful kimono as soon as she stepped inside, then she was escorted into a room filled with antiques and lavish items which she have never seen. Her face lit up with fascination as she began venturing those decorative pieces.

"Looks like you have ease down a bit, good good" A familiar tone struck in her ears startling her a bit only to turn back and view the handsome cult leader although it was a bit strange because she did not heard anyone approaching.

"Aww did I scared you?" He laughed covering his face with golden fans.

"No I was just- you came in without a warning, I was taken aback" she explained blushing trying her best not to act immature to which douma laughed uncontrollably as he found this human's expression adorable say entertaining in his words.

"D-dont laugh at me" she pouted crossing her arms in the attempt.

"I am sorry (y/n), you really amuse me" he replied still grinning. However there was a moment of awkward silence between them as he uttered her name abruptly.

"I didn't tell you my name.." after a long pause she replied to him with a confuse look in her face.

"I know everyone's name who are living under my supervision including yours besides what kind of cult leader I am if I don't have basic information about my fellow followers. Oh look I have been talking to you without giving the chance to let you talk my bad" he laughed again waving his fans creating another awkward situation. Causing you to sweatdrop on his remark.

"Say (y/n) how old are you?" to which she replied enthusiastically "I am 8 years old and will turn 9 soon"

"Ah you don't look like one" douma grinned closing his eyes in the process.

"Yeah I get that a lot" she remarked shyly.

"Your mother is one of my followers" he continued

"Really?" her eyes sparked with hope as she approached douma with anticipation grabbing his arms for the second time starling him, she really like holding hands eh? he have experiences like that but somehow this girl made him feel different so he allowed her but then she stopped halfway through her words "I really miss her it's been a week since she left me here" her voice dropped with sadness.

Douma felt no sympathy for humans or anything as such, he have learned to fake his emotions from a very tender age eversince he was born to the extent that even seeing his mother killing her husband mercilessly failed to evoke feelings within. He clearly did not understand what she was feeling he just stared at her with a blank expression only to replace it quickly with a grim look even faking few tears. "(Y/n) chan you know its okay you will still have me" he patted the girl in an attempt to comfort her.

"Friends?" (Y/n) replied between her tears.

"If that's how you want us to be" douma smiled at her gently shocking himself for a second because he didn't think of smiling?

Things escalated soon after that incident, (y/n) was a kind and compassionate person from inside and out and in not time the cult followers started loving her presence. As often douma would let her accompany him and most of the time she stayed by his side following him everywhere and he didn't mind that at all moreover he appreciated her company. (Y/n) was like a fresh bud to him who depicted innocence and purity he loved spoiling her with expensive gifts yet she never showed signs of greediness and genuinely appreciated his thoughtfulness slowly forgetting the past life she was in and cherishing her friendship with douma. At first she was reluctant and didn't like getting so much attention but in the course of time she bonded better with everyone and was quite content with the life she was leading. As for douma he began to depend on (y/n) to the point that not seeing her face for even one day would make him go insane and he didn't understand why not like he want to because all he cared about was how she made him feel so many varieties of pleasant emotions he wish he could feel. Eating her was out of context.

However all good things must come to an end for he is someone to not rest in peace after the sin he have committed for centuries. Seeing douma paying her more attention, spoiling her with a ravish lifestyle and even letting her stay by his side all the time made some of his cult members terribly envious they wanted to punish her for taking their chances of stealing the spotlight. There was this one room that he forbade his followers to enter for obvious reasons and specifically for (y/n) because he didn't want to repeat the same mistake. This was exactly what they wanted (y/n) to do break the rules and Douma's trust. Like that there would be no more favouritism on her with others.

"Ah (y/n), there you are" one of the female member approached her one fine morning.

"Yes how may I help you?" She asked cheerfully

"Lord douma have asked for your presence in the forbidden room tonight and he said its urgent"

"Aren't we all prohibited to go inside"

"Oh (y/n) it's true master have arrived today and he wants your presence"

Upon hearing that news her heart elated with happiness, it has been two weeks since he last saw douma around and she missed him but something felt off about the whole situation douma always sees (y/n) first before tending his followers then why did he not come meet her did he not miss her like she did?

She was lost in her thoughts until she found two hands waving and snapping infort of her face.

"Don't be late, okay?" With that said the female hurried back into other room leaving (y/n) behind even though the situation seem kinda odd maybe douma was busy afterall.

At night (y/n) went into the restricted area. She stood infront of the shoji door in absolute dilemma debating whether or not to enter the room or go back. There was her desire of meeting douma on one hand and not breaking his trust by entering the room on the other. In the end she decided not to but as she was turning back she heard someone grunting in pain behind the closed doors being a compassionate person, she decided to open the door and enter into the darkness adjusting her eyes in the process, a pungent smell hit her nostrils making her cover her mouth and to her absolute terror the scene infront of her made her puke in disgust.

A pile of Mutilated bodies, mostly women laid around lifelessly on the blood stained tatami mattress. Many having no limbs, some headless and organs missing from their body as if someone had ate all of that. The whole room was a mess full of unfortunate people. She felt sick and began crawling down her way back from the corpses. However she felt a tight grip on her left foot upon looking down she witness the sight of a woman her intestines oozing out of her stomach begging for help. (Y/n) stood there perplexed unable to say anything chocking through tears.

"I told you not to come here, why?" (Y/n) turned her head violently to see douma standing in a distance his countenance cold and sinister evident that he was highly displeased upon seeing his innocent flower disobeying his instructions.

"It's not... like... what you see" (y/n) cried fearfully but douma didn't seem to buy it well in a blink of an eye she found herself in Douma's arms as he aggressively dragged her out of the room.

"What's going on douma" no word came out from the usual lively douma.

"It's hurting me your grip" no reply again to which she forcefully tried to stand still with all her strength. This time douma stopped his features hidden under his bangs making her unable to figure the expression he was carrying.

"Is this why douma forbade us to enter the room" no reply

"Are you responsible for murdering those innocent people?" No reply

"DOUMA" she shouted

"Why you want to join them?" Douma finally looked at her his eyes glowing dangerously proving his existence to be something unnatural. (Y/n's) eyes widen at his remarks as tears rolled down her visage.

"I hate you.." she murmured

"What?" He tilted his head letting his guard down a bit at her hurtful comments.

"I HATE YOU" she pushed douma roughly and flew from the place running deep into the forest for she knew who he was and what he is capable of doing. Tearing down she constantly reminisce the moments she shared but she cannot allow herself to sympathize his heinous crimes. Why is it that the people I love are always taken away from me? She thought. Exhausted from running she halted in order to catch her breath while glancing back to see if he was following, there was no one indeed so a sudden feeling of relief gushed in her body. However turning her head back she saw him standing inches apart from her face which made her shiver and fall onto the knees.

"Why are you running away from me (y/n)" he said apatheticly his head lowered at her level. She did not reply and stayed quite.

"Is it true that you don't love me after all the things I did for you?" Covering his face with one hand his eyes glowing under the moonlight a look of dejection written on his face. There was complete silence in the forest except the sound of rustling trees.

"Answer me" holding her face now firmly he growled making her flinch under his breath. In one last desperate attempt (y/n) tried to stab douma with a tree branch she found laying on the ground but unfortunately douma was faster and easily dodged the attack and in a swift motion he hit her with immense strength causing her fragile little body to tremble in pain as she coughed mucus mixed with blood.

"How foolish of you" he crouched down her height staring intensely at the quivering figure of the miserable girl. As for (y/n) her body ached but more was the tightness in the chest that she was experiencing in the moment.

He pulled her by the hair roughly making her scream in pain although at this point all she could manage with her cracking voice were inaudible screams.

"Why did you disobey me? (Y/n)..." who knew beneath that friendly kind face was hiding a undeniably deadly and calculative demon and at this point it was clear for her that he was anything but human.

"Who are you?" these few words manage to escape from her shaky lips in between low grunts.

"I am the leader of the eternal paradise cult"

"Wrong" to which he tightened his grip making her shriek again.

"You humans are so dumb believing in the existence of primordial deities where in reality its just a myth, a fairytale, created for pleasuring the sufferings of mere human. Being superior than you mortals I wanted to make these pitiful existence happy and that's why I was born and what you saw there" his lips curved into a cheeky smile revealing his deadly fangs creeping the shit out of the already scared girl. "I eat them so that they can always be with me and attain salvation" a sinister laughter escape from his mouth as he covered it with his golden fans. (Y/n) unable to process the new sets of information knots formed in her stomach making her sick in the guts.

"I ate your mother too, oh she was ungrateful after all the things I did to her just like you" protruding her eyes with pure shock she felt her veins popping out and blood boiling in pure rage.

"You are a monster, you think your stupid morals would persuade people to think like you do, I despise you douma I thought we were friends and you took away the one I cherished the most?"

"You think your mother loved you?" Douma snapped. The duality of this was man was insane, all the things he does or says are plastic.

"She never cared for your life, you want to know why? I will tell you since you insist" douma dragged her out of forest holding a fistful of her hair tightly inflicting great discomfort to the girl while he continued with his harsh statements and deliberate insults.

"You were just a burden, behaving like a fucking child with the alluring body of yours"

"No my mother promised me..she would protect me.. you are lying"

"While you were crying everyday inside my shrine that lowly woman enjoyed her life indulging in adultery with various cult members leaving her sick husband and mentally retarded daughter in the dark" every word he uttered spread vemon into her ears.

"Still she wanted more and more and more, what a greedy whore" douma continued.

"Do you know how much difficult it was for me to control myself around you? While you sway your hips and act innocently making those hungry men lust over you, how much dumb can you be?"

"What do you mean I don't understand.. douma"

"I did everything I can for you yet you remain ungrateful, disrespectful? Well guess its runs in your blood and I thought you are innocent but it turns out that you are just like the rest of them, naive"

Her eyes widened with every hurtful remarks he made about her and she did not understand why she felt that way shouldn't she be resentful towards him for killing her beloved mother but here she is weeping constantly because douma was treating her like he never did before.

"But that's fine (y/n) I can not bring myself to hurt you I love you and we shall always be together whether you like it or not" nothing reached in her ears anymore as her body grew numb. Her eyes shut as she carried the unbearable pain in her heart slowly loosing consciousness and remaining sanity.

It would have been easier if she died but alas a mere human like her is doomed at his mercy.

[bluejayblueskies]

the before, the after, the in-between

Chapter Seven: daybreak trains Words: 3.3k

Relationships: Jon & Daisy, Jon/Martin Tags: Post-Canon, Scottish Safehouse, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mute Jon, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Hopeful Ending

Work Summary:

There was no knife, no blood, and Jon was not dead. And when he heard a strangled noise from beside him and looked over to see Martin standing in the doorway of the safehouse, flung open and letting in the frigid bite of near-winter and sunlight, there was sunlight, he felt such a dizzying, intense wave of relief that he could hardly breathe around it.

Then, he opened his mouth to say Martin’s name, and nothing came out, and all of the relief fell away in an instant.

.

Jon wakes up in the safehouse in October of 2018, alive and well but without the Eye and without his voice. In the days that follow, he finds himself confronted with a world that has reset itself in space and in time, a version of himself that is no longer the Archivist, and the fact that death during the end of the world had not been so permanent as it had seemed.

Chapter Summary:

Daisy sighs and stands, brushing her hands off on the thighs of her trousers. “It’s not like you’re never going to see me again. I’ll still visit.”

“I know,” Jon signs, his hand gestures a bit too wide. “I’ll still…” He pauses, his hands lingering in the air for a moment as he tries to figure out what the next sign should be, before giving up and stepping forward instead, reaching for Daisy’s hand and capturing it in his. He squeezes tightly, looking up at Daisy with an open, vulnerable expression. Then, he brings her hand up with his as he presses it against the left side of his chest, a few inches above the jagged line of scar tissue, and settles his other hand on top of it. He may not know how to sign I’ll miss you, but he’d learned love early on.

Read on Ao3 (link in source)

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven

Or read below:

(cw for mentions of canon-typical worms)

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A quick note that all sign language in this chapter (BSL) is indicated via italics in quotation marks. I recognize that BSL has different grammar and sentence construction than spoken English, but for the purposes of this fic and for clarity’s sake, I’ve written all sign language as it would be translated into English syntax and sentence construction. Further disclaimer that I am not deaf or mute and that I don’t speak any version of sign language, so if I’ve made an error in depicting the dialogue here, please let me know!

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Jon raps his knuckles on the frame of the bedroom door, and Daisy glances up from where she’s crouched on the floor next to the bed, halfway through packing her bag next to the cot they’d gotten so Daisy didn’t have to sleep on the couch. (Though they have been saving up for a new couch, a decently nice one that doesn’t sag in the middle and leak stuffing. Martin’s new job at the village’s library pays adequately enough, but in the three months it’s been since the world snapped back to normal, they’ve only managed to accumulate a few hundred pounds in savings. It’s all right though, Jon thinks. They have time.)

“You don’t leave until tomorrow,” Jon signs, his hands still a bit clumsy around the words but adept enough to get his point across. He still carries his notebook with him for when the modest collection of signs Daisy’s been able to teach him so far aren’t enough for him to convey his thoughts, and he has a cell phone now with a speech-to-text app that he uses occasionally even though he finds the mechanical voice grating, but he’s been having to use them less and less. He still likes having the notebook, though. It feels nice to look down and see his words still scrawled on paper even after the conversation is over. A reminder that, for all that his voice has been used and stolen and manipulated over the years, his words are still his own.

“I know,” Daisy says, tucking a few more things in her bag before zipping it closed. She sits on her heels and looks up at him, her hair loose and falling just beneath her chin from where they’d cut it a few weeks prior. “But now it’s done, so.”

Jon sighs lightly and shakes his head, more an expression of resignation than irritation. The spot where Daisy’s things used to sit looks empty now, barren. It makes something heavy settle in the pit of his stomach. It must show on his face, because Daisy sighs and stands, brushing her hands off on the thighs of her trousers. “It’s not like you’re never going to see me again. I’ll still visit.”

“I know,” Jon signs, his hand gestures a bit too wide. “I’ll still…” He pauses, his hands lingering in the air for a moment as he tries to figure out what the next sign should be, before giving up and stepping forward instead, reaching for Daisy’s hand and capturing it in his. He squeezes tightly, looking up at Daisy with an open, vulnerable expression. Then, he brings her hand up with his as he presses it against the left side of his chest, a few inches above the jagged line of scar tissue, and settles his other hand on top of it. He may not know how to sign I’ll miss you, but he’d learned love early on.

Daisy’s hand relaxes underneath his, and she stares at where their hands are clasped, mouth settling into something warm and fond. “Yeah. Me too. But it’s… time.” Her mouth twitches into something halfway displeased. “Basira’s waited long enough.”

She can wait a bit longer, Jon thinks, even as he nods and lets go of Daisy’s hand. Besides, he… he knows she’s right. The longer she stays, the less of a chance there is of her leaving at all, and he knows that it’s for the best if she goes. For her and for him.

That doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Daisy must see the vaguely sullen look on Jon’s face that he’s trying to hide, because she gives Jon an amused look and says, “You’ll be fine. No need to be so… grumpy.”

“I know,” Jon signs again, perhaps a bit more forcefully than is strictly necessary. “I’m not.”

“Sure,” Daisy says, her eyes wandering past his face and over his shoulder, where the door is sitting ajar. Jon knows Martin isn’t out there—that he’s still at work, will be for another hour or so—but he still has to resist the urge to follow her gaze, to check for himself that the doorway remains empty. “You’ve got my number? So you can call if you need to?”

Jon nods, signing the numbers just to make sure, and Daisy hums. “Good. I know the reception’s shit out here, but if I call three times with no response, I’m on the next train to Scotland. Understood?”

Jon rolls his eyes and tries to pretend like the fact that Daisy cares doesn’t make something warm and comforting settle in his chest. “Yes, mother.”

“Don’t be cheeky,” Daisy says, amused.

Daisy’s bag of things—clothing, toiletries, a few other items she’d accumulated over the past few months—sits accusingly by the door as Jon goes through the motions of making dinner, timing it so it’ll be ready by the time Martin gets home. It’s achingly domestic, and though Jon doesn’t really mind it, he’s found himself restless more days than not, hands itching for something to do that isn’t practicing sign language with Daisy or dusting the windowsills for the twentieth time. He thinks he’d be fine finding a job in the village; Martin insists that it’s still too dangerous, that people are still too angry. It’s a recurring argument, so old that almost all of the vitriol has bled out of it by this point, but still, they have it. Every moment he spends confined in this house is just another aching reminder of why he’s confined, and it builds and builds until some part of it springs free and brings with it all the frustration and hurt and pain that he just can’t seem to shake.

Maybe that’s why Jon’s so frustrated about the… therapy situation.

He stabs the knife through the pepper he’s cutting with a bit more force than necessary, and it makes a dull thunk on the cutting board. Daisy glances over from where she’s taking spices out of the cabinet, one eyebrow raised. “You’re going to wear a hole through the plastic if you keep doing that.”

Jon sighs and sends her a withering look. “Thank you,” he signs with a roll of his eyes, the motion sharp and forceful, before turning back to the cutting board and continuing to slice with clipped, jerky motions.

Daisy exhales slowly, turning back to the cabinet. “What’s wrong?” she says, reaching in and sorting through the frankly obscene amount of spices they’ve accumulated over the past few months.

“Nothing,” Jon signs without looking away from the pepper. “It’s fine.”

“Hm.” Daisy locates the spice she was looking for and pulls it out of the cupboard. “Is it because I’m leaving? I told you, it’ll be fine.”

Jon sighs and shakes his head, brushing the cut peppers off to the side and starting in on the onion. Daisy is quiet, busying herself with the spices and clearly waiting for Jon to elaborate. She’s patient, and he knows from experience that she’ll wait and wait and wait until he finally tells her what she wants to know. It reminds him distinctly of a persistence predator, stalking their prey and waiting for them to tire before they pounce.

Jon makes it all the way through the onion, ginger, and mushrooms before he finally sets the knife down with a clatter and signs, “It’s Martin.”

He leaves his hands in the air for a lingering moment, three fingers pressed tightly to the palm of his left hand, before forcibly relaxing his hands and dropping them. After a moment, Daisy prompts, “Okay. It usually is. What about Martin?”

Jon flexes his fingers by his side a few times before resigning himself to the fact that Daisy won’t let this go until he explains himself fully. He turns to gather his notebook from the kitchen table, sets it flat on the counter next to the cutting board, and taps the pen on the page a few times before deciding to just be blunt. I don’t understand how going into town for therapy is different than going into town for any other reason.

Daisy hums. “Are you upset about the therapy part or about the rest of it?”

I’m fine with the therapy part, Jon writes, a bit messily in his haste and frustration. So the rest of it.

Daisy crosses her arms, clearly waiting for him to explain.

It’s just, Jon writes, then scribbles it out. I just don’t understand, he tries, before scribbling that out too. Finally, with a frustrated huff of air, Jon settles on, I don’t think doctor-patient confidentiality is going to be as protective as Martin thinks it will be.

“Hm.” Daisy leans back against the counter and taps her fingers against it thoughtfully. “Maybe he thinks it’s worth the risk.”

Jon makes a breathy hmph sound, not sure if he’s displeased about the fact that this is what finally convinces Martin that it’s ‘worth the risk’ or about the fact that Daisy has a point.

“Why don’t you talk to him about it?” Daisy asks. Which is a perfectly reasonable question, Jon knows, so there’s no reason for him to grow even more frustrated when Daisy asks it.

He sighs, stares at his notebook, and eventually just shrugs wearily. We just haven’t been very good at talking lately, he writes, feeling every bit of his energy seep out into the ink. The end of the last letter bleeds when he leaves his pen pressed there for too long, which he thinks is fitting. That’s sort of the point of the therapy.

It’s not that Jon’s resistant to therapy. He’s not. He’d done a few sessions with a child psychologist when he was eight (that had eventually dropped off when he’d decided that never think about it again and pretend like it never happened was a much better method of coping than trying to explain something unexplainable to a smiling woman in a pantsuit), a good month or two in uni when the stress of it all had compounded and he’d shut off sometime after exams, and they were… fine. He’d taken away a few tools that he still uses—breathing techniques, the occasional bout of journaling that he’d never managed to maintain, things to help him at least identify when his thoughts begin to spiral—but nothing had really ever seemed substantial enough to justify going back. Even when things had gotten… bad, in the Archives, he’d never entertained the thought, because what would he say? He’d sat in his flat after Prentiss, laptop open as he scrolled through the available services, and found the phone number he was meant to call. His wounds itched underneath his bandages; he tried not to scratch them. The ones in his mind were a bit more difficult to let be.

He hadn’t called, in the end. He’d imagined it—sitting in a sterile office, bandages from head to toe, trying to explain being half-eaten alive by worms without saying those words—and had felt a lump that was equal parts desperation and despair rise in his throat, so acute that he’d shut his laptop with a bit more force than necessary. Therapy just… wasn’t in the cards for him, he’d decided.

And then things had gotten more complicated, and he’d been paranoid then on the run then comatose then just trying to fight against the hunger, and he’d resigned himself to the fact that he… he couldn’t be helped. Every aspect of his life was so entwined with things that he couldn’t explain to someone else, with things that a therapist wouldn’t understand, and to try to separate the parts of him that were human from the parts of him that weren’t seemed like an impossible task. Better just… not to try at all, he’d decided. He’d be fine. He always was.

Jon supposes that now, the problem is quite the opposite. Before, he’d avoided talking about the parts of himself that were supernatural because the therapist wouldn’t understand. Now, he’s avoiding talking about them because they’ll understand a bit too well.

“I think you’re still meant to try,” Daisy says, and Jon’s confused for a moment before he remembers oh, right. Talking to Martin. “Besides, he’ll… be able to help more than I can. I can’t tell you what he’s thinking; only he can.”

Almost flippantly, Jon signs, “I know.” He sighs and, after a moment, writes, I think it’ll be easier if I just trust him on this. If he thinks it’s safe, then

Jon pauses, pen still sitting on the paper, before finishing with a bit more conviction than he feels, then it’s safe.

Daisy just watches him for a moment, forehead slightly creased, before shrugging. “All right. If you need somebody to tell you that that’s fine, then here I am—telling you that it’s fine.”

“Thanks,” Jon signs with a fond sigh and a roll of his eyes. “Very helpful.”

“You’ve got to work on your ‘sarcastic’ face, or I’m going to start taking you seriously.”

“Ha ha.”

“Hm. Much better.”

. . .

The bus from the village to the train station in Inverness leaves just after dawn. Jon shifts from side to side by the door to the safehouse as Daisy does a final check to ensure she hasn’t forgotten anything, Martin trailing close behind. When they finally join him by the door, Martin hardly has time to open his mouth before Jon signs, quick and crisp, “I’m coming with.”

“Jon—” Martin starts, but Jon shakes his head.

More emphatically, he signs, “I’m. Coming. With.” When Martin opens his mouth again to argue, Jon holds up a hand, digs his notebook out of the pocket of his jacket, and scribbles, If we can visit a therapist for the foreseeable future, I can go into town once to say goodbye.

Martin’s lips purse, but after a moment, he sighs. “No, you’re- you’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just…”

“Scared?” Jon signs, one hand still holding the notebook and the other brushing against his chest.

Martin’s expression deepens, and he nods.

Jon worries his bottom lip between his teeth, then reaches forward and takes Martin’s hand in his. He squeezes it gently, reassuringly, then threads their fingers together and holds it tightly. Martin takes a deep breath, lets it out, and squeezes back. “Okay,” he whispers. “Sorry. I just- I worry.”

I know, Jon thinks. He nods and fumbles to tuck the notebook back in his pocket, then brushes his fingers gently against Martin’s cheek. I’ll be okay.

He hopes the sentiment comes across. He thinks it does, from the way Martin leans slightly into his touch and takes another, more even breath.

“I think I’ve got everything,” Daisy says, breaking through the tension between them a bit indelicately but not without purpose. “We should start walking.”

Martin presses his face into Jon’s hand for a moment more before pulling away, and Jon drops his hand back to his side. “Yeah,” Martin says with a short, firm nod. “Let’s go.”

The trip to the village is surprisingly short. It might be because of the anticipation building in Jon’s stomach, half from the knowledge that he has at best another hour with Daisy and half from the clawing worry that he’s horribly miscalculated and the moment he steps past the village limits, an angry mob will coalesce around them and demand reparation for all of Jon’s past mistakes.

It doesn’t happen. They arrive at the village and the streets are quiet, most people still asleep or preparing for the day as the sun tickles at the horizon, tinting the landscape around them with a soft morning blue. The few people they do pass pay them no mind, save for an older gentleman who wishes Martin a good morning and nods politely at Jon and Daisy. As they get closer to the bus station, Jon relaxes in increments until, by the time they reach it, he’s nearly free of tension entirely. A new wave of anxiety rushes through him as he sees the small crowd clustered by the pickup area, but they stay away from the crowds, instead stopping a bit further away near a grouping of benches. Jon settles down gratefully, the walk having made the ache in his knee flare up slightly, and after a moment, Martin and Daisy sit down as well, one on either side of him. They’re warm and solid, and even as a few more people begin to filter into the station, Jon relaxes once again as he stretches his leg in front of him carefully.

The bus is there too soon. Jon cuts off halfway through his sentence, his pen pressed against the paper as the rumble of the bus fills the air and people start to shift and stand, making their way towards where the bus is slowly rolling to a stop. He looks at Daisy, suddenly feeling a bit lost, and she places her hand atop his and applies a gentle, firm pressure. “Call,” she reminds him. “Twice a week, at minimum. I expect you to be alive and well when I come back to visit, okay?”

Jon takes a deep breath. When he lets it out, it hitches in his throat. “Okay,” he signs. He flutters his hands in the air for a moment, caught between signing I love you and Be safe, then gives up and leans forward, wrapping Daisy in a tight hug instead.

She huffs out a laugh, but after a moment her arms curl around him and she settles her hands flat against his lower back, pressing down lightly. “Yeah, yeah,” she says softly. “I’ll miss you too.”

And then she’s standing and walking towards the bus and boarding and the bus is pulling away and then it’s just him and Martin, sitting side-by-side on the bench and watching the bus disappear from their line of sight. After a moment, Martin settles his hand on Jon’s knee and says quietly, “You okay?”

Jon takes a deep breath, lets it out, and nods. “Let’s go home?”

Martin nods, shifting his hand so it slips into Jon’s and squeezing tightly. “If you’re sure.”

Jon runs the fingers of his free hand along the cover of his notebook, now lying closed on his lap. The back half is filled with words, thoughts, some carefully inked and others scratched down quickly before Jon forgot them. He has another two just like this one, tucked away in his drawer in the bedroom underneath his jumpers. There’s so much contained within them, so much more that’s still contained within himself, and the path ahead—the one where he sits side-by-side with Martin and faces a trained professional and tries to iron them all out into something manageable—is a daunting one. But he wants to try. God, he wants to try. So badly he aches with it.

“I’m sure,” he signs, then reaches down and picks up his notebook and pen. For all the uncertainty he’s faced in the past, all that he still faces, that, at least, is clear to him.

“All right.” Martin bumps his knee gently against Jon’s once before standing, helping Jon to his feet. Jon’s knee twinges in protest, and without missing a beat, Martin slips his hand out of Jon’s and around his back instead, subtly supporting his weight as they make their way out of the station and back to the paved road that turns to gravel that turns to dirt that leads to the small wooden cottage at the top of the hill.

Right now, the soil outside their house is dark and barren. But in a few months’ time, Jon knows, it will grow warm and the days will grow longer and he will be able to sit outside and look at the sky and think of just how lucky he is that he’s allowed to have this. That, despite all of the bad that has happened and all of the bad that has followed them still, he’s allowed to be happy.

And in the spring, the daisies will bloom once again.

[whitherliliesbloom]

heartbeat concerto

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #03 - scale ]

[ alphinaud/wol ]  ★ [ 2,605 words ]  ★ [ nodame cantabile au ]

scale: an arrangement of the notes in any system of music in ascending or descending order of pitch

Illya prays to the heavens that the man beside her does not hear the fortissimo that was her pounding heart. 

“Rachmaninoff?” Her voice was equal parts confused as it was alarmed, hiking in pitch that sounded like an ear piercing squeak, almost grimace worthy. Trepidation rings loud in her chest, like shrieking white noise that deafens her. “I’ve never played a concerto in front of somebody before.” 

She had hoped that admittance would allow him to grant her some fraction of mercy. After all... for as gracious and supportive a tutor as he was a diligently observant audience for her playing, he surely wouldn’t throw her into the deep end after she’d just barely able to make some progress, right?

The boy merely smiles, navy blue eyes softening in its gaze as he waves the music sheets in his hands before placing them delicately upon the piano stand. He exudes an aura of gentle reassurance, but knows that his resolve to push her past her comfortable limits is implacable. 

“Now would be a good time for a first then, wouldn’t you agree?”

Illya heart sinks, lips pressed into a thin, paling line as she glances at the score that awaited her - notes upon lines that were rapidly blurring into nothing but squiggles and incomprehensible doodles in her vision... as if taunting her, daring her to butcher one of the most iconic piano concertos to have ever been composed - by one of the greatest virtuoso pianists to have ever lived no less? 

Sonatas were one thing - it took Illya a good amount of time to be able to even bring herself to play the first movement of Sonata Facile to completion in front of him without breaking down into a mess of cold sweat and trembling fingers. 

But concertos... by the twelve, even saying the word brings her chills down her spine. 

She was nowhere near good enough for pieces that demanded such high amounts of skill, precision and talent... nowhere even close to being able to perform alone on stage for a crowd to behold... let alone in front of an entire orchestra. 

When she had met the violin prodigy that had been her new neighbor and he’d offered to help her overcome the performance anxiety that had crippled her ability to play the piano in front of others for years, she hadn’t expected for him to have such sky high expectations for her - expectations that she was certain she’d never in a million years be able to meet.

Alphinaud is a confident, assured young man. Performing was only natural to him, came as naturally as music does flow through his very veins - he had even stated so on the very day that they’d met. Music is for ears to hear, for the world to enjoy. What point was there to keeping music hidden behind four walls? To hide away the sound of their instruments is an affront to the very reason those instruments were made in the first place. 

He moved into this apartment complex for a very different reason than she did - and she understood that he too, in his own ways that she could not yet fully understand, had his own troubles which kept him from reaching the heights in which he, and his family had aspired him to be. 

But the notoriety behind the difficulty of the pieces he plays has never once made his bow once falter, nor has it ever put him off the idea of even trying. Certainly, there were aspects of his playing to critique... but his determination and confidence alone makes him more of a capable musician than she is - something she both deeply envied and admired. 

Would that she could even possess half the amount of talent as he- she’d constantly tell herself, and it was a thought that possessed her even as she hung her head in defeat, trudging to the piano that sat in the middle of the living room before sitting herself down on the cushioned bench, the dent in the corner of the wood still visible from their first meeting when she’d knocked it over onto its side from panic. 

Violet eyes glance down at the black and white keys with a gulp - her greatest friend in her darkest times of sorrow... yet also the cause of many of her biggest regrets and worries in life. 

She stalls for a moment to pick her train of hair up from the floor and let it unravel gently behind her on the bench, her cotton slippers kicked aside to place her feet upon the pedals that were propped up by a well used extender - a necessity due to her short stature. 

With stiff, slightly shaky fingers that now laid delicately upon the surface of the piano keys, Illya sharply inhales, and forces herself to quiet the raging thoughts of potential failure and humiliation as she presses down to play the first notes. 

Alphinaud stands behind her by the window, quiet so as to not disturb the girl... but even with his considerate silence, Illya could not help but be acutely aware of his eyes staring holes into the back of her head. She could only begin to imagine what he was thinking - and while she’s befriended him long enough to know he was a man who was above ridicule, she still hated to disappoint - especially the first person who has heard her play the piano for the first time in years. 

A symphony fills the apartment, bright as the rays of sunlight that shone through the window, making Illya’s starspun hair appear to glow like a halo. Like little bells, the piano sings out a melody that is as light as the air. It sounds easy on the ears, gentle and kind as the timid pianist who was weaving this piece into being with her fingers. 

And that was the problem.

Rachmaninoff composed Piano Concerto No 2 during some of the darkest moments of his life - the piece that would go on to save his career as a floundering, helpless musician had been written from the very pits of his own despair - a song of tragedy and sorrow that tells of a struggling pianist and composer who feared to lose the very thing that gave his life meaning; something many other aspiring musicians would surely understand... something Illya herself knew all too well.

And yet when Alphinaud listened to the piece being played, it conveyed none of that sadness, none of the essence of what made Concerto No 2 become such an iconic classical piece in history. 

Illya played without fault - that much he is certain. She’s taking great care to play the right notes, attentive to her own pace that would be fitting were a choir of violins and cellos playing after her tune. But he can tell, even without looking upon the tense, rigid scowl upon her face that she was focusing too much on the technicalities that she’s lost all of what made him so captivated with her playing before - a mistake that he himself has been criticized for countless times. 

Father has chided him for that before - praised him for being a genius and young violin paragon both while at the same time admonishing his lack of improvement even after three years of performing professionally - three years of the same critique that would come back to haunt him over and over again.

Music was more than playing perfectly - it was about the inflections, the subtleties in the way one moves their finger across the piano keys, or the way one draws a violin bow... The emotions that would stir one’s heart in a way only music would be able to convey and can never be properly emulated with computerized digital sound. 

When Alphinaud closed his eyes, he did not hear the disquiet of a child’s heart as he heard the echoes of church bells ringing on a Sunday morning... but, just as it is - a nervous pianist who was pressing keys because she was told to, because she is doubting herself. 

“Illya.” he calls her name, softly so as to not startle... but more importantly, to convey that he wasn’t mad, disappointed or upset with her - as she is wont to often assume. 

The piano stops abruptly, and the girl turns to look at him, her piercing stardust hued eyes shimmering with a glossy layer of worry - it suits her less than the rare blossoms of joy that sprouted in her eyes whenever she seemed to genuinely be enjoying his company.

“Y-Yes?” 

The young man pauses for a moment to casually stroll up beside her, before gesturing for the lady to move. Though confused, she scoots over to her right to allow him space on the bench, questioning expression apparent on her face about his intent.

When he sits, the close proximity between them brings him warmth, and he feels the corners of his lips instinctively pull into a gentle smile.

“I’m sorry, you must have been caught off guard with such an unreasonable request from me.” He apologizes before quickly holding up his hand when he sees the young lady’s lips part in an impulsive need to protest.. but it is quickly lowered when she draws back into herself and swallows her retort. “Maybe... a little warm up would be better before we move on to such a challenging piece.”

His slender fingers stretch, the pad of his index finger resting gently upon a D key, but not pressing down. 

Alphinaud has only the basic understanding of how a piano is played... and he has in the past tried to expand his musical repertoire to cover the undisputedly most popular classical instrument of all time, but he regrettably never quite got the time or chance to. But he is aware of a routine piano players would use to practice, not too dissimilar to the way violinists would warm up as well.

“May we perhaps practice scales? Just for a little while?”

The humility in his tone with his request compared to before doesn’t escape Illya’s notice, but she refrains from commenting on it as her eyes widen up at him.

“Um... s-sure.”

The hesitation in her response is only natural - after all he’d just challenged her to play a difficult piece of piano concerto only to reduce their practice down to repetitive scales - something even the most amateur of players could easily do. 

Perhaps he’d felt a tad sorry for his earlier forwardness and the not so subtle way he’d intimidated her into playing something she was clearly not completely comfortable performing for him.. and the only way he knew how to make amends was to correct the damage of his own transgression’s doing. 

Getting Illya to relax was important - not just for her music but for the sake of herself as well. If her Rapunzel length hair, lack of fresh foods in her pantry and well worn and weathered pink camise was any indication, the girl wasn’t the best at taking care of her own wellbeing in her pursuit for musical perfection. 

Illya’s shoulder is still relatively stiff as she begins to play, though not nearly as much as they were before while she was playing the concerto. Her fingers effortlessly glide across the keyboard to play an ascension of notes before moving back down. 

By the third repeat, she’s begun relaxing considerably and picking up speed, and her hands were moving with a practiced, ethereal fluidity that was akin to waves of the ocean... as were the sound of the notes being played - reminding Alphinaud of the push and pull of the tides upon a sandy shoreline. 

She transitions from C major to C minor, weaving in the scales of D-flat major and minor before the scales moves further and further up in pitch, so seamlessly that anyone who isn’t familiar with notes in the slightest would have trouble even realizing the switch in scales until she’s reached F major. 

In the face of something that comes naturally to Illya, she is at ease... and the piano is once more harmonizing in tune with her love for the instrument. 

It’s a not so subtle way of giving her a confidence boost, but Alphinaud claps as she finishes the B minor scale with a flick of her arms - and though her confusion is still apparent, he can tell just from the adorable tilt of her head that she’s relaxed now.

“Wonderful, Illya... It’s clear as crystal with the way you played how seasoned you are. I’d dare say you’re quite a prodigy yourself.”

Having a lofty title thrust onto her so suddenly without warning burns her cheeks a bright shade of red, and the girl is quick to shake her head.

“I-I... I appreciate it, Alphinaud... But I know you’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Be that as it may...” He retorts before leaning forward to close the distance between them, his blue eyes swirling with a sincerity that begins to mirror in Illya’s bejeweled ones. “My praises are always truthful and well deserved. You’re a wonderful pianist, Illya.”

Something compels Alphinaud to continue speaking. Perhaps it was the twinkling of Illya’s eyes that held the radiantly clear reflection of himself within... or the dust of pink speckled upon her cheeks and across the width of her little button nose and pointed ears... or maybe it was the soft sound of air being inhaled through her barely parted lips - glossy, pink and befittingly cute for a woman of such beauty. But he deigns to open up his heart and speak his mind freely- he finds himself being able to do so more easily towards her than any other person for some reason.

“Besides... It was because of my own selfish desire to be able to hear you play that I offered to be your tutor. Being able to be by your side here like this and watch you play alone is an honor I would always treasure. So you needn’t be so afraid of playing how you wish to with me.”

When Alphinaud leans back, he finds the delightful cherry pink shade upon Illya’s face to have darkened, and her flustered quivering of her lips as him self-reflecting upon his own statement which causes him to dart his head to the side in an attempt to hide his own blooming blush.

Not that it’d be noticed by Illya in the first place, as she tilts her head down to hide her thoroughly embarrassed expression beneath the shadows of her white bangs. 

“I-I’m sorry. Maybe I said too much.” 

Illya doesn’t respond, and the young man is almost thankful she doesn’t... because he’s determined to force himself to recover and continue on with their practice.

Clearing his throat unabashedly, his head turns slowly back to look at the girl beside him.

“Well. Shall we continue? I could pick out an easier piece for you to try, this time.”

She nods, as halfheartedly as she did earlier when he’d asked her to perform  Rachmaninoff’s piece for him. And though her playing of Mozart was even more shaky, off-pace and lacking in original intent as it did with Piano Concerto No 2 before... Alphinaud could only acknowledge her efforts with an apologetic and bashful smile on his part... for the deep red flush upon Illya’s face never once dissipates during her performance. 

Nor does the trembling of her fingers - which, if nothing else, conveys the pounding of her racing heart more than clearly and loudly for him to hear. 

[harmoni-me]

hello it’s me again! thank you for fulfilling my request i just loved it. can you please do a continuation? like- reader starts receiving these anonymous love letters and gifts, this drove the boys (and the reader) to confess their feelings in the end. angst to fluff

Wow, thank you! I’m so glad you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it! This one is even longer than the last, so please have fun reading this one!

Nagito Komaeda x Sweetheart Reader x Kokichi Ouma Pt. 2

Crunch

Huh? What in the world-

Last time you remembered reaching into your school duffle bag, all you had in it was a comfy change of clothes for when gym activities rolled around, and a wet bottle of water that was dripping with condensation, but…

You didn’t remember an envelope, not in the slightest.

A nervousness started to boil over from your head to your heart, face heating up as quickly as hot coals on a cold evening. Is this… what you thought it was?

You’re stomach dropped at the realization, plunging into the depths of your being, as a realization struck.

This…this was probably not who you thought it was from.

In retrospect, the sting would only sink in deeper if only a single letter was given.

You weren’t satisfied, and that made you feel like you were scum, too dirty to even bother to be dealt with.

Even feeling a great amount of resentment to the silly thing, it’s not like you weren’t going to open it. You weren’t heartless when it came to the topic of possible confession. I guess you could say that the author of the letter made you feel something you haven’t felt in a while.

It’s was pure, unbridled, bitter jealousy. Jealousy that engulfed your vision, clouding all sense of realism.

Why could someone so anonymous have more guts about dealing with their crush than you? This person, who you didn’t even know, had the heart of a lion to sit down, write out something deep and personal, and somehow get it to you.

You were jealous, because you would never have the heart to do the same.

Once the bell rang to signal the last period of the day, you begrudgingly stood from your desk, knowing what you had to do. You had to open it, it would be extremely inconsiderate if you didn’t.

While you were walking in the hallway to somewhere slightly more secluded, you slipped the letter out of your bag. It was pure white, and it wasn’t made out of anything fancy. The opening was sealed by a simple piece of clear scotch tape, and when turning the message over, on the back was large, red letters that spelled your name in delicate cursive. You really wanted to get this over with.

“BOO!”

“OH MY GOD-“ You jumped out of your skin, dropping the envelope in your hand, causing it to flutter to the floor.

“Nehehe! I got you so good!” A purple-haired brat giggled at your jump of fright, rounding the corner he was hiding behind. His eyes then wandered to the envelope that was laid flat on the tiled floor, his eyebrows rose, and a smirk slowly carved his way onto his face.

“Oooo, what’s this little thing, hm? An invitation? A secret message?….”  Kokichi knelt down to pick up the letter, fitting the paper between his middle finger and index finger. He got up all in your face, an evil smile plastered on his face, reaching all the way up to his eyes. He got closer to your ear, voice dropping, and his breath hot against your ear.

“Maybe…a love confession? Aww, how sweet…” Kokichi hummed, pleased by the steamy expression your face turned when you were embarrassed. Then, as suddenly as the actions before, Kokichi hopped backwards, grasping onto the letter with both hands, raising it aggressively high in the air.

“Ahhh! The anticipation! What’s inside, what’s inside, what’s inside?!” Kokichi kept on blabbering, waving the envelope all over the place, as if he was a child on Christmas Eve, shaking a wrapped gift to see if they could guess its contents.

When you saw the best opportunity, you quickly snatched the letter back from the naughty boy’s grubby little hands, huffing with a blush on your face once you retrieved what had been addressed to you.

You leaned your back against the hallway wall, which had now been abandoned. Slowly, you sunk yourself down to the ground, not once taking your eyes off of the red lettering that spelled your name in flawless cursive. You noticed upon close inspection that the lettering was a little smudged at the ends, most likely from Kokichi’s roughhousing with it.

A rough thump rang out next to you, making you look over with not much interest. Kokichi, in all of his nosy glory, had sat right up next to you against to wall, head shoved all in your business.

“Come on! Open it already! The suspense is killing me!” Kokichi was vibrating from waiting so patiently....to what extent Kokichi could be patient, that is.

You sighed, giving up. It was most likely anonymous anyway, so Kokichi won’t even know who to target ruthlessly on for the next month.

You let the tip of your finger slide into the opening of the letter, breaking the tape to the prized information. You carefully slipped out the neatly folded piece of paper, which was a thicker, almost card stock like texture.

Even before opening it, you could feel the emotion that radiated out of the paper. You suddenly had an image turn in your mind, of a person looking to be your age, carefully writing every word down as perfectly a flawed human could. Though, you could imagine them also grasping at their hair, crumbling up previous attempts, over and over again, as if disposing of their emotions, yet rebirthing it to be conveyed better each and every time.

It made you feel that much worse, knowing  that the writer’s feelings are in no way reciprocated. You couldn’t, because the feelings to give back were already stolen in their entirety. By two other people, none the less.

Ironic how one of your two fattest crushes you’ve ever had in your life was basically huddling into you right at this moment, wanting so desperately to know what the paper read.

When finally did unfold the letter, you were met with beautiful, curvy handwriting, not a spelling error or smudge could be found.

. . .

To the one who my heart yearns for the most,

I’ve lost track on how many times I have written this letter. For reference, the bin next to me is now filled to the brim and was completely empty just two hours ago, but that’s not important, is it?

Let’s get the obvious things out of the way, shall we? I adore you. Though I’m keeping this anonymous, I want you to know that my heart has grown ten times it’s size ever since the day I met you. Every single attribute about you I hold as a precious keepsake within my mind. Every time you do anything, say anything, I want to keep it all to myself. I want to lock the sound of your voice, and keep vivid pictures of your smile fresh within my memories.

You, (Y/N), have made me feel things that I  thought I had become numb to. I was unapproachable. A man that was blinded by his own psychotic desire to be used, that’s what I was.

You might think I’m exaggerating, but I believe you’re my guardian angle, sent to be due to God’s pity. Now that I’ve written it down, that was stupid, but I’ll keep it, because it’s the truth.

You saved me from myself, causing me to unsurprisingly fall in love with the one who made me realize I was a human, standing among other flawed humans, all having different lives, hopes, talents, aspirations...

Your kindness, no, your everything gave me so much room to simply breathe, and realized what I was doing to myself and to others.

Now that that’s out of the way, I would like to mention something I’ve...conjured.

I’m not very great at using my words, so that’s why I’ve poured everything into this letter, but you deserve to know who I am.

I’m scared, and if you do see me, I might not be able to get a good amount of words out but

In two days from now, after school, I want to meet you. I was thinking on the school rooftop? If you decide to come, I’ll be there waiting.

. . .

Wow

Who...who was this guy? And why...

Your eyes were brimming with tears, glossy from such words. This could be anyone, yet, what did you do? You were friends with many people, but not like this...you don’t think?

You suddenly felt something warm wiping away your now falling tears, gliding over your cheeks to brush away your liquid sadness.

“Hey, don’t cry...it’s not a good fit for you.” Kokichi then used his bandana to gently dry your puffy eyes and crimson cheeks. You looked up at the boy, who had the tiniest smile present on his face. It was almost as if that was how far the smile could go.

The sun broke through a window across the hallway, landing on Kokichi and his facial features. You looked into his eyes, but something was off.

Those eyes, they reflected a lot more light than they usually did, as if they were simply water in a pond. Was he-

“Well, that sure was something, huh?” Kokichi turned around, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve, trying to be discreet. You noticed though, but decided to not say anything.

. . .

When you thought things couldn’t get worse, you had totally jinxed yourself the next day.

You wanted to get your water bottle out of the your school duffel bag during class, because humans have to drink every once in awhile, but when you did...

Crunch

What...what even was that?

You honestly didn’t even want to bother until the end of the day with how you were feeling right now.

You were slumped, once again, in an empty hallway, browsing your phone and looking at funny cat videos to raise your vibrations. At least they made you smile.

“Is there a kitten nearby?” A voice had pierced the atmosphere. You looked up, it was Nagito standing over you, a face of half wonder and half concern delicately painted on his features.

You looked downcast, and you hated hiding your emotions, so it was plainly evident to Nagito how you felt in that moment, and he was heartbroken.

He placed his belongings next to you, along with himself, comfortably hugging his knees into his chest. He turned to you frowning a bit.

“You...only watch cute animal videos when you’re sad. Is... there anything wrong?” Nagito questioned, wanting to help you as much as you’ve helped him.

“It’s kinda personal, but your company already makes me feel better, so it’ll all be fine.” You gave the white haired boy a little smile, showing just how genuine you were.

Nagito hummed, nodding in understanding. He was playing it cool in front of you, but he really wanted to punch the person that made you feel like this.

It’s funny, because he probably has an idea of who...

“Oh, yeah, the thing...” You mumbled, reaching over to dig around in your duffle bag. When you felt the crunchy texture, you pulled it out, revealing something something that you honestly weren’t expecting.

It was a large pink lollipop, and it was in the shape of a heart.

It was probably as big as your head, and there was a clear, wrapper-like foil around the treat, preserving it for the consumer.

“Where did you get that?” Nagito raised a brow, because it was quite ridiculous how absurdly large this lollipop was. It was a funny sight though, seeing you side to side with with a sweet that could easily cover your whole face.

“I... think someone game this to me?” You thought, smiling a bit at the silliness of the situation.

But your mind wandered... was it the same person who wrote the letter? Then again, you didn’t think it would make sense with someone like him getting, well, this. Especially after writing something so deep and personal. This just kinda seemed incredibly random.

Either way, you started to unwrap the lollipop, wanting to eat some of it, even though you were most likely not going to finish the thing.

Resuming the cat videos, you repositioned the phone between you and Nagito. The boy took a glance, watching as he saw a fluffy white kitten get scared from playing a note on a piano, making him chuckle.

“You wanna watch somethin’ else, Nagi?” You asked Nagito, making him perk up in attentive nature. His smile conveyed so much care for you, as if you were his most prized gift he had ever received in his life.

“I’m bound to enjoy anything you would like, (Y/N)! Please, pick whatever you would like!” Nagito waved his hands, signaling not to worry about him, after all, you were the sad one out of you two for the moment.

“Ok! We’re watching Gordon Ramsay yell at people!” You promptly spoke, grabbing the phone and setting up the Hell’s Kitchen episode.

“Don’t mind me asking, but who is that?” Nagito questioned genuinely, making you gasp in surprise. How?

“He’s one of the best chef’s in the world, but he’s super strict with his employees, so it’s kinda entertaining. You’ll see!” You exclaimed, scooting yourself closer to Nagito, propping up the phone. You leaned into his side, taking a little nibble from your lollipop.

Nagito’s eyes kept on darting from you to the screen, having trouble with containing his emotion with you simply leaning on him to watch a show about...a vulgar-mouthed chef.

“Hm? What’s the matter?” You looked up at him, face inches apart from his. He didn’t respond, too nervous to trust his mouth. Lucky for him, you cut in.

“Oh! You want some?” You stuck the untouched side of the lollipop to Nagito’s mouth.

His brain and heart were on fire, and not a lick of logic was left. He pressed his lips against the candy, and sucked on a small portion.

It was your favorite flavor...he liked it way better than artificial grape soda, by a long shot.

After licking to his satisfaction, Nagito locked his teeth into the part he had been abusing with his mouth, biting off a piece for to-go.

“I need to go to the restroom, ok? I’ll be back.” He said, getting up from his seated position, making his way and entering into the boys bathroom at the end if the hallway.

You don’t know if he knows, but boy, you were blushing up a storm. He literally just gave you an up close and personal presentation on how his tongue did it’s work. Now, you didn’t really care for dirty thoughts, but after witnessing that, you couldn’t help it...

You looked down at the lollipop, now with a small chunk of it gone missing from the main snack. You examined it, and realized something so blatantly obvious, it was embarrassing.

Rapped around the white stick of the lollipop was a piece of yellow paper, and without much thought, you unraveled it.

It was a note, but it was short, and written it blue colored pencil.

. . .

Found this at a candy store, and bought it because you looked sad the last time I saw you. Seeing you sad makes me sad and stuff so yeah. I’m not signing my name here or anything, cuz that would just give away the surprise! But I’ll confess to you properly in person, cuz I’m better at talking. Meet me tomorrow after school, on the roof!

. . .

Huh?

Was this...the same guy? No, no it’s really couldn’t have been. The handwriting was different, the spelling was off, and they seemed a lot more laid back. Also, the author of the letter clearly stated that he was better at conveying is precious feelings by writing, while this one said they were more than happy to spill their own feeling with their voice.

So, you’ve got two secret admirers now...and both of them want to meet at the same place, and the same time.

Maybe this was all just some twisted, elaborate trick by a group of thugs, wanting to lure you in, then gang up on you like street cats when they found a lowly mouse to pray upon.

You’ll never know, unless you sucked it up and went tomorrow.

. . .

Well, there you were, on the roof after school the next day.

No one was there.

The sky was as clear as your blank mind, which you had forced to stop thinking about the world around you, and what you were doing. The breezed tickled your face, as if the wind tried to replicate the feeling of tips of grass grazing on ones cheek.

The only noise was the muffled chattering from students below, creating the perfect background noise to just...relax.

Until you heard yelling.

It was coming from the stairwell that lead up to the roof. You didn’t move a muscle, it was probably just loud, rambunctious students.

But it just kept on going, and going, on and on like a hyper parakeet who had a shot of expresso.

Well, since your admirers haven’t shown their faces for the past fifteen minutes, there’s nothing better right now than to snoop on the possible drama rumbling around in the stairwell. Might make a good story to tell someday, you never know.

You made your way into the stairwell, only to be met with very familiar voices, but you quickly made your presence unknown to them, hiding behind a wall.

“Kokichi! I told you not to not to get yourself involved!” Nagito raised his voice a little, but not to the point where it was just pure anger talking. Kokichi stood, fists balled up in pent up frustration.

“I know you did! And it was stupid that I did, but-“ Kokichi yelled, desperation in his voice.

“Then WHY? You knew I wrote that letter, hell, you were there helping me write the damn thing, but you go and do this?!” Nagito’s heart was the one talking at this point, because you’ve never heard his voice twinge in such genuine emotional pain.

But now you knew who wrote the letter, it was Nagito.

That didn’t sink in as hard as it was supposed to, until-

Wait, Nagito?

“Y-you don’t understand!” Kokichi responded, clenching his teeth from emotional agony.

“I do understand, and I just want to tell you that you’ve went way too far on this sick joke-“

“IT’S NOT A JOKE!” Kokichi cried out, a rasp in his voice becoming evident.

“Then what is it, Kokichi? Spill it. You know how important this is to me, and I don’t like yelling at you.” Nagito was stern, his voice dominating the purple-haired boy.

“Because...I-I...” his voice broke in sadness and so, so much regret. He suddenly huffed, opening his mouth to wallow out.

“B-BECAUSE I LOVE THEM TOO!” Kokichi sobbed. Thick, wet tears rolling down his swollen cheeks. Nagito was shocked, not saying a word. Nagito’s frown deepend because of the wallowing boy in front of him that he cared so much for. Yet, like always, he could never find the words to wrap Kokichi in warmth and apology. The thought made Nagito’s eyes begin to water.

Look what you did, you hurt him, you absolute scum.

“B-but *hic* I-I-I’m s-so *hic* s-selfish...I...” Kokichi hiccuped, trying his absolute best to get his words across.

“I’M SO FUCKING SELFISH, BECAUSE I LOVE YOU TOO, NAGITO KOMAEDA....y-you b-b-big jerk...” Kokichi wailed, a river of tears poring, falling to the concrete floor; the droplets staining the ground in a darker shade of grey when they landed.

“O-oh my god...K-Kokichi...l-“ Nagito started, hands shaking violently. This was bad, this was really bad.

And you knew that.

So you ran. You ran so fast out of your hiding spot, down to the two people in this world that you cared about the most.

And before you knew it, you harshly brought the both of them into your arms, causing the three of you to to collapse onto the ground.

You let it all out. You bawled into their arms, letting out your cries. Whether it was just from sadness, or of relief, that didn’t matter. You cried, until your eyes went dry, and all of your tears were soaked into the boys’ shirts.

. . .

After a bit, all was silent, except for the breathing of you three all mixing together. Your bodies were intermingled, assuming the best position for comfort and care.

You needed to say something, anything. You needed to tell them, or else everything will fall apart.

“I can’t choose.” You put it simply, the two other boys perked up, tear stains prominently showing on both of their faces.

“(Y/N)...” Nagito mumbled.

“I desperately need the both of you. So badly. I want to love you two so much I want my lips to hurt from kissing you two so much by the end of each day. I want my hands to cramp from holding both of you two’s hands so much.” You proclaimed, letting out everything that has been building up in your heart.

“I want to wake up with the warmth of two. I want to spend my days and nights with all of my love coming from two. And...I want to try each and every new thing life brings me, with the love of two.” You gasped for air, sighing out of your mouth, regulating your breath to its normal pace.

“I understand if you don- mphf!” You were promptly shut.

Kokichi had placed his lips on yours, causing a jolt of passion to ignite your soul. The feeling was delicate and new, but it was incredibly lovely  You promptly kissed back, feeling a joy you’ve never felt before in your life.

The two of you parted with the kiss when the both of you felt soft lips gently peck both of your foreheads. It was as soft as a feather, yet it made the two of you go so incredibly soft.

You and Kokichi looked up to see Nagito, a small smile on his face. One of his hands reached up to your left cheek, while the other hand made its way to Kokichi’s right. He then lovingly dragged his thumbs across both of your cheeks, smile growing wider, while his face became rosy.

“There’s...so much I want to say but...I hope my actions can at least convey how my heart wants to treat the two of you.” Nagito said, his voice dropped, but in a more of a endearing tone than anything. The boy was still smiling like this was the happiest day in his life.

“I think it would be fun if we all had a slumber party as our first date.” Kokichi giggled, nuzzling into Nagito’s long, slender fingers.

“That sounds like fun, I think it would be delightful.” Nagito playfully pinched Kokichi’s cheek lightly, causing Kokichi to giggle, smiling wide.

“But we do have one thing to take care of first...” Nagito glanced over to you, chuckling.

You were fast asleep within the palm of his hand. It made him fall in love all over again, to be honest.

Nagito and Kokichi worked to untangle themselves from your limbs, trying not to wake you. They then promptly proceeded to place you on Nagito’s back, in a comfortable position so you could keep on sleeping soundly.

“You up for taking our little Cutie back to her place?” Kokichi snickered.

“Of course, love. Only if you would accompany me? Nagito stuck out his hand, waiting for the warmth of another.

“You’re lucky I really like you, clover.” Kokichi hastily grabbed his hand, weaving their fingers together.

As they began walking out to the main exit gate, Kokichi spoke.

“You know, I said a lie earlier I didn’t like. I don’t just like you...I actually really love you. The both of you. That’s something I could never lie about.” Kokichi pledged, the evening orange sky bouncing off of his face. Nagito squeezed the shorter males hand lovingly.

“I love you too, Kokichi. And not just you also, but the both of you. My heart will be forever loyal to the two of you until I rest in my own grave, remember that.”

[rebellconquerer]

My insomnia is paying off, though it really could focus on any of the 4 WIP I have instead of writing random one shots. In any case, a little ficlet of Bucky and his haircut. 

He’s not sure when he makes the decision, really. 

Sometime after he realizes that he lost another 5 years of his life to not living, sometime after Steve comes back looking his age for once, sometime after the US government makes it clear that while he may be about to be pardoned, his life will not be his to live. 

He’s been in Wakanda more than in the United States because he’s safe there and he’s familiar with life there, and because it’s the last place outside of Steve’s company that he knows he’s wanted. But his days are numbered, he knows that. T’Challa can only keep the government at bay so long, and so he knows with a certainty that aches in his bones that he will be leaving soon.

He could wait to go back. 

Once the decision is made, the when and where and how don’t really matter all that much. Hell, he’d probably have more luck in the States (very few people look like him here), but he doesn’t know when he’ll feel comfortable having someone have a sharp object behind his back and the longer the hair stays with him the more he feels like he’s dragging around the corpse of the Winter Soldier. 

So he goes to Ramonda out of some innate instinct in him that shouts that she is a mother and capable and will not turn him away. His own mother cut his hair until he was almost 22, and yes, Ramonda is royalty and probably has no experience with any hair like his, but it’s the trust that matters. 

She smiles at him when he shows up at her official office, still cobwebbed and dusty from the time away, but her immediate expression of pleasure at seeing him helps soothe his jittery thoughts. 

“Mahlubandile, it is good to see you, come in, come in,” she says lightly, stepping away from her door. 

He hovers in the doorway only momentarily before he shuffles inside. 

“I know you are probably busy, I don’t want to take too much of your time, but I-” suddenly the words get stuck in his throat. He doesn’t know how to ask for things anymore, much less things for himself (much less ridiculous things that the Queen of a country wouldn’t want to, or care to, do a vicious voice spits at him from the back of his head.) He finds himself frozen, mouth open and eyes wide, unable to go on but unsure how to go back. 

“Yes?” Ramonda asks, face clouding with concern. When he still says nothing, she frowns at him. “You look just like him when he wants something, so go ahead and ask,” she says kindly. 

He grimaces uncomfortably at being read so easily, but if there is one thing he is good at, it is following instructions. 

“I want to cut my hair.” he manages to get out all in one breath. 

Ramonda frowns at him, dark eyes clouded with confusion. 

“Ok. You do not require permission to do so, Mahlubandile. We can try and find someone here who would be able to-”

“No, I… I would like you to cut my hair,” he says softly. Her mouth forms a perfect ‘O’ of surprise as her eyes widen minutely. He watches carefully for any signs that she is uncomfortable with his request, but he sees only concern and kindness. 

“I do not know if I would be the best person for this, I have never done it before,” she says gently. It’s not a no.

“It doesn’t matter what it looks like when it’s done, just that it’s gone. Please, Ramonda,” he says clearly, trying to convey with his expression, the words he cannot bring himself to say. She seems to understand, brow furrowing for a moment before she purses her lips. 

“See, you say that, but Shuri will have lots of thoughts and opinions on what it looks like after,” she mutters and Bucky can’t help the small smile that curves his lips even though that thought hurts. He’s going to miss them after he leaves. 

“Come to the palace this evening. We will get it done, though I cannot promise you will not have an audience.” she proclaims, with an air of finality. Bucky huffs out a breath of laughter, knowing she means Shuri, and nods. She’ll be a good distraction anyway. 

**********************************

“This is going to be amazing, seriously, I have so many style options.” Shuri greets him as he walks towards one of the guest bathrooms. 

“No style options. I have watched a few videos and I think I can make do with scissors and clippers. Styling will be out of my repertoire,” Ramonda says honestly, her eyes solemn and on him. He nods, as he said before, he doesn’t particularly care what it looks like, just wants it gone. 

“The only style thought I have right now is - short,” he reassures. Shuri groans with all the drama of a 19-year-old.

They have a little area set up for him. A stool over some sort of colourful sheet, a full layout of scissors of different types and multiple clippers. He barely speaks, focused mostly on breathing through the bubbling panic rolling his stomach and an uneasy sense of fear, though he doesn’t know of what. 

Ramonda says nothing, for which he is grateful, and Shuri perches herself in the corner of the room, talking mostly to herself about some projects she is planning to start working on. He doesn’t think she realises yet that he will likely be forced to leave, but Ramonda knows. He can see it in her eyes. 

He settles easily on the seat, closing his eyes and thinking of anything else but what is about to happen. He focuses on the sound of Shuri’s voice, the tired but easy cadence of it that had become so familiar throughout the process of his deprogramming. 

Ramonda sprays his hair with water, dampening the strands, then he feels her hand rest on his shoulder for a moment. She doesn’t ask if he’s sure, for which he is thankful because he doesn’t know what his answer would have been beneath the hummingbird beat of his heart, but he needs this done. Needs it gone. 

He doesn’t flinch at the first cut but it’s a near thing. And it gets easier and easier with each successive snip until his muscles aren't tensing at Ramonda's every move.

It takes her almost an hour, between her getting rid of most of the length and then her and Shuri bickering goodnaturedly over which clipper to use at which length with some additional time to stop and consult YouTube, but eventually she taps him in the shoulder and whispers 'all done' in a voice that's almost choked with emotion.

He brushes the strands of his hair that are caught on his shirt slowly, delaying the inevitable of looking at himself in the mirror as long as he can in case it's not enough, in case no matter the change this has made, he'll still see the Winter Soldier staring back at him in his reflection.

But he can't delay forever, especially with Shuri and Ramonda hovering, clearly waiting for a reaction. So he takes a steadying breath, walks over the mirror and counts himself down from 3 before he looks up and meets his own eyes.

It makes him look younger somehow. The short hair provides no distractions from the blue of his eyes and the sharp contour of his cheekbones. He reaches up and rubs his hand through the soft bristles at the back of his head, taking in the difference.

He doesn't look like the Soldier, that's for sure, but he also doesn't look like Bucky Barnes. It's not even something he realised he was dreading until he feels the relief in his chest. 

Bucky Barnes was a good looking boy who prided himself on having a swell haircut with just the right amount of brylcream shine. He'd have never been caught dead with hair this short. Bucky isn't that boy anymore, and looking like him would just give him another ghost to outrun. 

"Well? The United Nation deliberates for less time." Shuri grumbles and receives a short, sharp word in Xhosa from her mother.

Bucky actually laughs, the sound feeling more at home in his mouth than at any time in the last 70 years. 

"It's very good." He pronounces and turns to face Ramonda who's hovering behind him.

He gives her the most honest, warm look he can muster.

"Thank you" he says, feeling the strength of that statement tug at whatever is left of his heart.

She smiles.

[aadikted]

Burn🔥🔥

A/N - Hey guyss!!!! AAHHHH!! I just finished watching Hamilton and I fell in love with it!!! I loved everything about the musical and I am soo glad I got the opportunity to watch it!! I  loved Phillipa Soo in it and I adored watching her sing Burn. When I heard it I just knew that I had to write a fic on it! I have never written angst before but I am vey glad with how my my story turned out. People who haven’t seen the musical or heard the song can also definitely read this!!

W/C - 1,955...Whew!! My longest fic yet!!

Warnings! ⚠️- Fluff and sooo much angst!

~~~

Memories. Those damned memories. No matter how much you tried, you couldn’t get his memories out of your mind. They were swirling in your head; you were forever being taunted by images of what had been. His hand in yours, as you both walked down the Rockaway beach, smiles on your faces as you talked about nothing and everything.  You could still remember the way his curls bounced with the breeze, the auburn streaks highlighted by the setting sun. He had been constantly moving a pesky curl which wouldn’t stay in its place. You couldn’t help but laugh at his irritated expression and with a loving sigh, you had run your hands between strands of his hair. His eyes had lit up with joy and affection and you could feel a smile creeping on your face. Whenever you were with Peter or even thought about him, you would feel an insurmountable amount of love and happiness. But now, just his name was enough to make your blood boil. Instead of smiling every time someone mentioned him, a frown would be etched on your face. You couldn’t bear to think about him, not without wanting to cry. The time you had with Peter had been magical, but now you were left behind, broken-hearted and miserable. You had first started dating in sophomore year of high school. Most people say that high school relationships never last and that you guys would be over before you finished high school, but it would be well into sophomore year of college before you guys would be over.

You could still remember the early days of your relationship, the golden days. You had had partners before, but none had been like Peter. Peter was affectionate and kind and so, so sweet. Unfortunately, he used to get flustered around you and instead of being able to say things to your face, he would write you letters. He used to slip them in your locker, slide them in your desk or give it to you when he would walk you back to your house. Some people might have found it weird, but you found charming. Being a romantic at heart, this was your dream come true. Even though Peter later started being more comfortable around you he still gave you letters from time to time. You cherished every single one of them and kept them safe and secured in your drawer. Every couple had something special to them, and this was your something special. He wrote you letters and you used to bake for him. Peter loved your baking. He said that your cupcakes and cakes were heavenly. In fact, he used to joke that you would just leave the ingredients out and angels would come into your kitchen and bake the sweets. Just reminiscing about those days were enough to put a smile on your face. But, now you didn’t feel like baking, you couldn’t bear to look at the letters. It hurt too much. Peter still wrote you letters, you just didn’t want to open them. You were too scared to find out what he had written, too scared to know why he had cheated on you.

Anyone who knew Peter would say that they could never even imagine Peter doing something like that. Until a month ago, you would have said the same thing. But now, here you both were. You had gone from being that couple in love to practical strangers with broken hearts. You, at least, had a broken heart. You doubted Peter even had a heart. You weren’t even sure you knew who Peter was now. He had first been your cute boyfriend, then he became your cute (secret) superhero boyfriend, he then became your amazing, valedictorian, college boyfriend and now he was this horrible person who didn’t even have the decency to break up with his girlfriend before going off to kiss other girls. This was not the guy you knew.  This was not the guy you had dated. This was not the sweet guy who had written all those letters to you. When you had read those letters, you had known Peter was the one. He was yours. You thought he was yours. You should have known. When you had told MJ, your best friend, that you were dating Peter Parker, you hadn’t realized that your expression was conveying more deeply about your feelings for him to her than your words. She knew you were in trouble. She didn’t have anything against Peter, but MJ was a great judge of character and she had known Peter for a long time. She had warned you, she said it would be too much for you one day. But his sweet words had flooded your senses, whenever you were with him, you felt like you were on top of the world. But now you wished you were buried underneath it. You didn’t want to face anyone, your friends, your families and least of all, him. You were cooped up in your room, trying to forget everything. Trying to forget how happy you had been that day. How excited you were to see him again, after months of being apart in different colleges. You had loved every video call with him, but you missed his touch and were craving for it. So, you had decided to surprise him. You had the week off and instead of spending it with your family, you had gone straight to Peter. You were jittery with excitement, you had been imagining the kind of reactions he might have had, but for the life of you, you could have never imagined that you would walk into that room just to see your boyfriend, sitting half naked on his bed, with an equally naked girl on his lap, snogging the lights out of him. For a moment time stood still. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing, but the proof was right in front of you. They hadn’t noticed you yet. You couldn’t think of how to react. You were frozen. But, just like that, the spell broke, you released a gasp and the two people were startled out of their kissing. Peter’s eyes went wide as he took you in.

 “Y/ N – Y/N/N!” He stammered

The reality still hadn’t set in for you. You were getting hysterical and couldn’t stop your reply, “And here I thought I was going to surprise you.”

You could see the confusion on Peter’s face. “Pl-please! Just-just let me explain!”

You cut him off before he could give any excuse. You just wanted to know one thing.

“How long?”

You could see the answer in his expression, but you were still unprepared for it when he said it out loud.

“3 months”

That was the moment when you felt your heart break. The moment where you lost control of your emotions. Tears filled your eyes, begging to be released. You couldn’t keep standing there. You turned around to escape with what little of your dignity was left. You could hear Peter calling you from behind, shouting your name, begging you to stop. But you couldn’t, you wouldn’t. There was no possible explanation he could give that would make you forgive him. You didn’t want to forgive him.

So now, here you were, pathetically hiding in your room from everyone. MJ had been calling you continuously. She was the only one you had told what happened. You couldn’t bear seeing the pity in her eyes. Or in anyone else’s eyes for that matter. The letters he had sent you over the years lay scattered about in your room. You couldn’t bear it anymore. You took the first letter he ever wrote you and read it. You read it like you were a person wandering the deserts for months and had only now come upon water. You consumed every letter he had written you. Your eyes scanning every line in ever paragraph. You tried read the lines for a sign, any sign for the boy that had been yours, from when he had been yours.  The letters conveyed every one of the emotions and love he used to feel for you. Each affectionate line felt like a dagger to your heart. Every paragraph pierced your soul. You read letter after letter, and then finally you reached the ones he sent you this week, after you found out about his infidelity. With trembling hands, you forced yourself to pick them up. The swishing of the pages as you opened them felt like a daunting warning to not read them. As you read, you wished that you had heeded the warning. He had said that he was sorry. He hadn’t known what to do. He had been having a tough time, juggling college work and his duties as a superhero. He felt overwhelmed and he had needed your comfort. But you hadn’t been there. So when, another girl started flirting with him he didn’t say no to her. He didn’t know how to say no to her. God, you wished he had said no to her. He had never meant to hurt you, but he had lost all clarity and just… broke all the promises he had made to you.

You wanted to scream, to shout, anything to let the pain out. He had forgotten he was yours.

He had forgotten you were his and that you had made promises too. You would have been with him, helped him, and supported him. But he had forgotten. You were a broken mess and you were angry. Angry at the letters for reminding you of better times, angry at him for cheating on you and treating you the way he did, but most of all, you were angry at yourself. Angry for being such a mess, angry for punishing yourself by pushing away people who cared for you, and most all wasting tears on a ruined relationship. You wanted to do something. You didn’t want to sit there and waste your energy and tears. You gathered all the letters surrounding you. You collected them all in your hands and walked down the stairs with a determined stance. You could feel your dorm mates and other students staring at you, wondering what you had been up to, all these days locked in your room, but you didn’t pay attention to them. For the first time in weeks you were feeling hopeful. You made your way to the nightly bonfire the students in your college created. You noticed MJ standing there talking with your friends. You could see that she was surprised to see you, but you just smiled at her and made your way to the front of the bonfire. You looked at the letters and brushed your hands against your name which had been inscribed in Peter’s messy handwriting on the top corner. You then stared into the fire, trying to calm yourself. You didn’t want to look back at the letters again, so you just flung them into the fire. You watched as the fire engulfed the letters. You felt relieved as you let out a breath and felt as though you were breathing for the first time in a long time.  What happened with Peter was in the past. And while it still hurt, you knew that your heart would heal over time and that you would find people who deserve your love and friendship.  The flames from the fire were dancing as if they knew what had happened and were rejoicing with you. You felt a smile take over your face, brilliant and radiant, almost rivalling the brightness of the fire. The letters had burned, but your life would not burn with them.

~~~~

So..this was it folks!!! Plsss tell me how u liked it and feel free to send me asks!!! 

[spaghettiandart]

memories in three

Originally posted this on the aminos sometime during march, but decided (as of may 3 at 12 am) to post it here too! Yay spur of the moment decision! The rest of the post is from the blogs on the UT and UTAU aminos, and the story is under the cut.

author's note: this was mostly made to be part of my oc's backstory, but then i realized it could exist as a nice character development thing. the art was done on medibang paint and took 2 weeks.

characters: w. d. gaster, grillby, oc

categories: fluff, angst, friendship.

warnings: non-graphic violence, death, blood, mild language. 

word count: 4092

[I] |        one - the calm 

The time they had was always finite. Even at the genesis of it, they knew. They'd look at eachother, a circle of three, assigned to stick together and be loyal to one another, and they knew there'd be no way they'd get along. 

It was so easy to pretend, but with five months gone and passed it was getting harder to feign ignorance. 

The violent crackles and pops of Grillby's flames match the rapid beating of his SOUL, colors rising to the white and lowering until it was a pathetic red in uneven jitters of anxious panic. He focused on pouring the rum into the barbarously crafted wooden mug, the familiar motions soothing his shaking hands until he felt some semblance of normality surround him. 

The background quiet set him on edge, still. He could feel the flames on his shoulders worming their way through the openings on his armor, fingers immediately twitching to cast a flame ball, or reach for his sword, or pour another drink, or so something so that they weren't empty and susceptible to the whims of his ever-twisting emotions. 

The tension- oh, how he hated the tension. Being silent was his favorite sport, his carefully cultivated talent, but he was a creature born and bred to exist in the midst of warm chatter and noise. He was not the type of man to be relaxed in silent, cold hate, and neither was he the type to mediate it. 

Grillby picks up the three mugs by their handles, two hanging precariously from one hand, cradled to his chest, and the other already making its way to his mouth. The liquid stung at him, but not in the way human beverages did. While their concoctions were tasteless and lowered his HP by decimals, this was warm and fuzzy and the bubbly froth filled his mouth like cotton. 

His team was already there. WingDings Gaster, Grand Arcane Battle Artificer of the Deltarune Legion, and Igneous No-Name, Grand Arcane Battle Mage-Scribe of the Deltarune Legion. The names were long in Human English, even longer in traditional Monster languages, but Titles had Meanings and must be Specific and Precise so as to grant Monster the Respect they Deserve. Said verbatim by his own King when he was given his title. 

(Grillby No-Name, Fifth General of the Deltarune Legion, was what was inscribed on the back of the wings of his own silvery Deltarune-Symbol pendant. Every Monster soldier got one, regardless of their station and their specific designations. His own was cold enough for precipitation to collect on the metal, enchanted to withstand heat damage.)

His enchanted helmet is resting on a stack of parchment like a paperweight, turned away from the table so that its face was pointed at the wall. The silence was turned up tenfold the minute Grillby sheepishly walked into their section of the "room", and the two magic-users turned their mutual cold shoulder on him as well.

It shouldn't hurt, but Grillby had to stop himself from reeling as if he were struck by a physical hand. Oh, this wouldn't do. 

They were a team, after all. Of the same Legion, of the same Fifth Division, of the same status. The silence killed him, repulsed his being down to the core because it was so very anti-him. Anti-Flame Elemental, even, because even when they were quiet the crackling of their flames were enough to communicate their feelings to another. 

He only had body language to go off of the two. They may be masters at putting up facades, but he was a master of interpreting them, so the minute he sets the mugs down on the table he immediately pushed the stack of books piled in between Gaster and Igneous like a great wall crumbling to the ground, uncaring of the way the two jumped and jolted at the noise. 

His SOUL pounded, filled with anxiety and slight reprieve at the sound, but he needed more. He hated speaking, he much rather would be the one spoken to, but there are little people to be found who'd like to ramble for hours on end to a stranger save for drunken heretics at the little old tavern he used to manage decades ago. 

"What in the goddamn are you doing?" Igneous exclaimed, hood haphazardly slipping off her head and catching onto her big ears, holding on for dear life in a losing battle. 

"I concur. What on Earth is wrong with you?" Gaster snapped the large tome he was pretending to read shut, the sudden action too surprising for him to not address.

Grillby takes the time to sip from his mug, before setting it down lightly. "... You're both acting like children when we are all adults. Talk out your problems."

Igneous glared at him with an impressive amount of venom. For someone with only two eyes to convey emotion, she knew how to convey it. "I am not talking to a child murderer."

The remaining monster in the room scowled at Igneous, and then at Grillby. "Tell the Mage that human children are the easiest and most reliable source of SOULs to harvest to bolster our ranks."

Igneous' eyes narrowed and her glare intensified. "Tell the Artificer that by killing the humans' children we'd only encourage them to attack as harder. Also tell him he's a shitbag for suggesting it in the first place."

"Tell the Mage that she's a naive twat if she thinks that war can be won with no sacrifices."

"Tell the Artificer that sacrifices of that degree are uncalled for and that he smells of elderberries."

"I do NOT smell like elderberries you-"

Grillby clapped his hands once. A burst of flame shot out from the vents on his shoulders and the palms of his hands, making the bickering pair freeze simultaneously from where they were slowly turning their heads to face each other. 

"This is what I am talking about," the Swordsman looked at them both with a disappointed gaze from behind his crystalline glasses. "... Children, we are adults. You're going to apologize to each other and agree to disagree, or else I will burn one of the books you collected from the Human Mages."

Gaster slammed his hands down on the table and began to stand, expression thunderous. Igneous' eyes widened to such a degree that they threatened to pop out of her head, and she snapped her head back as if he struck her. 

"Child number one, sit down. Child number two, stay quiet- I know you will say something and I will make you regret it," Grillby steepled his fingers, the effort of speaking for so long already taking the energy out of him. He heaved in a breath, the air making his flames crackle with strength. "... Child number one- it may be hard to realize this, but killing children is inarguably immoral and degenerate. Child number two- I advise you to set your pride aside, else your inability to accept the flaws of your naivety may cause you more harm than good... Now apologize, because I am becoming very annoyed at having to speak so much..."

The two stared at him as if he sprouted a second flaming head from his shoulder. Grillby lit up a single finger and held it over a stray paper on the table that escaped his rampage on their books. 

Gaster was the first to break. "... ahem," he shifted uncomfortably, and stuck his nonexistent nose in the air so that he looked down at Igneous. "I suppose that I will have to concede at that. Your... interesting... worldview is something we can't quite see eye to eye on."

Grillby stared at him harder, and his shoulders slumped as he hunched over the table.

"And I apologize for my unprofessional conduct," he sighed, picking at the knicks and scratches in his hands in a nervous manner.

The Spirit Remnant stared at the- Skeleton? Shadow Creature? Wraith? Gaster never disclosed what kind of monster, exactly, he was- with clear contempt that faded away into uncomfortable and annoyed vulnerability. She rolled her shoulders, tail curling around her left ankle protectively.

"You're still a terrible creep, and I cannot deny that I would sooner pound you to dust with my bare hands than see you harm a child of any kind," she said, quietly, "but I understand that... things must be done for the greater good, sometimes. I apologize."

The air became heavy with guilt and frustration at that, but at least they weren't outright holding each other in contempt. Grillby prepared himself to speak for hopefully the last time that day. 

"... Good. Adult One, Adult Two, may I present to you your rewards for acting your age," he slid over the mugs of wine to the both of them, glad that he couldn't physically let out the relieved sigh he would have released were he able to breathe at the sight of the suddenly bright expressions the two had.

Igneous casted a furtive, unsure glance at Gaster, who angled his body away from the both of them and glared at the papers beneath him. He didn't cover them from her view when she leaned over to glance at them, her brows quirking in question as she took another sip. 

The mood didn't instantly change to comfortable. They didn't relax around each other, not immediately. But Grillby could feel the tension in his shoulders drift away as he watched Igneous quietly shoot the other with a question, and Gaster exchanging it with one in return. 

The stress of the war was taking its toll on him, but seeing the two gratefully take small sips of his homemade rum and shyly exchange words about their respected professions made the weight on his chest lighten just a little. 

|        two - the storm 

The battle is disorganized chaos, and he hates it. Not for the slaughter, not for the blood shed, not for the dust carried by the wind. He hates the sheer animalistic frenzy everyone on the battlefield was sent into- it's as if the second the fight began the primal instinct in their minds seemed to suddenly reveal itself, possessing their bodies and taking away their willpower to keep their hidden urges hidden. 

Such was evident in the human shoving his sword into the throat of a bunny monster, rendering them to dust before the blade could slice its way out. Or a monster with a dragon's muzzle unhinging its jaw like a snake and snapping up a human mage, their spine crushed under the pressure in an instant. 

Or even his own... companions, battling back to back against a frenzy of knights, swords gleaming and magic spewing around them. They were beaten down, armor covered in mud and muck, and from the minute trembling carried across their bodies it seemed as if they were ready to topple at any moment. 

Gaster's fists tightened as his Special Attack blasted yet another beam of energy to render a pitiful human to ash, the conjured hands twisting in midair before flocking to his sides like a pair of dogs. He looked down from the cliff he was standing on at the clearing they were fighting in, chest heaving from exertion. He couldn't let it overtake him, not yet, but the exhaustion was close to killing him. His limbs hurt to their very core. 

Igneous and Grillby were practically attached at the spine with how closed in they were. Igneous had snaked a hand around a human's neck, crushing his windpipe before resting her weight on Grillby's back and launching herself in the air. 

Her conjured wings flung out from her back, and she slammed her foot into the chest of another knight, caving it in from the magically-reinforced pressure. 

Despite the human bodies piling up around them, more seemed to flood the two as if recognizing them to be the heavy hitters they were. A human swung out with his sword, and Grillby caught it with his own flaming one, pushing it back. The two were neck and neck, heels dug into the ground as the gleaming blades fought against each other. The human's head shifted forward, as if they were saying something, and Grillby's flames burst into a column of blue, indignant fire. 

The human took the opening his anger gave them by twisting their body and throwing their weight into Grillby's chest, pummeling him into Igneous and the ground. 

Igneous flipped head over heels, wings dissipating as she lied face down. Grillby was shakily getting up, but the human struck out and suddenly there was a hole in the side of his armor, frost creeping around it. 

Gaster scowled, and took a few steps back from the cliff in preparation. A voice behind him interrupted his motions. 

"You meet your end, monster," a voice hissed from behind him. He tilted his head slightly, and upon seeing that it was only a mage he scoffed. 

"Do tell the clouds hello," Gaster flicked the human mage away with little pressure and much disdain from one of the conjured hands, and set his jaw as he hopped onto the back of one of his hands. There was no time to be wasted with meaningless banter.

Hell would sooner freeze over than him seeing his fr- companions, his companions- Fall Down. 

Smaller hands materialized around his body, hitting and punching and swatting away oncoming attackers as he rode the hand down the side of the cliff. The fingers stretched out, and he bent his knees ever so slightly. 

As the end of the cliff was reached, curving into the clearing, he jumped with all his might off the hand and to the side, landing in a roll before hopping to his feet. 

The hand continued on, and barrelled into the human slowly approaching Grillby with the force of a stampeding bull. 

Their sword flew out of their hand and embedded into the bark of a nearby tree with a 'thunk!' and Igneous quickly picked up the slack as the hand dissipated, energy coalescing in her hands. Feathers caged the human in.

"... God... no, no," the human moaned in pain, attempting to get up on their elbows. They glared up at the three just as Grillby picked up his sword from where it lay discarded on the ground, grip trembling. 

"You dirty freaks," the human weakly said, their chest heaving and breath wheezing. Perhaps that hand broke a few bones... oh well. Gaster found that he didn't much care about not knowing, this time, taking much pleasure in watching Grillby advance at the human with his own sword held aloft. 

"You're not m-monologuing, right?" Igneous spoke up, her own breath wheezy. Catching the brunt of Grillby's weight must have hurt, because her entire body was trembling with poorly hidden pain. Almost unconsciously, Gaster shifted his body so that he was in front of her. Her body was trembling in shock and indignation, eyes wide and animalistic as they focused on the human. She looked ready to pounce. "Goddamnit... what are you waiting for, Grillbz? Just end them already!" 

The human ignored her, slowly getting on their knees. Their fists clenched. "Y-you... you won't win this war. Kill me, but my brothers and sisters will avenge me! Our mages, our knights, our horses, our citizens- they'll all fight, all against you monsters!" 

"Please kill them," Igneous practically begged Grillby, her wispy 'hair' flickering piteously. "They’re not useful. They’re not- just- kill them, please.”

"No, wait," Gaster found himself muttering, suddenly. Igneous snapped her head in his direction, eyes wide- and he almost flinched back at the desperation in her eyes. What did that human say? "I want to see what he'll do."

Grillby was examining the human curiously. His masked head tilted this way and that, his hands exchanging the swords as he stood in front of the human, looking down at it. Music, unidentifiable in genre, played in the distance. 

The human looked up at him, glaring through the slits of their helmet. "You know... you know this. And... y-you know what I said before... I w-was right. Kill me, but you'll have to live with that... and that's enough for me to die happy."

There was silence. The two stared at each other, carefully. 

"Well?" The human barked. "You're not going to end it? Take me prisoner, then! Flaunt me around! I still won't-!"

Their head was on the ground in a SOULbeat. Gaster and Igneous took a simultaneous step back as blood stained the grass underneath the human, the armored Flame Elemental examining the corpse before kicking it on its side, stomping back to them.

"... Wasn't going to let their dying words be them telling me what to do," he muttered once he reached them. 

Igneous' shoulders seemed to drop suddenly, and she looked around them. Corpses, bodies, dust- they were all strewn about the battlefield haphazardly. There was no art behind them. No grand imagination from the divines above. 

Just the reeking scent of death lingering over them all. 

She took this in, much like Gaster was, and then looked at him. She had no mouth to smile with, but her eyes crinkled ever so slightly at the edges. 

"You saved our skins back there," she said, voice still quavering from the quiet horror carried within it, and reached out a hand to him. Gaster hesitated, but let it land on his shoulder. The tall monster gripped it firmly, resting her weight on it. "I won't forget this, you know."

"You can start bothering me about it tomorrow," Gaster said, feeling a bit lightheaded. 

Igneous shook her head at that, and gave it a few pats before moving away and CHECKing herself, digging around her small inventory for food. "I don't mean it like that. I mean- yes, I am absolutely going to tease you about this for the next month, but... you... you really do..."

Grillby sheathed his sword suddenly, and looked up at the cliff from where he rode down from. There was a quiet surrounding them. "... care about us."

Gaster shifted from foot to foot. He was no child. He was an adult, for God's sake. Why did he feel so... embarrassed, all of a sudden? 

A cheer rose up in a crescendo of voices from beyond the cliff just as the sun made its way to the top of Mt Ebott and began to hide behind it. The battlefield was painted in a swath of gold and pink, and suddenly he wasn't so much focused on the chaos of it all as he was on the way the colors seemed to highlight the edges and curves of the two in front of him, how it made them all the more... real. 

Gaster stepped closer to the two. "The humans have retreated. We should be... getting back, now."

It was Grillby who set a hand on his shoulder this time, his face pointedly looking away and at the sunset. "... five minutes."

"Ten," Igneous chimed in, brushing his arm with her own. 

The trio stood there throughout the sunset and into the night, and Gaster woke the next morning with his friends resting on either shoulder, the dewy grass fresh underneath him and the battle feeling as if it took place years ago instead of the evidence of it being right behind him. 

He watched the rising sun and smiled. There's the peace he was waiting for. 

|        three - the pieces

The last time Igneous woke up from her  Hibernation Pack, it was to a boss monster with kind eyes looming over her. 

She panicked, at first. Scrambled back, and then turned to alert the Spirit Remnants that she was resting with that there was an intruder in their den. 

All that she was met with was piles upon piles of dust. 

"I was able to stop him from hurting you, too," he had rumbled from behind her, " but I'm afraid that I was too late for your companions."

She turned back around, eyes wide with outrage. 

He held a paw out towards her, offering comfort. It was stained with the humans blood. 

She took it, and pulled him close, demanding that he give her a way to get revenge. His paw clenched involuntarily from surprise, and his dark claws nicked her ethereal skin. 

Her essence joined the human's blood, and in the budding tears in her eyes an agreement was formed. 

Centuries later, Igneous wakes up in a comfortable, warm bed inside a comfortable, warm home underneath the large mountain that she fought for her life on. 

The nightmares were long gone, and memories were reserved for the day to sort through. All that was left for her dreams was darkness and static and white, mutilated hands reaching out for her with holes dug deep into their palms.

She never remembered them, and woke up each morning with the sense of loss lingering heavily in her chest. 

In the room over, the sounds of chatter and the dinging of a bell signifying the front door opening and closing began to grow louder and more frequent. Igneous was frozen in the hallway connecting her and Grillby's bedrooms, curled up in a small armchair haphazardly placed there five years, seven months, and six days ago when the two were refurbishing the building and couldn't decide in which room to put it. They decided to share instead, setting it outside and in between their rooms. 

She pulled her knees up to her chest, the chattering growing louder in her ears. Soon she'd have to step out and start taking their orders, but breakfast doesn't officially start in another… ten minutes, or so. 

She can take her time. 

The swaying pendulum hanging on the wall across from her demanded all her attention, grabbed her by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes and reflected her past to her. Her stomach flipped with each sway of the object, hands traveling from her knees to her ankles and gripping them tightly.

It's been centuries. But that loss… was it only from the monsters dusted? Was it only from what that human revealed to Grillby and to her during that fateful fight? Or was it from that missing piece, the hole that separated both her and her friend, the dust-ridden and empty guest bedroom untouched that rested at the end of the hall? 

Her fingers clenched tighter, digging holes into her pants that would be covered up by her boots later. 

Was it the unfortunate fates of her pack? The piles of dust she woke up sleeping on, almost ready to join them before Asgore interrupted their murderer? 

Was it what the human said? The quiet words, so low but loud enough at the same time to be heard from miles away, repeating in her ears? The truth, maybe even the sneer in their voice when they spoke, "Don't worry. We didn't dust all of our prisoners… but you will never find them." 

Or the missing piece? The unknown factor that frustrated and scared her to no end, the pounding in her ears whenever she looked at the words unscripted on that silvery pendulum swinging back and forth and back and forth in a maddening rhythm from where it hung on the wall? 

Her claws dug deeper, caught onto fabric, pulled. The seams of her pants ripped at the ankle, and her flickering, pseudo-fiery essence darted out in quick licks at the air. 

The words stayed in her mind whenever she looked at it, dissapeared when she looked away, reappeared with all the context behind them when she looked back.

Every morning was the same routine. The same, desperate staring at the Deltarune-symbol pendant hanging from the wall. The same hope that she'll remember the name after she looks away. 

The dread of not knowing if she'll remember to do it tomorrow. 

She reread the name for the four hundred and thirty fifth time, desperately imprinting it on her mind. Grillby had long stopped even glancing at the thing decades ago. She won't forget. 

She looks away. 

"Shit, I'm going to be late," Igneous muttered, staring at the clock instead. She stood from the chair, confused and wobbly in the knees. "I could've sworn I was just sitting for a few seconds…"

She hurried off down the hall, pulling on her boots as she walked through the Fire Exit. 

The pendulum swung on the wall, shaking as the door slammed closed, its name forgotten. 

Wing Dings Gaster

Grand Arcane Battle Artificer

Deltarune Legion

Division V

[canmom]

Animation Night 54 - FLCL

Hey friends! Perhaps surprisingly with the amount of Gainax we’ve covered here, I’ve never actually watched FLCL! But tonight? We’re going to fix that...

“huh, what’s this one, Eff Ell Cee Ell?” “baka! it’s pronounced Fooly Cooly!” “uh, sure, ok? do i know you?” - more or less how i imagine anime conventions went in the mid 2000s

FLCL is a six-episode OVA from THE YEAR 2000, a high point in the Gainax’s arc between their other most famous works like Eva and Gurren Lagann. (Previously on Animation Night: Rebuild of Eva, early Gainax, Hiroyuki Imaishi, Gurren Lagann). Hot on the tail of the incredible but harrowing film End of Evangelion, it was the studio’s chance to pour their built up energy into something much lighter, a portrayal of a different side of adolescence in all its confusion that gleefully blends metaphor and sci-fi, all set to the music of indie band The Pillows.

For the director of this one, we need to introduce another member of the Gainax cast. FLCL was the creation - and directorial debut! - of Anno’s protégé Kazuya Tsurumaki (whose The Dragon Dentist opened the Animator Expo making him one of the first people we ever watched on Animation Night), and what a statement it is, consciously an attempt to experiment with the ‘rules’ of TV animation from soundtrack to pacing. Tsurumaki would go on to direct Diebuster, a stylistically distinct (but cool as hell) sequel to Gunbuster about a girl who is the mecha; then, in the late 2000s, he’d follow Anno to Studio Khara to work on the Eva Rebuilds.

But he’s certainly not the only person to make FLCL: it is also an absolute sakuga feast, giving its key animators a lot of space to express their particular styles. By this point, renowned animators like Yoh Yoshinari and Tetsuya Nishio had been pushing themselves to create some of Eva’s most brutal scenes, and were ready to cut loose and drop some of the most insanely cool sequences of their careers. It was a milestone for Hiroyuki Imaishi too, the first time he directed an episode (episode 5) as well as a chance to bring some of that relentlessly chaotic, visual-gag-heavy directing style to his key animation... All that energy and charm extends very much to the character acting oriented scenes as well, with some really delightfully exaggerated poses and emotions giving it a particular charm, but also the ability to convey subtler and quieter scenes like the many atmospheric canalside shots.

It also... struggling to find the right words for this, but looking at the animation and character designs really seems like a fascinating transitional point from the kinds of slightly angular, character designs and animation styles of the 80s-90s OVA era, like we saw last week in Down Load, into the particular kinds of stylisation and exaggeration that would later become the Imaishi/Trigger signature...

So what’s it about? In terms of literal plot details: 12-year-old kid Naoto Nandaba gets whacked on the head by a vespa-riding girl with a bass guitar named Haruko, which like most head injuries, results in robots periodically emerging from his forehead. Fortunately, Haruko - claiming to be a space cop - is able to subvert one of the robots and give Naoko a way to defend himself, but her presence draws the attention of legions of suited goons from the

Yet even before this happens, things seem a little strange: the town in which he lives is dominated by a looming corporate building that looks exactly like a clothing iron. Which feels like a way of saying, don’t try to interpret this too literally!

Over the course of those six episodes, it sounds like things go some pretty wild places! One sequence both @lyravelocity​ and @mogsk​ were keen to mention was the episode designed to take after a manga, with the motion edited into black and white panel borders and physical sound effects. Apparently this was accomplished by drawing an enormous manga page as a background, and moving the multiplane camera over it along with the cels, in one of the most technically complex anime shots ever filmed at the time. I can’t wait to see it!

(I also can’t deny FLCL has some troubling elements, or at least ones worth flagging up in advance. F’r example, there’s apparently one episode where the main character’s dad chases him around in a nazi uniform repeatedly seig heiling, which I believe is in context a crass way to signify his authoritarian attitude with a visual gag. I haven’t heard about anything in it that I would consider outright evil; a spirit of irreverence and experimentation is sometimes going to go some misguided places as much as it succeeds in creating something brilliant and new, but you know, don’t let your psychic armour down entirely, this is a Gainax show!)

Unfortunately for such a renowned work of animation, the existing prints of FLCL are not fantastic. We’re left with the choice of either the Japanese DVD release in interlaced NTSC which is of course low resolution and poorly suited to computer playback, or a blu-ray release which applies a detail-removing, over-filtered digital upscale, and also messes with the crop and colours. It’s kind of a case of pick your poison, and some nyaa uploaders prefer the DVD, while others use the bluray. I’m going to test out both on my system and make a decision on the night; of course, given I’m streaming to you over Twitch, it’s kind of moot on your end ><

There are, at least, extensive production materials available: storyboards, commentary tracks, and interviews with the creators which I would like to show if time permits! (Which it probably will, because the total runtime of the OVA is only about 3 hours.)

And then, the sequels. FLCL received a pair of sequel series airing in 2018 titled FLCL Alternative and FLCL Progressive. The circumstances of their creation are a little weird: at first, Gainax (now a shell of a company, with all its big names departing to Khara and Trigger) was set to sell the rights to Studio Khara, with whom it was also fighting a lawsuit over refusal to pay Evangelion royalties; according to Anno, Gainax jacked up the price at the last minute and the deal fell through.

Instead, the main animation work on the sequels was handled by Production I.G. (who had been part of the original show’s production committee) with support from several young studios like Signal.MD, Revoroot and NUT. Several of the staff returned, including the original character designer Yoshiyuki Sadamoto, and while Tsurumaki apparently supervised (but did not direct) the project... the general feeling I’ve gotten towards these series is lukewarm at best, certainly not as well regarded as the original. Is that fair? I can’t say, but I’m not gonna consider screening them til I’ve watched them myself.

Animation Night 54: FLCL will begin at 7pm UK time at twitch.tv/canmom - and, gosh, I’m incredibly excited to see this at last, it sounds like such a fantastic time. Hope to see you there :)

[voltage-vixen]

Kiss Me Under the Mistletoe

‘Tis the Season of Smut Challenge Day 1

Prompt: Kiss me under the mistletoe (NSFW)

Fandom: Voltage (Court of Darkness)

Pairing: Guy Avari x MC (Female)

“Could you be bothered to remove the blindfold now?” MC sighed, impatiently fidgeting on the couch Guy insisted she wait on.

“Wait for me,” Guy’s deep voice abruptly boomed. “I wish to show you something, but I must finish the final preparations beforehand. Your patience is required for just a little while longer.”

Earlier that afternoon, Jasper had summoned her to the royal’s private quarters, insistent that Guy had an urgent matter to discuss with her. Since the loyal valet refused to answer any of her questions, MC was left in the dark when she arrived at Guy’s chamber. Then she was even literally left in the dark when her vision was suddenly concealed by a blindfold that magically wrapped around the circumference of her head.

Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes continued to pass until MC stood in a fit of restlessness. MC was about to voice her annoyance when Guy’s single finger appeared to have slipped under her chin. She was enraptured by the powerful gaze of his red tinted eyes as the blindfold slid down to the floor. Her mouth opened only to utter a short gasp when she witnessed the state of the room outside the focus of Guy’s face. Taking a step back, MC surveyed the room and found that a Christmas transformation had occurred.

A fireplace roared in the chimney, while stockings hung from the mantle above. Next to Guy’s bed sat a tall lit tree decked in illuminating lights and ornaments. Classy gold garland decorated the walls, and a light snow fall appeared and trickled down from the ceiling creating a winter wonderland scene in front of the fireplace. Rendered speechless, one of MC’s hands drifted over her mouth while the other rested onto Guy’s arm as he embraced her from behind.

“My research indicated that this this time of year is special in your world,” Guy stated, admiring the way her eyes lit up brighter than any of the lights he crafted in the room. “Something about holidays being meaningful to your people?”

“Guy,” MC sniffled, tilting her head to allow Guy to wipe away the tears straggling down the line of her cheek. “This is beautiful! Thank you so much! But answer me this….why go through all this trouble for me? I’ve never mentioned celebrating the holidays to you before.”

It was Guy’s turn to dwell in astonishment by MC’s sudden line of questioning. Something happened to the prince that very rarely ever happened-a faint crimson blush that was barely visible to detection creeped onto Guy’s face. Not wanting her to witness this side of him, Guy hurried to turn away, but his intent was foiled when MC caught the sides of his face with her palms.

“Tell me,” she pleaded, pressing her forehead against his. “I’m speechless. Seriously, I didn’t hold any expectations, yet they’ve been exceeded. Why would you go to such lengths though?”

Letting go of Guy’s face, MC rose to the tips of her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her eyes twinkled wide in wonderment, and she looked like a vision as the snow had begun to cling to her hair. Captivated by her alluring gaze, Guy’s heart pounded when her eyelashes fluttered at him. It wasn’t often that the Prince of Avari found himself succumbing to the whims of others, but the woman standing before him was an exception. For there was no other that owned his very being unlike her.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Guy leaned down to murmur into the nape of her neck. “I promised I would ensure your happiness if you stayed with me. I’ve only simply begun to fulfill that vow, but-”

MC stole the breath uttering Guy’s declaration when their lips collided together. Touched by his sweet sentiment, MC was overflowing with her feelings of affection and she was determined to convey her emotions physically since words couldn’t fully express how much she loved him. Guy seemed to have the same idea in mind since he tightened his grip on MC and collapsed back onto the couch. Their fingers frantically tore away at each other’s clothing whilst they explored the intimate canvases of their bodies.  

Once they were both bare, MC climbed onto Guy’s lap. Settling herself over the heat of his arousal, she was about to lower herself onto him when a colorful flash up from above seized her attention.

Mistletoe.

MC’s smile sparkled in admiration at the twinkling decoration. The curl of her lips implied how obviously evident her joy was. Guy’s investigation into her former world’s traditions led to his discovery of the purpose that mistletoe served in retrospect of her customs. Yearning to witness more of MC’s innocent reactions, a beaming carnelian aurora radiated around the prince’s silhouette as he casted his powers to coat the remaining vacant spaces in mistletoe.

“Guy,” MC choked, her lower lip trembling from the surge of gratitude on behalf of the amount of consideration Guy put forth into preparing this astoundment.  

Stunned into a silence from Guy’s tokened generosity, MC nuzzled her head into his neck, lovingly expressing her appreciativeness for the thoughtful gestures. Wet tears streamed onto his chest, communicating the affirmation she held in her heart for him.  Driven by the desire of how ecstatic his actions impacted MC, the lust flaming from within his loins awoken his carnal instincts. His person trembled beneath her, longing to be joined in body and soul with the one he loved. Guy may be a powerful ruler, but underneath the surface he was just a man-and a selfish one at that. He had to have MC, and he had to have her now. Waiting was no longer a viable option.

“Every tear you shed is beautiful, but they’re even more beautiful when they are discarded from you coming undone by my touch,” Guy crooned, encasing the curves of her hips as he arose from the couch and sauntered over to fireplace. “However, I’m a greedy man and I demand more. Leave nothing unturned and show me all of you now.”

The flames roared in the fireplace while Guy placed MC down onto her back, allowing her to bask in the heat of the fire as his lips madly roamed her chest. Never one to neglect, Guy’s fingers traveled up the silk of her thigh, his fingers fervently stroking until the heat of MC’s nectar spilled onto him. Confident that she was ready to take him, Guy climbed on top of her. Gripping her ankle, he situated her leg over one of his arms before pushing himself as far and deep as MC was able to envelope him.

MC’s sensual cries echoed melodiously in his ears in sync to each of Guy’s thrusts. He uttered his own moan when her fingers curled into his back, madly clawing away at the warmth of his skin. Her face glowed from the perspiration beaded on her forehead. She was bordering on the edge of consciousness; each movement of Guy’s was delivering a rush of bliss that left her toes curling and her hands thrashing searching for the carpet to grip onto. Guy’s fingers swept down south of her body at a tantalizing pace and kept teasing until he reached the swell of her womanhood. His thumb massaged the sensitive bud, his rhythm deliberate and slow, eventually inducing her second wave of euphoria. Guy groaned as his arousal poured into MC, whose body was violently quivering from her elation.

He collapsed onto the floor beside her. Cradling her onto his chest, Guy played with her hair while MC snuggled closer into his warmth, comforted by the thumping sound of his heartbeat. She could always distinguish how much Guy cared for her by the delicate way he caressed her. MC relished in his affections and found her eyelids were growing heavy from how safe she felt in his arms….

“I pray that this will become a tradition of our own we can look forward to immersing ourselves in during future holidays,” Guy murmured lazily into her hair. “You can expect the future to be filled with joy, for one day you will be ruling by my side.”

MC didn’t respond, which caused Guy to prop himself up only to discover MC had drifted off into a peaceful slumber. Reaching over to intertwine their fingers together, Guy snaked his leg in between hers and placed gentle, languid kisses on her cheek before whispering a sweet goodnight to MC.

“Happy holidays, my future queen.”  

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[uchihasakurawrites]

Of T-Shirts and Monsoons

Rating: T for language

Summary: In which Sasuke proposes to a fuming Sakura in a cave in the middle of Rain. 

Word Count: 2,243

A/N: Hello everyone! It’s been about seven years since I last wrote for this fandom (or wrote creatively at all, really). This random idea popped into my head while I was watching old SasuSaku AMVs, and I just thought I’d go for it! I have a few ideas for longer SasuSaku fics, so I wanted to test out a few drabbles/oneshots to shake off some of the rust since it’s been a while. Let me know what you think! Also feel free to send prompts my way. This was done in about an hour, but I hope you enjoy~

Cross posted on Ao3 and Fanfiction.net

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Sakura was fuming as she stomped into the cave, ignoring Sasuke’s wary gaze as she slung her pack to the ground with enough force to create fine cracks in the stone beneath it. She stripped out of her blood-and-rain soaked jonin vest and tossed it equally as haphazardly to the side, not sparing a glance to where it landed with a decided thwack. Sasuke rubbed the bridge of his nose and made quick work of using a small katon to set a small fire in the back of the cave. Typically, it wouldn’t be worth the risk of attracting unwanted attention, but he figured the benefits of not having to deal with an angry and cold Sakura were decidedly worth dispatching any rogues that were foolish enough to have followed them. Not that he and Sakura had left any of the nin in a state to pursue them, he thought with a smirk.

“Stupid Rain with it’s stupid freak monsoons and stupid rogue nin who ambush anything that fucking moves through their ‘territory.’ Sure, take out the fact that you’re bored in a time of peace out on civilians who can’t fight back.”

The clang of Sakura’s weapons pouch against the cave wall punctuated her impatience with the recent trend of rogue bands staking claim to smaller civilian towns and merchant paths. They’d managed to defend three different merchant caravans and liberated two villages from rogues in the past month and a half alone. She didn’t mind helping the civilians, of course, but why couldn’t these rogues get it through their skulls that this was peace time? She just wanted a little peace, dammit!

Sasuke crouched down next to his own pack to dig out a spare change of clothes. After just over a year and a half of traveling together, he was more than used to Sakura’s flinty temper and knew she would tire herself out soon. Best to keep out of it.

Sakura dropped to the ground to hunt for a clean shirt of her own. She pulled out shirt after shirt, noting with growing frustration that each was either covered in blood, lacerations, or sand. If she ever saw another grain of sand, it would be far too soon. A growl tore from the back of her throat.

“Stupid Suna with it’s stupid sand. Why the hell can’t some other village have poison experts so I don’t have to trudge through the damned desert just to collaborate on our new Inter-Village Poison Center? Who the fuck even came up with that idea?” Sasuke sent her a pointed look, knowing full well that she had fully supported Shizune’s initiative, which Sakura missed. “And why the hell can’t an epidemic break out in, I don’t know, the Land of Tea and not the middle of fucking Rain? At least then-”

Sakura nearly choked when she glanced up  just in time to see Sasuke pull off his rain-soaked shirt and wring it out. No matter how long they spent together or how intimate they became, Sakura’s mind never failed to short-circuit at the sight of Sasuke’s bare skin. It didn’t matter where or how much - one glimpse, and her mind checked out. Although he would never express it outright, Sakura surmised that Sasuke knew exactly what his body did to her and used it to his advantage - say, when he was trying to distract her from a particularly troublesome conversation or train of thought.

It worked more often then she cared to admit.

Her sharp eyes caught the way Sasuke shifted his weight away from his left side as he moved to pull on a fresh shirt - crisp black with the Uchiha fan emblazoned proudly on the back. After a brief moment admiring his figure before it was hidden by the fabric, Sakura frowned at the inflammation beginning to flare up around his ankle. She cleared her throat and motioned for him to come over, tirade momentarily forgotten. Kami knows Sasuke would never admit that he had lost his footing for a moment during their earlier confrontation, unused to fighting on branches that had been rotted through from near-constant rain, and actually ask her to heal him. He’d become much more willing to allow her to heal him after a particularly difficult fight, but it was rare for him to outright ask for her assistance. She usually offered before he needed to.

She met his withering look with a hard gaze of her own.

“You,” she jabbed a finger in his direction, and he raised a brow, “stop being a stubborn ass and sit.” She motioned to the spot next to her with a touch more force than necessary. Sasuke didn’t budge and continued to ruffle through his pack. Sakura’s eyes narrowed.

“Sasuke-kun, --”

With a sigh, Sasuke fixed Sakura with a stern look and tossed her one of his extra shirts before coming to sit next to her. Laying a hand on Sakura’s shoulder, he formed the tiger seal to send a small katon over her skin to dry off the remnants of water that clung to her skin and hair. His jaw tightened at the blue-purple tint her lips had begun to take in the chill. A smile worked its way onto Sakura’s face when she realized the telltale signs of concern in his posture as he hovered near her.

“Change, Sakura. Then heal.”

His gaze dropped pointedly below her chin, and Sakura’s cheeks heated as she followed his eyes and realized her state of undress. Over the course of her rant, she had stripped down to her chest bindings and fitted shorts. Although Sasuke had seen her in far less, embarrassment washed through her as she scrambled to unfold the shirt he had tossed to her.

Her demeanor shifted when she went to slip it on. Sasuke glanced over when he felt Sakura stiffen at his side, brow furrowing when he noted the pensive look on Sakura’s features. Her eyes, previously a battle-worn seafoam green, took on a deeper, more thoughtful jade. She snagged her lip between her teeth, and Sasuke glanced down to see her fingers gently tracing the outline of the Uchiha fan printed on the back of the shirt.

 Spine going rigid, Sasuke wracked his brain for the other instances Sakura had borrowed clothes from his pack - a shirt here, a poncho there. Her hands-on approach to fighting combined with the blood, bile, and poison that came with being a medic meant that her clothes tended to ruin more quickly than his. The sight of her rummaging through his pack for a spare change of clothes was a familiar one. What he hadn’t noticed, however, was that Sakura was always careful to select one of the few articles of clothing he carried that didn’t carry his clan’s symbol. He kept a few basics on hand just in case they needed to be incognito through a town that was still hostile towards the Leaf.

His mind jumped to the easiest explanation he could think of for her hesitation: she was ashamed. Not that he blamed her for wanting to distance herself from his clan’s marred legacy, but the very thought lit a fire in his veins that had him pulling away from her. Anger and bitterness combined with a pang of disappointment that he didn’t particularly want to address.

Sakura started, broken from her thoughts as she took note of Sasuke’s sudden change in demeanor. It was a testament to the time she had spent becoming attuned to the small giveaways of Sasuke’s emotions that she pieced two-and-two together. His flinty eyes shifted between the shirt in her hands and the cave wall as he refused to look at her.

With another quiet smile, Sakura carefully folded the shirt, laid it on top of her pack, and moved to stand next to Sasuke. She could feel some of the tension leave him when her shoulder brushed his, but his eyes remained stony.

“Sasuke-kun.” She waited for a moment before his gaze flickered down to hers, hoping that the softness in her own gaze would convey whatever she wasn’t able to in words. She placed a gentle hand on his bicep, hoping to ground him as she mulled over her words. Talking about the Uchiha Clan with Sasuke took a delicate touch, a touch she had learned after a short but explosive period of trial and error.

“Sasuke-kun, your clan’s history has nothing to do with why I won’t wear the Uchiha fan. Your legacy is a part of you, and I love you. All of you. Even the darkest parts that you don’t think love can reach. You know I’m damn persistent, and if I can wait this long to get you to accept that I love you, then I can wait as long as you need me to before you accept that that includes everything about you.”

She took a deep breath, averting her own eyes now that he had fixed her with an unreadable gaze of his own.

“Even if you won’t outright admit it, I know that your clan is precious to you. I’ve watched you carve the clan’s symbol into your kunai every time you replenish your stock. And I’m not an Uchiha, Sasuke-kun, so wearing the clan’s symbol - even casually like this, just feels like I’m not giving it the honor it deserves.”

Silence. Sakura was used to silence from Sasuke, and had learned how to interpret his different silences. There were the more distraught, brooding ones that required a bright, calming touch and the occasional pouty silence after she had smiled just a touch too openly at a flirty cashier; the explosive silences that she usually drew him into a spar during to release some energy and the frustrated, yet concerned silence when he thought she was too reckless in a battle.

This seemed to be one of his thoughtful silences - one that she didn’t feel she should interrupt. Noting with no small amount of satisfaction that most of the rigidity had melted away from his body, Sakura moved to turn back towards her pack.

“As for clothes, I’m sure I can put together something for tonight, so don’t worry about me. I’m pretty sure there’s a little merchant town not to far from here that we can stop by tomorrow to stock up on some new -”

Sakura swallowed her words as a cool hand enclosed her wrist and tugged her back. Her eyes widened when she found herself pressed to Sasuke’s chest with his arms wrapped tightly around her back. While Sakura was no stranger to small acts of affection from Sasuke - a forehead poke here and a sleepy  arm around her waist there - it was incredibly rare for him to initiate a hug. In fact, she was pretty sure she could count the number of times he had hugged her on one hand.

“Sa-Sasuke-kun?”

He huffed into her hair, something between a laugh or a sigh - she couldn’t quite tell. So she simply decided to remain quiet, tracing her fingertips along his back as she waited for him to voice his thoughts. She swore Sasuke Uchiha was going to be the death of her when he spoke again and she quite literally choked.

“Marry me.”

The words were so quiet that Sakura nearly convinced herself that they were a figment of her imagination. A statement, not a request. She pulled back slightly, wide eyes meeting Sasuke’s steady gaze.

“W-What?”

Sakura winced as soon as she asked the question, knowing Sasuke loathed repeating himself (though it was a well-kept secret that Sasuke didn’t mind repeating himself for her and her alone). But surely he couldn’t hold it against her given the situation. He simply sighed at her request, arching a brow that said he knew that she had clearly heard him yet repeated himself anyways.

“Marry me and wear the damn shirt, Sakura.”

When she continued to stand in front of him with nothing more than a shocked stare, Sasuke huffed again and half-rolled his eyes in a rare display of amusement. Tonight seemed to be a night for rare occasions, it seemed.

Sidestepping Sakura’s frozen form, he retrieved his spare shirt from its place on Sakura’s pack, unfolded it, and gently worked it over her head. A warm glow replaced the earlier fire in his veins as Sakura came to and allowed her arms to be guided into the shirt’s sleeves.

Sasuke spent a minute admiring the fan on her back, pride burning in his chest at the thought of Sakura as the Uchiha matriarch. A small part of him idly wondered if his mother would be pleased to see her position passed on to Sakura. He liked to think she would.

Sakura turned towards him, feeling a tug in her chest at the vulnerability in Sasuke’s expression. She wasn’t sure what kind of proposal she had expected from Sasuke - hell, she hadn’t even been certain she should expect one at all. At least, not for a while. She certainly hadn’t imagined one of the happiest moments of her life to come in the middle of a freezing cave in Rain after treating a minor epidemic, getting ambushed by a plucky squad of overambitious rogue nin, and nearly drowning in a monsoon.

So yes, she hadn’t expected a proposal to come in this type of situation, but she had known her answer to this question for nearly a decade.

“Yes.”