#Diagonal zero zero

[kirby-the-gorb]

[maburito]

Of fucking course

[jeonstellate]

the ghost of legacy

a legacy joins the paddock for the season — and oscar is the only one not keen on befriending her.

ᯓ★ oscar piastri x fem!räikkönen!reader

ᯓ★ brief mentions of weight, sainz-leclerc divorce, & wound; depictions of insecurity, grid chaos, & confusion/denial

ᯓ★ paragraph format — 4.1K words

masterlist

[pic’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

ᯓ★ direct sequel to the ghost of monza!

ᯓ★ all italian & spanish words in this are from google! yn is kimi räikkönen’s daughter, but there are no physical descriptions mentioned.

ᯓ★ remember how i mentioned that tgom might be my first & only f1 fic? well . . . i’ve been persuaded otherwise :D i have some regrets about this, so i’d appreciate it a lot if y’all can share some feedback <3

The dawn of a season carries fresh, untainted hope. It brings a clean slate in most things — and in everything that matters. It resets the clock back at zero, and draws a mint coat for the starting line. It opens a new book with blank pages, awaiting fresh ink to flow and fill it with something worth remembering.

As poetic as those sound, Oscar can’t care any less. A new season’s a new season, meaning — for the most part — another chance at winning either championships.

For the remaining part? It means coming back to Monza, A-K-A where he met [first name] for three years in a row.

The Italian Grand Prix is still a lifetime away, but there are already moments where he finds himself wondering if she’ll still drop by and ask about Fernando’s whereabouts this season as well. With three consecutive years under their belts, it kind of feels like a tradition by this point. It’ll be too much of a shame if they break it so close to the fifth anniversary.

Honestly, he’s a little tempted to ask the older driver about his niece, but he’s also a little scared of what the other might do if he shows interest. Fernando looks like he’ll slash his tires as a form of intimidation. He doesn’t seem to be above purposely making contact during a race to prove a point, either.

It’s not like he can cut the middle man altogether. He only got her first name. There are a lot of [first name]s in existence. An Instagram search won’t cut it, especially if her profile picture isn’t of herself. A browser search will be just as impossible, if not even more so.

Oscar lets out a sigh without realizing. Is it better, after all, to let the universe decide if they should continue their little tradition?

"It’s not that bad," he hears Lando say next to him. They’re currently in the general hospitality, with a tray of free food they were promised for attending the pre-season ‘grid bonding’ and meetings. As the hospitality doesn’t open until the season officially starts, it’s just everyone in the paddock — the drivers and the crews — occupying the floors.

He looks at his teammate for that, silently hoping he’ll get a clue on what he’s talking about, because he has absolutely no idea what conversation topic they’re currently on. He didn’t mean to zone out but, alas, it’s just so easy to.

He decides to take a shot in the dark, after a moment of not perceiving any clues. He assumes — based on nothing — that he’s talking about the food. "The presentation might be intentionally deceiving."

Lando isn’t impressed. "You just need to gaslight yourself and think it’s good, if that’s really the case."

"No need! It’s actually good!" Pierre interrupts from one of the full six-seater tables. "Try the soup!"

Oscar isn’t really sure if he trusts Pierre’s tastebuds but he thanks him, anyway.

He guides Lando to sit at the eight-seater table next to Pierre’s group, albeit intentionally at the further side so he doesn’t feel pressured to socialize in the beginning of his lunch. He sits on the second seat from the edge, diagonally from the laptop he’s assuming someone forgot to take with them. Lando sits directly across him.

They eat in silence. Normally, one of them initiates a conversation over food. Today, though, Oscar lets his teammate clear his tray without a word. The other had — wisely and questionably — foregone eating breakfast to make the promised buffet worth his while.

He munches on his lunch thoughtfully, uninterested in taking advantage of the free buffet to the fullest. He — as the rest of the grid — has to watch his weight this close to the first race of the season, anyway, to avoid the risk of jeopardizing the car’s speed. He’s not really a fan of intensifying his gym workouts to burn extra calories if he eats way past his normal fill, either.

He zones out while looking directly at the stickers on the laptop cover. He’s not completely foreign to such practice, since his own sisters have decorated their personal laptops with a collection of stickers. As such, he knows how the stickers and their placements essentially show a portion of the laptop owner’s personality and interests.

Deciphering the laptop owner’s interests proves to be a good ‘during lunch’ activity. It doesn’t require a lot of thinking since most of them are pretty straightforward. Some are definitely out of context. The rest are completely obscure to him, which he doesn’t think too deeply about.

Then there’s a selected few that Oscar feels he should know, like the W resembling a fire and the RKN, but is currently blanking on.

The third general hospitality floor, by some coincidence or another, houses all drivers — reserved or otherwise — for lunch. They aren’t the only people on it, as there as also crew members scattered around, but it’s a bit impressive that the entire grid chose to settle on the same floor. Perhaps it’s an (un)intentional consequence of the grid bonding they’re forced to participate in.

Oscar gains more tablemates halfway through his first plate when Ollie and Kimi sit on the edge closest to Pierre’s group. He gains a seatmate when Alex sits next to him and George appears next to Lando.

There’s some sort of harmony in the chaos of overlapping conversations. Even more so when the tables talk to each other without bothering to get up.

Oscar thinks the chaos already peaked when the British and French drivers started defending their respective cuisines from the other’s attacks. Unfortunately, he’s eventually proven wrong when someone makes a deal out of someone else’s entrance to the floor.

"—laptop on a table," he hears a voice say. He can’t see whoever it is, though, since they’re blocked from his view by another.

"Go grab it first then I’ll introduce you to our drivers." The person blocking his view — someone from Williams, judging from the team uniform — moves slightly, allowing him to finally catch a glimpse of the other.

He sees the same Williams polo shirt first. Then— the matrix must’ve glitched.

He doesn’t remember blinking nor zoning out, but the next second he comprehends has [first name] diagonal from him across the table.

It feels wrong — and he isn’t quite sure what ‘it’ is. It is the fact that they’re currently worlds away from Monza? Or the fact that she’s wearing nothing that can get her mistaken as a tifoso?

[First name] gives him a wordless nod of recognition before excusing herself to the rest of the table, her laptop tucked between her arm and side.

"Osc, do you know her?" Someone in front whispers to him. He can’t be bothered to identify which gridmate, though, much less give them a reply. After all, his attention has stuck to [first name] like a moth to a flame.

Oscar has no shame about blatantly listening in on a conversation he obviously isn’t a part of.

"Alex, Carlos, this is our engineering intern for this year," the Williams crew member introduces the three. "She’ll be shadowing your race engineers alternatively."

"I’m Alex Albon, car twenty-three." He watches Alex as the latter holds a hand out for a handshake. "Welcome to team Williams."

[First name] takes his hand, "A pleasure."

Carlos reacts late, so it’s almost as if he’s hesitant to introduce himself. "Carlos Sainz, car fifty-five." Unlike his teammate, he doesn’t offer his hand for a shake. He just nods his head once — which she then returns with the same energy. "I see I got custody of you in the divorce."

[First name] lets out a laugh that doesn’t even reach Oscar’s ears. "[First name] Räikkönen — a child of the Sainz-Leclerc divorce, apparently."

Räikkönen?

Kimi Räikkönen?

Oscar must admit, despite understanding that her father is a former Formula One driver since last year, this revelation is still surprising. It isn’t unexpected, as Kimi Räikkönen was one of his top suspects then, but shock is definitely still there.

Probably because he now has an irrefutable evidence that the ghost of Monza is actually an F1 champion’s daughter.

And because there’s also a small part of him that feels embarrassed for not realizing right away. After all, [first name] wears her father’s number proudly — and her favored RKN logo is close enough to his RKKNN. Quite literally, the answer has been right in front of him this entire time.

"Räikkönen? Like Kimi Räikkönen?" Alex echoes his thoughts unknowingly. "That’s so cool."

"Exactly like Kimi Räikkönen," she replies good naturally. "He’s the one who passed it onto me."

The younger Williams driver is handling the revelation better than he is, as far as he can tell. But maybe that’s because Alex didn’t spend a good year thinking she’s a ghost. "No way."

"Yeah, [first name]," Charles pipes up from his seat at Pierre’s table. "No way you broke the Ferrari alliance!"

[First name] looks over to the side to meet Charles’ eyes. "There is no such thing."

"There is so!"

She doesn’t give the Monégasque the satisfaction of responding. Instead, she just returns her attention to the Williams drivers. "I look forward to working with you, Mr. Albon, Carlos."

She gives them a smile so genuine, the media would’ve scrambled to capture it — partly in disbelief that a Räikkönen could smile like so.

And, for a brief moment, Oscar could’ve sworn [first name]’s smile widens a little when their eyes meet.

(Un)fortunately, she’s gone before he can think too much about it.

The paddock stayed the same with [first name] Räikkönen around, more or less. ‘More’ because the fight for the title is still as cutthroat as the last with new rivalries, without necessarily interfering with the civility between them drivers. ‘Less’ because her presence has caused some drivers to gravitate towards her — unintentionally orbiting her every chance they get.

Fernando is a given. As are Charles and Carlos, based on their already-founded closeness in the hospitality. Alex follows soon after. Then Max.

That’s not an exhaustive list. If it had been, most of the grid would’ve been name-dropped, for sure. Maybe even have all— except one. Oscar.

Oscar doesn’t feel deserving of being [first name]’s friend, for a reason he can’t really put into words. [First name] is . . . [first name]. And he’s . . . just Oscar.

He doesn’t ignore her, of course, nor does he pretend she isn’t there when they cross paths. He just doesn’t go out of his way to be closer than acquaintances and gain her favor. He exchanges brief ‘hello’s with her whenever they meet going opposite ways. He returns her nods and waves of acknowledgment from across rooms, and has initiated them on occasion whenever he spots her first.

He doesn’t take detours to drop her off to her destination. He doesn’t sit with her whenever she’s alone, either. Because then, it’ll be a quiet kind of friendship — and he can’t be her friend.

He’s just her acquaintance, at best, and he’s content with that.

After all, [first name] has more than enough new friends. She doesn’t need him — his friendship, that is.

For her part, she seems to respect the invisible line he has drawn between them. Almost as if she can see it as well as he does.

But, perhaps, it isn’t actually as defined for her. For she has no qualms about crashing his pity party on a sidewalk.

"Are you lactose intolerant?" [First name] appears in front of him seemingly out of nowhere.

Oscar takes a second to process what just happened. Even then, he’s still not sure if he’s understanding correctly. ". . . No?"

She nods, almost approvingly, before handing him a paper bag. "Here."

"What’s—" He starts before she can commence her regular habit of disappearing.

[First name], who is already steps away from him, turns back to face him once more. "My dad says it makes everything feel better."

He lets her go after that, albeit her response just made him even more confused.

When he finally opens the paper bag, Oscar finds a spoon, a bottle of water, and a sealed half-pint of gelato in his favorite flavor.

Something in his chest stirs.

The general hospitality is set to house the entirety of the grid drivers for the nth time this season. Another drivers’ meeting is scheduled to start in thirty minutes, and — in true fashion — less than half have made their way up to the room.

By the time Oscar shows up with a pack of others he met on the way, majority of the rookies are already there. Punctuality has obviously not been drained — or, at the very least, influenced — out of their systems.

"George!" Kimi calls for his teammate’s attention as soon as he spots him amongst the crowd that’s barely entering. "Can we adopt [first name]?"

George’s confusion is evident in his stance. Behind him, Oscar needs to stifle an amused laugh. "What?"

"She sang the Italian national anthem for me!" In all honesty, he isn’t following the Italian rookie’s logic. Thankfully, he isn’t the one who needs to respond. "She can also speak Italian!"

He enjoys the view of the older Mercedes driver buffering for an answer from the seat he secured next to Carlos. Even more so when the younger one of the duo pulls out a pleading look with his "please."

He doesn’t know how he found the strength to, but George eventually replies with a non-answer. "You should probably ask Toto about that, Kimi."

"No! [First name]’s ours!" Alex disproves, protectively. "Get your own [first name]!"

"She was ours first!" Charles joins in. The Monégasque likes reminding people she’s a tifoso first, before anything else, during moments like these. He hasn’t quite moved on from the fact that she chose to intern at Williams rather than Ferrari. "Why do you think she knows the Italian national anthem by heart!"

Lewis lets him do all the talking, as Carlos does with Alex. Both seem to have — wisely — figured out [first name] will put a stop to it soon enough, with or without their varied inputs.

And, sure enough indeed, a high pitched sound comes from the speakers built around the room — which instinctively makes everyone cover their ears.

"Princesa!" Oscar can somewhat hear Fernando scold somewhere behind him. "Stop—"

Thankfully, the sound stops within three seconds — and before they actually have to plead for their hearing.

Ever the nonchalant, [first name] merely scans the crowd of betrayed and confused looks before nodding to herself, "Good." It is then that he realizes she used the feedback to silence the room, with the least energy wasted possible.

He knows there’s a chance that might’ve just sent the room into more chaos. After all, they might all be grown up, but they can also a bunch of children sometimes. It was a fair gamble and yet, somehow, she looks like she was completely certain.

He salutes her for that; for having confidence and conviction on par with that of a Formula One driver.

"You’re our race engineer intern, no?" Carlos inquires before expressing his thanks for the printed meeting agenda she handed him and Alex. "Why are you the one doing all of this?"

She shrugs, "Still an intern."

"Do we get one, too?" Esteban asks for the majority somewhere to his left. It’s a fair question, drivers’ meetings don’t usually have the agenda printed out. It’s usually kept hidden from them, to avoid getting them antsy or, worse, letting them organize their protests.

[First name] points to the Williams logo on her uniform. "I’m only required to make Carlos’ and Alex’s lives a little easier."

They find a stack of meeting agenda copies by the front of the room a minute after she disappears. A sticky note on top reads, don’t pass out if they start fighting.

(She becomes their instant favorite to set up meeting rooms. Unfortunately, the FIA has forbidden Williams to let her facilitate their next turn for the same reason.)

The drivers’ rooms are the most private areas in the paddock. It’s where drivers leave their belongings while they’re out and about. It’s where their visitors usually stay to keep out of the crew’s way until the race. It’s where they sneak in a snooze when they don’t get enough sleep from the night before.

However, despite that, the drivers’ rooms can’t be locked from the outside. The McLaren ones, at least, for the time being while their PIN code lock is being updated.

No one knows about the update except for him and Lando, but he still made sure to stash his belongings inside the lockers instead of leaving them lying around just in case. He has faith and trust in the crew, of course, as he has worked with the majority of them for years, but the garage is also an open space. Someone with malicious intent can easily slip in, unnoticed.

In hindsight, it makes the most sense for someone to slip in when either he or Lando wins a race since the garage will be mostly empty then. Thus, a small part of him isn’t surprised to discover that his driver’s room isn’t exactly the way he left it before leaving for the race he ultimately won.

Nothing is taken, thankfully, and the only thing out of place is the sealed half-pint of gelato on the table — which has a spoon tied on it by a familiar handcrafted OP81 bracelet.

[First name]’s.

There’s no meaning behind her very apparent attachment to it. At least, not in a way that is connected to him personally. For all he knows, she only refuses to stop wearing the bracelet — even at the behest of drivers close to her — because of the young fan that handed it to her.

"You don’t have to keep wearing it."

"I want to."

However, nevertheless, seeing the bracelet with his initials and number around her wrist always spark the same unvoiced feeling in his stomach — the one that grew from what stirred in his chest then.

And, somehow, knowing that she intentionally left her prized OP81 fan-made merch behind almost feels like a concession. Like she’s leaving him behind.

That’s an irrational jump in reasoning. After all, they’re not even friends. He knows that — but, apparently, the rest of his body doesn’t. He can easily blame his heightened emotions and illogicality on the adrenaline that hasn’t completely left his body, but that doesn’t make it any less real.

For a reason he is yet to understand, he’s wholeheartedly convinced [first name] isn’t just letting the bracelet go. She’s letting him go, too. And that thought, however illogically sound, doesn’t sit well in his stomach.

He can’t accept the bracelet with the plausible implication it carries. He can’t accept her concession. He doesn’t want to— He doesn’t want her to give up on him.

(He understands nothing. They’re not even friends.)

Thus, like a man with no time to lose and everything in line, Oscar takes off running before he can even comprehend where his feet are taking him.

"[First name]," he calls in relief when he sees her exit the Williams motorhome the same moment he arrives. His voice comes out a little breathless, a little winded from the impromptu run he did around the paddock post-race. He doesn’t care.

"Oscar," she turns with his name on her lips. Her shock is only evident in her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"To return your bracelet," he admits, "and to thank you for the congratulatory gift."

She makes a sound of acknowledgement as the shock filters out of her eyes. "You’re welcome. You can keep the bracelet."

Her words sting, like alcohol is poured over an open wound.

(Ridiculous. They’re not even friends.)

"I don’t want it." He says abruptly, instantly regretting the words the moment they’re out of his mouth. "I mean— the bracelet looks better on you."

"I don’t really like orange."

Oscar swallows down the instinct to correct. Protecting the McLaren papaya pride is the least of his worries at the moment. "It goes well with Williams blue—" there’s a hint of desperation in his voice now. He finds it difficult to swallow— "and Ferrari red."

[First name]’s silence stretches. He begins to wonder if she’s back into being a mere hallucination; if he didn’t actually catch her on time and she’s bound to disappear in front of him any second.

He unconsciously holds his breath, anticipatory and unblinking. Praying, almost.

(They’re not friends.)

Then, finally, the silence breaks with her laugh sounding like scoff. She walks towards him with amusement dancing almost unnoticeably in her features. "Okay."

Oscar exhales in relief. He slots the bracelet back around her wrist with a silent promise even he is yet know.

(They’re not friends.)

The season calendar ultimately reaches the Italian Grand Prix, as it does every year.

Oscar, for someone who had been looking forward to it before the new season even started, has forgotten about it as soon as the new season actually began. In his defense, his plate filled at an alarming rate, especially with McLaren’s steel determination to become this year’s World Constructors’ Champion as well. It doesn’t help that he’s already seeing his only reason every weekend, either.

Well, ‘only reason’ might be a little too vague. [First name] is certainly part of that reason, but a big part of it is the tradition they unknowingly made. At least, that’s what he’d like to think, anyway.

Even if it no longer rings true, especially since . . . then.

They’re much closer since, having erased the invisible line between acquaintanceship and friendship. They still do everything they used to do, but now they aren’t limited to just those. They occasionally take detours now. And sit together, when they happen to take a break at the same hour. They hide together, too, when they crave the quietness of being away from everyone else.

Yet, despite the undeniable spike in their time spent together, their tradition at Monza has never been brought up. Not even in reminiscence.

As such, any thoughts about their tradition only lied dormant until the day of. More specifically, when Oscar finally finds himself sitting idle in the McLaren motorhome with a view identical to where he had seen her appear for the last two years.

It’s a bit too late to phone her to drop by just for the unspoken tradition’s sake. So, alas, all he can do now is will the universe to bring her to the McLaren motorhome for any reason it can think of.

Oscar lets himself wallow. He figures it’s better for him to do it now, since his brain refuses to let him think of anything else. He can’t risk jeopardizing his team like that, in case his compartmentalizing ability decides to fail him later.

"What are you doing?" A familiar voice pulls him back to reality. He focuses back to comprehend [first name] standing just outside of his personal bubble, clad in her Räikkönen tifoso gear. He almost forgot how she looks in them, having gotten used to seeing her in Williams colors for the past several months.

He spots the OP81 bracelet resting on her wrist. Its black and papaya theme compliments her red and white tifoso outfit.

A small smile forms at the corners of his mouth. "Waiting for you."

She tilts her head slightly in confusion, but doesn’t question him. "Sure."

He decides not to alleviate her confusion. He just starts walking towards the door, completely trusting she’ll follow him out. He gestures for her to exit first. "Fernando should be in the Aston Martin garage at this hour."

She obliges. "I know." Unlike the previous year where she actively fought to not walk next to him, she doesn’t even bat an eye when he claims one of her sides as they make their way to the Aston Martin area. "I’ve always known after our first meeting, actually."

Oscar can’t quite believe his ears. "Seriously?" [First name] affirms. He suddenly begins to question their exchanges during his first two years in McLaren, skimming through vague memories for clues. "Then why—"

"I needed an excuse," she shrugs nonchalantly. Acting as if she isn’t singlehandedly rewriting the way he views their little tradition. "I had quite the crush on you."

At the bluntness worthy of a Räikkönen, Oscar stops working altogether.

ᯓ★ it’s a little awkward to have an note at the end bc of my tumblr formatting, but it’s important to me that you guys know that yn definitely got banned on purpose. it’s meant to loosely parallel kimi in that grill the grid ep where he lost on purpose so he could leave, heh.

ᯓ★ also! 5/6th way to finishing this, i realized this prolly would’ve been better if i showed yn’s pov— but that was a lil too late, so osc’s pov had to do. yn’s pov would’ve had more angst in it, too, && idk if y’all dig that. lol. in all seriousness, i hope y’all enjoyed somehow <3

[super-clearlysaltybouquet]

The One With the Blouse (1/2)

Part 1/2

Wolfstar x reader      Sirius Black x reader      Remus Lupin x reader      Sirius Black x Remus Lupin      Sirius Black x reader x Remus Lupin 

Established couple (throuple)

Summary: Reader cares about how people see her, tensions boil over when the group get ready for a Gryffindor party

Warnings:

Angst (argument)

Hurt (and minimal comfort…)

Lots of insecurity, feeling disposable in a relationship

my first fic ever so please be kind…will potentially write a part 2 if people like this one (feedback is welcomed)

word count: 1.8k

Sirius looks so pretty in his white blouse. The silk brings out his dark hair perfectly, and the fabrics warm undertones complimented his pale skin. “Is all the fuss really necessary?” Sirius asked, bothering with the bow neckline of the blouse.

“You want to look good, don’t you?” You respond stiffly, tying, and re-tying the bow, unsatisfied with how it sits around his neck. 

“You forgot to Iron it.”, you say, Tying, untying, re-tying. Completely zeroed in.

“Does it really matter?” Sirius responds, completely exasperated.

Remus watches on from the armchair by his bed. It’s standard routine at this point. Before every common room party, Remus is ready by dinner - always a plain top and trousers, today a white T-shirt with blue jeans. “Very James Dean”, Sirius had said. He's been sitting there entirely patient on the same armchair for the past two hours, reading only half attentively as you and Sirius get ready.

“Sweetheart, the bow is fine”, Remus advises gently. He’s not in a rush, but he can tell that as much as you usually enjoy it, today the up-doing process is stressing you out. 

“No..no, not yet”, you respond absentmindedly, still fixated on Sirius’s blouse. 

Tying, untying, re-tying the bow. Sirius huffs out a humourless laugh and takes a quick step back turning completely away from you. Your hands are still held up, frozen where his neck would be. Your eyebrows furrow, and Remus looks up from his book.

“It’s the same every bloody time!”, Sirius suddenly cries out, you’re completely taken aback. 

“Sirius”, Remus warns.

“Godric, Forgive me! I didn’t iron my fucking blouse!”, he feigns, “You’re suffocated me” he finishes, coldly, glaring daggers straight through you. He’s still so beautiful, with his ebony hair hanging long and dark over his face, but the pit in your stomach is somehow darker. 

Remus is stood to his full height now, book abandoned. “You’re out of line”, his anger still somehow contained. And Sirius has the gall to let out a laugh. The party in the common room seems to have started. You can hear music and laughing below the bluestone floors. You try and divert your focus to that lively sound and take it off the painful bob in your throat. 

“I’m out of line? You’re kidding Moony”, Sirius laughs. his lack of sincerity is incredibly unnerving. “The bitch is vapid”, and your heart nearly stops, you can feel the sick climbing up your throat. Remus is seething, but you’re not sure he knows exactly what to say anyway. 

“What?”, is all you can muster hopelessly. 

Sirius takes a step towards you, and you all seem to move at once. You take one step back at the same time Remus steps between you and the shorter boy.

“Cut it out Sirius”, Remus warns, towering above the both of you with his height, and his domineering demeanour. But Sirius is undeterred.

“You. are. entirely. vapid”, he repeats, now looking over at you past Remus’s shoulder. “you’re just like my mother” he whispers to himself, like some sort of secret revelation, and you just want it all to end. “Completely superficial, shallow, and entirely vapid” he seethes, before turning back away from you again, taking in a slow deep breath. You think you can hear his heart beating nearly just as quick as yours.

Sirius’s accusation sits inside you. You can’t deny that you do like nice things. Your jewellery was all made custom, you shopped at the best boutiques on Diagon Alley, and you kept up appearances. 

Your parents have always been devastatingly high-achieving. You were no stranger to the odd charity gala, or pureblood ball. So, for you that meant endless expectations to live up to. Making sure clothes were ironed, hair was done right and shoes were all polished was just second nature. You pay attention to these things because you have to. Your label as a “washed-up-witch” in Witch Weekly’s coverage of the Macmillan ball in 72 serves as a reminder. Filtered through pre-teen public humiliation, these things stick. As deflated as you felt regarding Sirius’s outburst, you could feel an equal anger bubbling just below the surface. 

“You did not just compare me to your draconian fanatic of a mother”, is the first thing that leaves your lips. Your eyes are wide, and that anger is bubbling over. Yet, your voice is so level that you think you just might have the upper hand. You can tell that Sirius was expecting you to respond with equal fervour, he wanted a fight, and your composure has caught him off guard. You think for a second, maybe he didn’t even mean to hurt you. 

Remus would back you up if you needed him to, but he knows you really don’t need him to. You’d like to say your piece, and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze in support.

“Just because you can afford to reject tradition and expectation doesn’t mean we all have that luxury” you seethe.

Sirius has always had the reputation of a Black Sheep, but it made him shine nevertheless. Every act of rebellion on his part was praised and admired by your peers. But as a woman in the 70s, and the only child in a pureblood family - you were often subject to incomparable scrutiny.

“Maybe I’m too much sometimes” your voice breaks, and the tears have started to flow of their own accord now. Rushing like silent broken faucets, or shower heads. Sirius’s eyes flash with regret. You look up at the ceiling to blink them back, and Remus gives your hand another squeeze, silently shaking his head and biting his tongue. He’s glaring at Sirius with a healthy mixture of disappointment, and something akin to fury.

“I can’t help but care about how I look”, you whisper to no one in particular, “This is usually fun, getting dressed up together”, and Sirius looks completely in despair. That almost cocky, goading aura that surrounded him has been evaporated by your undeniable heartbreak. He’s fidgeting with the hem of the blouse now, and his fingers move hesitantly up to his neckline, where your hands sat only moments ago. He’s palming at the skin there, as it slowly turns pink from the pressure.

“I’m only fussy because I care, Sirius”, you say wavering, lip quivering as your crying takes both your eyes, and your voice. He can’t look you in the eye.

The subtext isn’t missed by either of the boys, you care because you love them. You enjoy dressing them up because you want them to look good and enjoy themselves. To protect them from any anxiety associated with landing on a worst dressed list, even informally among the Gryffindor party-goers three flood below.

You look down at your disco boots, perfect stockings and shift dress. It all feels so silly now, wearing the outfit you picked out three days in advance. You want to crawl out of your skin, and you really don’t feel like dancing. Sirius is still palming at his collarbones, staring with dazed and shallow eyes at his feet and the floor below them. You can’t see his face properly behind his hair, but you know him well enough to think he might be crying too. “I hope you’re proud of yourself Black” Remus chimes in, and you wince at the use of that last name. Remus’s hand rubs small circles around the back of your neck, you can't help but want his hot skin off you.

“I-I didn’t-”, Sirius starts, but you walk from the room with Remus quick at your heels before he can finish. 

The stairway down to the common room is empty, with the party building up below. It’s just you and Remus standing still on the stairs. “You know he didn’t mean that”, Remus says kindly, more for your sake than Sirius’s. He’s brushing the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs, and gently pushing the hair back from around your face. “He gets like this when he’s stressed, it’s not your fault”, he reassures, kissing the top of your head. 

“I stressed him, I should have just let him be”, you whisper, and Remus is silent. This is the first big fight you've had as a couple. You’re a slightly more recent addition to their pairing. Quips and little disagreements have never been an issue. Even when you were all just friends these things were always resolved in a matter of minutes - or a few hours at most, but this is the first time a spat has ended in tears. 

You wonder if this was a mistake. You hope to Godric that Remus isn’t thinking it too. “I think I’ll go to bed”, you say finally, and you can feel him frown. 

“But you were so excited for tonight” he says sadly, more of an acknowledgment, you know he doesn’t mean to change your mind. You’re all hardly in the mood for a party.

“Maybe you and Sirius can still have some fun”, and you hope it doesn’t come across as bitter, but Remus’s solemn expression suggests otherwise, he lets it go.

“I’ll talk to him”, Remus assures, as he molds his body around yours in a much-needed embrace. Having him so close stirs a vulnerability within you, and you’re sure that if you could see his face, you wouldn't have the courage to open your mouth. 

“Maybe we were wrong”, you whisper into his chest, scared. 

Remus is burning 20 degrees hotter.

“What makes you say that?”, he responds measured, but the unease in his voice is palpable. He’s pulled back to look at your face now, and you fidget under his gaze. You give him a look to say without words, ‘are you kidding?’.

“But you know we love you”, Remus says desperately, more of a question than a statement, gripping the sides of your head firmly, so as to say, ‘please believe me’. You just shake your head between his hands. “You heard him, didn’t you?”, you start, “Completely superficial, shallow, and entirely vapid” you quote, and Remus cringes. 

“I’ll talk to him”, he repeats.

“No, no its okay, I’m going to bed”, you say, almost completely defeated by the tidal wave of self-doubt flooding through you.

“Dove-”

“How about you talk to him, and you two can decide what we do from here”, Remus looks heartbroken at the implication.

“Surely you don’t think we don’t want to see you anymore?”, There seems to be something sparkly welling in his eyes too, Godric, what a horrible evening.

You’re so in your head you hardly register Remus’s question. When he goes to pull you close again you take a small step back, your fingers still interlinked. The moonlight shines in through the stained glass, and the sparkle of salt in Remus’s eyes begins to fall. You can hear Diana Ross’s smooth voice echoing off the stone from downstairs, tonight could have gone so differently. You can’t help but feel you’ve caused all this. Whatever animosity Sirius seems to have been harbouring towards you, you’re sure it lives inside Remus too, even if you can’t see it yet. You turn around before you have the chance to look back.

“I’m going to bed”.

[calina-alda]

what are ur leon headcanons…..

Leon S. Kennedy Headcanons

• Falls in love too easily, too hard

Leon doesn’t fall in love in a casual way. He’s just got this aching need to connect. A soft heart in a harsh world.

• Keeps to himself, not because he wants to be alone, but because he’s scared

Leon wants to be close to people, but he's terrified of losing them. He's lost too much already. So he keeps people at a distance, pretends he prefers solitude, but the truth is, he’s lonely.

• Can’t sleep in silence

The quiet gets too loud. His thoughts spiral, what ifs, regrets, things he should’ve said or done differently. So he listens to music, a podcast, the soft hum of city noise, something to fill the silence and anchor him to the now.

• Leon loves being the little spoon

The second someone wraps their arms around him from behind, he goes quiet and soft, like all his tension just disappears. You hold him? He’s not moving. You’re stuck. He will cling back like a sleepy koala. Because no one ever really held him first. And now that someone does? He never wants to let it go.

• Sleeps like a starfish on the bed

He’s lanky and somehow ends up diagonally across the mattress, one leg off the bed, blanket tangled like he fought it. If someone tries to share a bed with him, they’ll wake up clinging to the edge while Leon is dead asleep like a corpse in a crime scene outline.

• Panick attacks

He’s learned to mask them, deep breaths, gripping his own wrist hard enough to ground himself, counting things he can see, pretending he’s fine. But sometimes, when it gets too much, he disappears for a moment. No one really knows. He doesn’t want to be a burden

• Sings to himself when no one’s listening

Especially when he is cooking. He knows he’s corny, but he doesn’t care. There’s something healing about singing.

• Leon is 1000% a girl dad

Learned how to braid hair immediately. Watched tutorials. Practiced on a Barbie. Wears tiny glitter stickers on his face because “she wanted to make me pretty.” Goes to tea parties in full tactical gear. Sits criss-cross applesauce on the floor like a champ. Gives the softest bedtime cuddles, tells stories with voices and sound effects, falls asleep before she does. Lets her paint his nails and struts around showing them off like “check these out. She did them. She’s an artist.”

• Kind of a loser growing up

He was that quiet kid in the back of the class with the scuffed-up shoes and secondhand backpack. Shy, awkward, always hoping someone would talk to him first. No one really bullied him, but no one really saw him either.

• Uses zero products, has the silkiest hair

It’s the universe’s way of saying sorry for everything else. No conditioner, no hair masks, nothing, and yet, his hair looks like it belongs in a shampoo commercial. His coworkers are bitter.

• Still keeps every letter and note Claire ever gave him

He says it’s because she’s like a sister, but really, it’s because those notes reminded him he wasn’t alone. That someone cared. He re-reads them on bad nights. They’re a lifeline.

• Says “ow” even when things don’t hurt

He can get thrown across a room, stabbed, dropkicked through a window, and he’ll just grunt like “hnng.” Not even a flinch. But bangs his elbow lightly? “Ow.” Drops keys on his foot? “Ow.” Bumps into a chair? “Ow.” It’s a reflex.

• Affectionate Drunk Leon (Before the Trauma)

One drink in and he was hugging everyone, calling them his best friend, and complimenting strangers with wide, honest eyes. He’d lean on people and say things like “You’re so cool, you know that?” with a sleepy smile. After everything that happened, he stopped letting himself get that vulnerable. But every now and then, like when he's with Claire, bits of that old Leon come back.

• Talks to inanimate objects constantly

Full-on conversations. “Okay, fridge, what have we got?” or “Don’t betray me, coffee machine. I need you.”

• Kind to strangers in quiet ways

He holds the door open, carries groceries for old ladies, helps a lost tourist without a second thought.

• Teenage Leon danced hip-hop in high school (it canon, idk)

Ever since I had that dream of Leon dancing to NSYNC on Claire's wedding, it’s canon in head. Not like… professional or anything. But he was so into it. Baggy hoodie, sneakers, cropped shirt, headphones in, dancing in empty hallways after class or in front of his cracked bedroom mirror.

(Btw I am still considering turning this into a oneshot, lol)

[dragongirlbunny]

single digit numbers are all such bangers

the classic. cant go wrong with this bad boy

the only even prime and the foundation of computing

triangles babey!!!

2×2, 2+2, 2^2, they're all 4. thats beautiful.

great for breaking bigger numbers down, and easy on the brain for multiplication

now you may think this is where they start to taper off, but have you considered motherfucking tessalating regular hexagons? fuck cartesian grids, hexmaps are all the rage for board game layouts. no need to worry about diagonals here.

she's not called lucky 7 for nothing, plus if you're kinky she's into vore

binaries suck when it comes to gender but with math its great. plus he's the only cube in the single-digit club

this sly bastard lets you pull all kinds of shortcuts with math. did you know if you multiply anything by 9, the resulting number's digits also sum to a multiple of 9? go ahead and try it. that's digital roots baby. play the hit nintendo ds game zero escape: 9 persons 9 hours 9 doors to learn more

[7s3ven]

ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS YOU. oliver wood

( master list )

IN WHICH… Nothing would make Oliver Wood happier than getting a new broom as his Christmas present. That, or Y/N Malfoy finally noticing him. When the two collide at Hogsmeade, Oliver is overjoyed. Perhaps this Christmas, he’ll get two gifts.

“I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know. Make my wish come true. All I want for Christmas is you.”

“Ah, he’s staring again.” Fred Weasley nudged his twin brother George and pointed over at Oliver. “Do you think he’ll ever actually talk to her?”

“I’ve seen them talk once.” George uttered, his mouth full and his cheeks puffed out. “It was in their second year.”

Fred lightly snorted and waved a hand in front of Oliver’s face. “Wood, you there? You’re drooling this time while staring at her.”

Oliver was snapped out of his trance by the twins’ loud laughter. He frowned. “Knock it off.” He told the pair, taking a sip from his goblet.

“Oh, come on mate, you gotta talk to L/N otherwise she won’t even know you exist.” Fred sighed and quickly added, “And quidditch talk doesn’t count.”

Oliver huffed and rolled his eyes. Talking to Y/N was an almost impossible feat, not just to him. She was Draco Malfoy’s older sister and was basically untouchable. She was Slytherin’s prized queen and the chances of Oliver even being able to talk to her with her posse around was close to zero.

“I’ll talk to her eventually.” He uttered the same excuse he had been using since fourth year. His crush had lasted way too long but he was still determined to win Y/N over.

She wasn’t like the other Slytherins with their mean glares and tendencies to outcast people who weren’t pureblood. She was… nice. Her friends, however, weren’t.

“You’ve fancied her since third year, Oli.” Fred uttered, “Probably before that as well! Just make a move already!”

Oliver’s crush hadn’t begun during first year. It had started before that when he was rushing around Diagon Alley trying to find all his school supplies.

Oliver panted as he attempted to catch his breath. All afternoon he had been rushing from shop to shop to find all the books he needed for his first year at Hogwarts.

He held a pile of novels in his arms and momentarily stopped to marvel at the window of a broom shop. His awe was short lived as someone crashed into his back, sending his supplies everywhere.

“Ah! I’m sorry! I just wanted to look at the new broom!” A H/C-haired girl hurried to pick Oliver’s things up. She shoved everything into his arms, apologizing again.

“You… like Quidditch?” Oliver asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Huh? Of course. Who doesn’t? My father took me to see a game once and it was amazing. Some day, I want to join Hogwarts’ team.”

It was as if Oliver had met his dream girl.

“You’re going to Hogwarts too?!” Oliver exclaimed, his eyes sparkling.

“Yeah! I assume you’re also going, so maybe I’ll see you around.” She outstretched her arm to shake Oliver’s hand, but a black cane pushed her back.

“Don’t socialise with the trash, Y/N.” A man with long blond hair uttered, scowling. Oliver instantly recognized the man as Lucius Malfoy.

“I’ll see you around, Quidditch boy!” Y/N shouted as her father led her away.

That day, Oliver was reminded of where he stood in the scheme of things. He was a lowly half-blood while Y/N came from one of the most esteemed families.

Ever since that day, Oliver had been a little frightened to talk to Y/N, just in case she also referred to him as trash.

Y/N never did end up joining Slytherin’s Quidditch team. Her brother did instead. Oliver guessed it has something to do with her refusal to cheat, and Slytherin was infamously known for cheating.

“Say, are you going to Hogsmeade today, Oli? Perhaps to do a little last minute Christmas shopping?” George questioned, his lips curling into a smirk that could only mean one thing. Trouble.

���If you want to play one of your stupid pranks on me, forget it.” He stood up and silently walked away.

“Ah. He’s in a bad mood because of Y/N again. Jeez.” George rolled his eyes as he stabbed his fork into a carrot.

Oliver was going to visit Hogsmeade, but only to look at Quidditch shops and browse through the technique books. A Hufflepuff girl had asked him out, but he politely refused her offer.

Oliver shoved his hands deep into his warm pockets as he trudged through the thick snow. Hogsmeade wasn’t as busy as it usually was, but that was probably because most sane people wanted to avoid the cold.

The Quidditch captain made an immediate beeline for the broom store. He smiled as he gazed at the window display before entering.

“Good morning!” He kindly greeted the owner, who was an old lady hard of hearing. He immediately walked towards a shelve of books, running his finger over the hard covered spines.

The door opened again, the rusty bell attached to it quietly chiming. “Good morning, Gen!” A feminine voice shouted, piercing the calming atmosphere. Oliver peeked through the books, curious as to who the newcomer was. He could see their winter outfit but not their face.

The girl skipped over to the books, standing on the opposite side of Oliver. She locked eyes with him, and he could see her eyes squint as he smiled, meaning it was a genuine one.

The pair occasionally glanced at each other, jumping when they accidentally made eye contact. The girl tucked a strand of H/C hair behind her hair, quietly humming under her breath. She walked around to the other side of the bookshelf, almost crashing into Oliver.

His heart leaped in his chest as he grabbed Y/N and steadied her. “Sorry.” He said, not being able to muster up any more words.

Y/N silently stared at his face before she gasped. “Oh! Quidditch boy!” She exclaimed, grinning. “I knew I recognized those eyes!” When Oliver sent her a confused look, she laughed. “I’m the girl from Diagon Alley! Before first year, remember?”

“I remember… I’m just wondering why you do.”

“I spent most of my first year looking for you! But I never got your name so it was a bit hard. Then when you joined the Quidditch team and played your first match, I recognized you. I wanted to talk to you after but you seemed to have so many fangirls. I got shy!It’s been ages, jeez. How are you?”

Y/N grinned, an action that set butterflies free in Oliver’s stomach. His cheeks flushed red as he nervously smiled back.

“I’ve… been good. How about you? You never joined the Quidditch team.”

“Well, I don’t exactly like Flint and Draco is already on the team. They don’t need two Malfoy’s.” Y/N sheepishly smiled and laughed.

“I saw you play as a chaser during flying class. You were great. You should join the team some time.” That compliment coming from Oliver Wood, Gryffindor’s very own keeper, was a huge deal. “You’d be a wonderful addition. If only you were in Gryffindor.”

Y/N quietly laughed. “Maybe we’d actually be able to spend time together.” Her gaze flickered to the book Oliver was grasping, “Are you going to buy that? I’ve been looking for a copy of it.” She smiled, and Oliver didn’t have the strength to keep the book to himself when she was looking at him like that.

“No.” He uttered, “I was only looking at it. Here.” He handed it to Y/N.

“Are you sure?” She asked, to which Oliver nodded. “Thanks. I’ll let you borrow it. See you at school, Oliver.” She grinned again, skipping off to purchase the book.

Oliver stared at the ground, chuckling to himself as his cheeks turned rosy red.

School was finally coming to an end. Thank goodness. Oliver didn’t know how much more studying he could take before his brain gave up.

He returned to his dorm, tired and relieved to finally be returning home today. From his dorm, he heard his friends gasp.

“Ay, mate, there’s something on your bed for you.” One uttered as Oliver ended.

He tilted his head to the side and glanced at his mattress. A badly wrapped present sat on it along with a small card and the book he had let Y/N take.

Oliver grabbed the card, curiously staring at the cursive writing.

Consider this an early Christmas gift and my overdue apology on my father’s behalf (for calling you trash). You’re fun to talk to and I hope to see you around next year.

Merry Christmas, Oliver.

- Y/N

Oliver peeled the wrapping paper, almost choking when he saw the newest edition broom. It was shined and groomed to perfection and Oliver was sure he was going to pass out from excitement.

He slowly grasped the book, opening to the first page that was tabbed by a green sticky note.

On the blank page was the writing,

Merry Christmas, Oliver Wood

And underneath was the signature of Oliver’s favourite Quidditch player.

“She’s freaking amazing.” Oliver muttered under his breath, wondering how Y/N had even managed to pull all this off.

Oliver flipped through the pages, noticing how Y/N had annotated the book on his behalf. He was only falling deeper in love.

“I’m going to find Y/N.” He announced to his friends, who cheered.

“Go get ‘er, tiger!”

Oliver hurried out of the common room, wondering where on earth Y/N would be. The castle was huge, it would take him all day to find her. Luckily, he spotted Draco Malfoy walking down the corridor.

“Malfoy.” Oliver called out.

Draco sighed, rolling his eyes. “If you’re looking for my sister, she’s at the Black Lake. Don’t tell my parents you like her otherwise my stupid ship will be ruined.” And with that, he walked off.

Oliver ignored his odd words and rushed to the Black Lake. He saw Y/N sitting alone and humming to herself as she picked at the green blades of grass.

“You didn’t have to get me a broom, you know.” Oliver said, startling Y/N. She jumped slightly.

“You scared me! It wasn’t that much anyway… and it was on sale. So you don’t need to worry.”

Oliver spluttered. Not that much money? It was more than him and his friends’ bank accounts! Even if they combined all their money, it still wouldn’t be enough.

“The book by itself would have sufficed.” Oliver uttered as he took a seat next to Y/N.

“Yeah. But I had to up my game because other girls were eyeing you up.” Y/N grinned as she stood up, dusting the dirt off her skirt, “Merry Christmas, Oli. See you next year.”

Oliver spent his days before Christmas with the Weasley twins and more of his friends. Even Harry Potter was there. But one person was missing, much to his disappointment.

On Christmas Eve, he pondered what Y/N’s words at the Black Lake had meant. “I had to up my game because other girls were eyeing you up”. Did Y/N… like him back?

Oliver sighed, rushing to turn the lamp on his desk on. He pulled out a thick piece of parchment paper and began to messily scribble down his thoughts and everything he didn’t have the courage to say to Y/N in real life.

Oliver stared at his letter, sighing. He tried not to think too much as he rolled it up and sent his owl to the Malfoy Manor.

Meanwhile, Y/N was sitting by her window, relaxing as the fresh breeze blew through her hair. She heard a quiet chirp and opened her eyes to see an unfamiliar brown owl in front of her. It cooed and tilted its head.

Y/N slowly took the letter that was attached to the owl’s leg and got comfortable before she unravelled it.

Dear Y/N,

I know this letter may be unexpected and strange, especially since it’s Christmas Eve but those words you told me at the Black Lake are still stuck in my head. It feels a little lonely without you around. I’m going to be honest here… and hopefully you won’t laugh at how I pour my heart out.

I like you, Y/N. Not just for your looks or your family. You’re gorgeous, but there’s so much more to you that other guys can’t see for some reason. You’re kind and caring and you may as well be in Hufflepuff. Your ambition is admirable and you really know how to light up a room, even if it’s a room as big as the Great Hall.

You don’t look down on other people because they aren’t pure blood or come from a family like yours. Instead, you help them. There’s so many qualities that make you stand out from the crowd and I’m not expecting a reply any time soon, but I just thought you should know all this.

Santa Claus won’t really make me happy with a toy on Christmas Day. Y/N, I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know. Please Make my wish come true. All I want for Christmas… is you &lt;3.

- Oliver Wood

P.S, thanks for the broom and book. I’m still trying to find a gift to top that.

Y/N’s lips curved into a smile as she read Oliver’s letter. Her room door was suddenly slammed open. Y/N couldn’t react fast enough and all she could do was place the letter face down on her bed.

“Father.” She greeted him, surprised that he was even home. He was supposed to be on a business trip. “What… are you doing here?”

“Receiving love letters already, Y/N?” Her father carelessly grabbed the parchment, his gaze scanning over the beautifully crafted words. After a moment, he nodded. “What is his blood status?”

Y/N looked at the ground, thickly gulping. “… Half-blood.” She uttered after a second of hesitation.

Her father silently nodded, his stern face never changing. “I’ll allow it.”

“W-What?” Y/N stumbled over her own words. Ever since she was young, her father had preached about the importance of marrying another pure blood so this was entirely out of character for him.

“That Wood boy��” Her father thought for a moment before clicking his tongue, “He’s staying at the Weasley’s house. The elves have packed your bags already. You leave tomorrow morning.”

Y/N was speechless. Was this her father or a random intruder?

“Good night, Y/N.” And with that, he left. Y/N sat on her bed, her eyebrows furrowed as she tried to process what had just happened.

A knock on the door interrupted breakfast for the Weasley family, Oliver, Harry, and Hermione.

Oliver, as charming as ever, stood up. “I’ll get it.” He offered, walking over to the door. He twisted the door knob and yanked it open, coming face to face with Y/N.

She smiled. “I hope I’m not intruding.” She uttered, peeking over Oliver’s shoulder. “I just wanted to quickly say one thing.”

Oliver could feel the prying eyes of Fred and George and he exasperatingly sighed, shutting the door behind him. “Yes?” His heart leaped in his chest as Y/N leaned forward with a grin.

“I like you too, quidditch boy.”

[ariichive]

crossed wires

k. kenma ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹🍒

fluff | misunderstandings (nothing serious) | reader has a rbf | mutual pining | cursing | fem. reader

this is a cute idea i had; i thought kenma would be a good fit for this ;p

"kenma, how do you not see what everyone else does?"

kuroo's teasing voice rung through Kenya's mind. it was like an alarm going off on an early school day. please, just be quiet. kenma stared at the giant 'GAME OVER' on his console; his irritation with his best friend seemingly growing.

"clearly, you're not seeing correctly. you sure your hair isn't cutting off any brain cells?" kenma mumbled as he pettily shut off his console. his eyebrow twitching when he heard the familiar snicker from the tall captain next to him.

"dude.. that's like.. not possible."

kenma did not have the energy to respond.

the two friends continued on their walk home after a long practice. kuroo, the whole walk there, had been nonstop bickering about the 'not so obvious but totally obvious' admirer he had: (name). admirer was not the term he would use. if anything, it was more like a butcherer stranded on a meat farm with nothing but a meat saw and an empty stomach. maybe even like one of the villains from his game; the ones with a deep rooted trauma causing an untamable hatred for the player. well, in kenma's case he was the poor player and you were the villain.

it all started in the beginning of the new school year. new faces in a new classroom. usually, kenma never really paid attention to his classmates. sure, he gave them a typical rundown and would decide to judge them based on first impressions for the rest of their lives. then boom, he would eventually forget their names come the second week of school. they didn't talk to him, he didn't talk to them.

that was hard to do when you, a classmate who sat diagonally behind him, would constantly feel stares at the back of his head. one time, he seen the reflection of your murderous gaze in his gaming console and he damn near flinched.

did he accidentally do something to you in the past? he tried to put a name to the girl with (eye color) eyes and (lip color) lips, but nothing was ringing a bell in his head.

because of this, he started to pay more attention to you.

when lunch would roll around, you would become joyful with friends, a rather pretty smile on your face. this was when he heard one of them say your name in a fit of laughter. (name). he repeated a few times in his head. kenma thought it was a nice change of scenery; his heart even skipped a little. and then when you felt eyes on you, turning and making eye contact with the quiet boy in your class, your face dropped.

it looked like a mix of both fear and absolute horror before morphing into a stone faced, angry expression.

yeah, you definitely hated him.

at first, he kept these interactions a secret from kuroo; truly not wanting to become a victim to the already relentless teasing.

until the one day you so happened to take the same train as them. today just had to be different.

kenma was set on ignoring you. he was locked into his video game: a PVP fighting game with unlockable characters and an online ranking system. kuroo usually would have ignored kenma's gaming; it was second nature to him after all. but of course, today was different.

"care to tell me why you're playing an online game with no internet?" kuroo pointed out as he stared at the constant loading circle making zero progress on kenma's screen.

kenma snapped out of whatever trance he was in and looked up at his friend with wide eyes. "...no." kuroo hummed in response, taking a quick look around the train. that is when he seen a sight that he never thought he'd witness. a girl staring at kenma with practical hearts in her eyes.

"kenma.. that girl is totally checking you out."

kenma's face contorted into one of disgust and confusion as he looked in the direction kuroo was only to make eye contact with you.

"kuroo, if that's how girls look at you i think you're never going to get married." kenma quickly shook his head and avoided looking back at you with everything in his body. "what? i know what i'm talking about. listen to me, i'm older and wiser." kuroo smirked arrogantly.

"she is the definition of if looks could kill."

"so you think she's pretty?"

kenma paused, his brain not really processing kuroo's words.

"that's not what i..."

pretty?

he hesitantly glanced at you again. with a closer look, he noticed how you fiddled with your hair when you looked at him. the way brows were furrowed, and the way your leg bounced.

it kinda looked like.. you were nervous?

"...meant?"

by the time he realized how long he was looking at you, his stop was already here, leading to his current predicament of kuroo's constant teasing and shitty advice.

"he.. HE DEFINITELY LIKES ME!"

you screamed into your pillow with a heated face. after rolling around for a few minutes to calm yourself down, you laid on your bed facing your ceiling.

you first noticed kenma during a rather boring lesson. the teacher's voice was draining all your energy, and it was getting harder to keep your eyes open. your eyes found focus on the boy in front of you, who had bleached hair and questionable posture.

he was playing a video game hidden in a book on his desk. you glanced up at the teacher one more time, making sure he was distracted. you watched as the boy played effortlessly through levels of a game you didn't know the name of.

before you knew it.. the school day ended.

it became a ritual for you, staring at his game after lazily taking notes. it came to the point where it felt like you were playing the game yourself. every time he would die and have to restart, you felt the anger and frustration for him.

a character would die? you'd silently weep for the fallen character since it seemed like he didn't give a fuck. and if he did, he wasn't one to show it casually on his face.

the most he ever showed (that you noticed, anyway) were subtle stretches of his legs, a twitch in his finger, and a knuckle pop.

or when he won after a tedious battle a sigh of relief, his shoulders dropping.

so maybe your facial expressions were a bit.. emotional compared to his and definitely not as subtle.

it didn't help that whenever the boy, who's name you learned was kenma, would look at you, your body immediately froze and you tried to get your face as normal looking as possible; not realizing what might've seemed normal to you was terrifying to kenma.

he wouldn't hold eye contact for so long before going back to whatever he was doing, much to your pleasure.

the train ride today was a change in your relationship with kenma.

why didn't he look away like normal?

it was a change yes, but not a bad one.

with delusional friends encouraging the idea, you've come to the conclusion that kenma kozume has a crush on you.

sure, maybe you were exaggerating. but any high school girl would, it's part of growing up! you justified this in your head.

and maybe you weren't too far off from the truth. his sneak glances during the school day allowed him to see the happy expression on your face when he reached an ending of the game. the look of anticipation when he was going through his game library; trying to find a new game to play after beating the last.

one he liked most, though, was the look of shock when he angled his console perfectly out of view from the teacher, but in a position for you to see more clearly.

pls reblog and like if u enjoyed it!

kinda proof read kinda didn't lol sorry 4 any errors

[susicheng]

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ dm for prices      l.mk

chapter 10 markie?

you expected to be nervous. this was teetering the line between date territory and the casual friend hangouts you and mark had been having before you went home for a month. not to mention, you hadn’t seen mark in person for so long (not counting yesterday when he surprised you at the airport). being alone with him again might be completely foreign territory again, after all of the talking you had been doing over break.

somehow, though, seeing mark only eased your nerves. as he opened the passenger side door, you could only look at his face and smile, serotonin rushing through your system.

“hey.” he climbed in awkwardly, as endearing as ever. “you look really good.” you could tell he wasn’t used to being provided the princess treatment from others. good thing you were here now to change that.

“just good?” you teased.

“beautiful. you look beautiful.”

“thank you markie. you look gorgeous yourself.”

“gorgeous?” the flush on his cheeks was evident, even from your peripheral vision as you began to drive, focusing more on the road than his face.

“yeah. you’re gorgeous.”

“can’t say anyone has ever called me that before.”

“really?” you glanced over at him, only for a second, to witness the shy nod he produced. “then i’m happy to be the first.”

he seemed to appreciate the lull in the conversation, taking this time to compose himself after your comment.

“you’re a good driver.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at his attempt at changing the topic, trying to regain control of the situation to avoid become more flustered. too bad you had contradicting plans. “thanks, i try. wouldn’t want my princess to be harmed under my watch.”

“i thought you said you were leaning towards ‘babygirl’?” his reply was playful. confident, even. but the reappearance of redness on his cheeks gave him away.

“we’ll see where the night takes us, yeah?” maybe you were implying something sexual. maybe not. who could really dictate that call.

“oh. yeah, okay.” you pulled into a parking spot, finally able to fully turn and appreciate his (adorable) reactions to your words.

“you’re cute mark.” his face was only getting redder. you really wanted to bite him, he was too cute. who knew mark lee was a sucker for being pampered.. (you had a feeling he had somewhat of a praise kink. nice to know your theory was closer to becoming true).

“thanks.”

you had been parked for a minute, watching mark expectantly as he seemed at a loss for what to do.

“are you going to get out of the car, or do you want me to get the door for you?” you giggled, watching the realization dawn on his expression and send him into panic mode.

“oh! oh, i can get out by myself. hahaha. thank you. i can get out by myself.” the way he moved reminded you a bit of a baby deer, unsteady and nervous. maybe you weren’t the only one that was nervous about seeing the other in real life after so long of being hundreds of miles apart.

“baby, you’re so nervous. why?” you were both out of the car now, mark getting particularly jumpy every time you got too close, like he was afraid to make the wrong move around you.

“oh. um. no reason, it’s just exciting for you to be back.” 

“that’s all?”

“yeah! yeah that’s all.”

the mall was as exciting as it usually is. despite window shopping time and time again, you still laugh every single time at the candy dicks in that one store. and the obnoxious animal masks in the one diagonal from it. nothing beats taking stupid pictures together wearing realistic wolf masks in a mall.

as you were walking around with mark, hands brushing together every few steps, you noticed him zero in on a particular display in the window of a clothing store. there were matching spiderman shirts displayed. of course that nerd noticed them from so far away.

“you want those?” you gestured to the shirts, a smile on your face.

“well. isn’t it kind of…” he trailed off, cheeks reddening again. you could get used to that, he looked unnervingly cute when he was embarrassed. 

“kind of?” 

“it’s kind of couple-y.” he muttered, barely loud enough for you to hear. he was just so cute.

“what’s the problem with that? if it’s cute, it’s cute.” you grabbed onto his hand, tugging him towards the store.

“you don’t think it’s weird?” stupid question for him to ask, as you’re dragging him in to buy them, but you digress.

“no, i don’t think it’s weird to buy matching shirts with you mark. i think it’s cute.” 

it took no time to find the shirts in the store, quickly picking out your respective sizes and taking them up to the counter. when the time came to pay, you saw mark reaching into his wallet to pull out his own money, but not before you levelled him with a stern look and pushed his hands back down.

“hey hey hey, you are not paying. remember, you’re my princess today, mark lee. put your wallet away.”

his eyes widened (cute). he obediently pocketed his wallet, watching in stunned silence as you paid and thanked the cashier, grabbing mark’s hand again to direct him out of the store.

“i kind of like it when you’re assertive..” he was quiet when he said it, almost like he didn’t quite want you to hear it. his bad, though, because you were far too observant about anything he did.

“yeah? you like getting bossed around?” you shot him a wink, laughing when he tore his hand out of your grip in shock.

“i didn’t mean it like that.” the shock in his tone was evident, only causing you to laugh harder.

“you didn’t?”

he stared at you, seeming to be building up confidence. “maybe i did. maybe i didn’t. there’s only one way to find out i guess.” he schooled his tone into nonchalance. he was blushing (again) though. he really was an open book, at least to you.

“look who’s being bold now! mark lee, i didn’t know you had it in you!” you hit his shoulder lightly, smiling widely as you two made your way to the food court. 

“i’m a surprising person.” he shrugged. 

“are you saying there’s more where that came from?” you glanced over at him, grinning at this newfound confidence.

“that’s exactly what i’m saying.” there was a challenge in his eyes, one that you were about to mirror. that is, until the sound of mark’s phone buzzing in his pocket suddenly cuts through the conversation. 

you raise an eyebrow but brush it off, figuring it’s just an unimportant call. but when the buzzing persists, you can see the way he hesitates, eyes flicking to the phone in his pocket. it's not like him to avoid a call to this extent. you wait for him to take it, but something in his demeanor feels off.

you glance at him. "you gonna get that?"

mark hesitates, his hand hovering over his pocket, before he quickly reaches for his phone. it’s almost too fast. but before he can even pull it out, it rings again, louder this time. his face visibly tightens, and for a split second, you see him struggle with whether to answer or not. you watch his fingers curl into a fist, then release, as he takes the phone from his pocket.

"are you not going to answer it?" you ask, trying to sound casual, but there’s an edge in your voice now. something feels wrong.

"i’ll just—" he mutters, his voice faltering. "it’s not important."

you raise an eyebrow, a little taken aback by his sudden nervousness. you try to suppress the sharp, uncomfortable feeling creeping up your spine, but something isn’t sitting right. "who is it? you’re acting weird. are you sure you’re okay?"

the phone buzzes again, and this time, his face pales. he immediately silences it, but not before you catch a glimpse of a message notification from jaemin. your breath catches. 

“you said you’d call me tonight. you can’t keep avoiding me, mark. we need to talk.”

a chill runs down your spine as the words echo in your mind. we need to talk… what does that mean?

mark quickly shoves the phone into his pocket, his hands visibly trembling now. you can see the guilt and discomfort flashing in his eyes. “it’s nothing. please, just forget about it.”

but you can’t just forget it. the message, the urgency, the way he’s been avoiding the call—it’s all wrong. your thoughts race, and suddenly, all the doubts you had been pushing aside start to surface. you thought things were going well, but now... everything feels like it might be falling apart before it even started.

“mark,” you say, your voice soft but firm, “who is that? why does he keep calling you like this?”

mark opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. his jaw tightens, and for a moment, it’s like he’s completely frozen. you can feel the space between you two growing, like a wall slowly building.

“i just…” he finally says, his voice strained, “i didn’t want to complicate things. we’re going in a really good direction. i really like you. i didn’t want you to think—” his words falter. 

you feel your chest tighten, the pieces clicking together in an uncomfortable way. of course now he tries to save himself with a confession. the moment you had been building up for, achieved after an ex(?) is trying to reach out to mark.

you take a step back, your hand instinctively pulling away from his. “i can’t do this right now, mark. i thought we were going in a good direction too."

his face crumples, his eyes widening with a mix of panic and guilt. “i didn’t mean to keep things from you. i swear. it’s just… complicated. jaemin and i—”

you raise your hand, cutting him off before he can finish “no. you don’t get to do this, mark. you don’t get to confess and then go on about your relationship with someone else. it’s not fair.”

mark’s eyes are filled with regret, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re standing there, feeling betrayed, alone in your confusion.

the phone buzzes one last time, and this time, you don’t even look at it. you’ve seen enough.

“i think i need some space,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. you turn away from him, your stomach churning, heart aching. you can feel the weight of the unspoken words in the air, and you can’t breathe under it anymore.

mark doesn’t stop you. he doesn’t even try to reach for you this time.

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⊹₊⟡⋆ mel's corner: happy holidays guys hahaha

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[howtofightwrite]

Hello!

WHAT

Yeah, zero out of ten, would not recommend.

So, there's two parts to this. Anyone with extensive experience receiving lacerations should be familiar with this, but when you get a diagonal cut into tissue, it can create a situation where the flap of skin covering the wound will shift around, just enough so that it continues to aggravate the injury, and it will not clot.

This isn't a problem when you can bandage over the whole thing. For example: On your hand or arm. Just wrap it down tight, and the flap will be held in place. Though, when it's on a joint, this can be a bit more difficult, and using that joint can restart the bleeding. As a worst case solution, you can immobilize the joint.

However, it's really hard to bandage your lip.

The second part, that I didn't really point out, is that I did this at the dinner table. The "individual" who raised me, was responsible for the injury in the first place, and it also knocked my two front teeth slightly out of alignment in the process.

That last paragraph might go a long way towards explaining why I wasn't able to seek out medical attention for the injury, and as this was Wyoming in the '90s, and I was maybe 13 at the time, it's extremely unlikely anyone in a position of authority would have cared.

So, yeah, I chewed off a part of my lip, at the dinner table, because it had refused to clot after the blow from roughly four hours earlier. It was extremely unpleasant, and I did my best not to show the pain I was experiencing. The scar's still visible almost 30 years later, though it doesn't photograph particularly well. (There's a visible notch along the vermillion border. There used to be visible knotting in the tissue below that, but time has caused that to fade. It's also not the only visible scar on my lips, so that's another issue, though they're all pretty faint by now.)

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’re already a Patron, thank you. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

[self-awared]

The Rock's Crack

Inspired by @lum1nesc3nce

Tw/Cw: not proof-read, angst, violence, murder, fighting, betrayal, reincarnation

The pain of your lover's betrayal hurt worse than the actual stab of the spear. The countless times he had placed his contracts above you should have been the first red flag, but, as foolish as it sounds, love is a powerful force.

One of his contracts was to eliminate any threat towards Celestia. Obviously, the person on the other end of the contract was Celestia themselves.

The contract stated that Morax would have to kill anything that was even remotely threatening Celestia's rule. If he failed, Liyue would be destroyed just like Khaenri'ah had been destroyed years before.

You were deemed a threat by Celestia the moment you discovered that Celestia was the cause behind the fall of the nation you had loved long ago, Khaenri'ah.

You still remember the flash of remorse in Morax's eyes fade to coldness as his spear plunged into your chest.

He tried to make it quick and painless.

He failed.

You laid on a rock protruding from the ground, your golden blood dripping off of the rock and onto the warm grass below. You had barely registered the moment a blonde-headed boy approached you, an abyss herald standing behind him.

"How cruel the gods are. To kill their own lover with zero remorse." The boy spoke harshly as he placed a hand on the wound that had barely missed your heart and lungs.

You felt the warmth of the boy's touch spread through your body like a warm ray of sunshine. You welcomed it. Even if you could, you wouldn't fight as he picked you up and walked through a strange portal.

The nausea from teleporting knocked you out, which could have been for the better.

You had discovered that the person that saved you was named Aether, Prince of the Abyss. Ironic, isn't it? Being saved by the world's enemy, betrayed by the world's protector?

Nevertheless, as payment for the Abyss saving you, you joined them in their journey and traveled alongside Aether.

The fact that Teyvat was still prospering should have been a dead giveaway that you were still alive. And to Morax, the fact that the flowers still bloomed and water still reigned calm in Liyue's harbor, was a sign of hope.

The hope was multiplied the moment he saw you. Yet, he still failed to understand why you were surrounded by Abyss Heralds, mages, hilichurls, and numerous other monsters.

"...[Y/N]? What is this?" Morax held his spear loosely at his side as the adepti fought the abyss standing by your side.

"Isn't it obvious? You made a mistake. I'm the consequence." A small smirk creeped into your face as you lunged towards the God of Geo, your sword extended towards his heart.

"Please don't do this!" He cried out, blocking your blow with his spear.

"Sounds familiar, doesn't it?" You couldn't help but compare this moment to when you fought against him all those years ago, the memory of you begging for your life sticking in both of your memories.

The sound of metal hitting metal was the only thing that you heard, besides the screams of the civilians around you.

A swipe towards the feet, a thrust towards his heart, a swing towards his hands to disarm him... Your movements were calculated precisely.

Harnessing your elemental powers felt easier than ever.

You made the ground shake, the vines tear people around you to shreds, summoned lightning strikes that hit Teyvat with much force, formed tornadoes and hurricanes, started wildfires, made the air freezing cold, made tides rise...

Teyvat seemed to be as angry as you were.

In the middle of it all, Morax still fought you with grief in his eyes.

"Don't make me do this." He said breathily, swiping his pole-arm up diagonally, barely missing you as you stepped back.

"You actually think you can win?" You laughed, thrusting your sword at his chest.

Your tried to tune out the pained screams of the people dying, until you felt the pull of a prayer. Everytime someone prayed to you, there would be a tug on your heart, as if conveying you to answer it. You never thought you'd feel that when you were the cause of their pain.

"Creator!"

"Creator! Help us!"

"Creator!"

The screams of people calling out to you filled the air, making you falter in horror. What were you doing?

You never meant to go this far- You just wanted revenge, you never meant to kill anyone- you just wanted-...

He had plunged his spear straight through your chest, making you wheeze as it hit your lungs, taking advantage of your distracted stage.

You met his eyes.

There were tears in them, as he knew there was no way you would survive this time.

"Im sorry..." His voice cracked. The air stilled and became warm again, the vines receded, the tides calmed, the fires went out, the ground became still, and the storms faded.

"Don't be... I'm the one that's sorry." You coughed, falling into his arms as your golden blood tainted the spear.

"I'll come back. I swear on it."

Your last words were written in the history books. He still remembers the pain in your voice even as he became Zhongli.

You had become etched into his memory like a crack in a rock: unable to be removed or fixed.

He wrote stories about you, told your tales, read fanfiction of you to see what people thought, and making sure those that tainted your image were punished.

Even after that fateful day, even after all the chaos you caused, he still loved you.

So, there was no way he couldn't recognize the sense of warmth that filled him when the traveler entered the teahouse with Childe.

And, low and behold, your reincarnation followed the traveler shyly.

You kept your promise.

[jape2012]

"someone saw me" monologue from Prodigal son

well, why is your school? Huh, why am I always in the wrong? Why do I have to listen to you when you have zero to say? Because I'm young? all my life I've been young, so I never get a chance. what the hell is that original sin or something? I read Plato, I read him on a park bench in the Bronx. let me tell you something, Plato, he he wern't afraid, Diagones he weren't afraid, Socrates he weren't afraid. they were men. why are you the headmaster and I'm the student? do you understand, I have to earn your respect but you don@t have to earn mine? what is that? Its you that's wants the A before I even start, but when I say I want the same thing, I'm nuts right? I'm not gonna cry. I'm gonna find my place in this world, this schools been a miracle for me but not because of you because somebody, Mr Hoffman, Finally saw me. and more than that. somebody, a grown person decided I was good before I was good and you wanna throw me out of that. then you know what I say, I've never met your god and I don't want to

[updownlately]

2 - why the hell she love me

series masterlist

~~~

“You guys are sickeningly sweet.”

Mary’s voice cut through Tooney’s latest retelling of some prank she played on Georgia at the last camp, quickly catching your and Alessia’s attention. 

“Huh? Us?” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, unaware of what sparked the goalkeeper’s exasperated comment, Alessia’s expression not dissimilar to yours.

The four of you were currently sitting out on the patio of your and Alessia’s favourite pizzeria, enjoying the summer sunshine and down time before the season started up again. 

With Alessia beside you, her chair impossibly close to your own, Mary across from you as Tooney sat diagonal from you, the conversation had been flowing well throughout the night, not a single dull moment to be found.

In fact, if your memory served you right, you and Alessia hadn’t even interacted much, mostly paying attention to the two sat in front of you, soaking up as much of the night as you could before you both soon headed off to London. 

“No, I’m talking about the other couple here at the table…” 

You could feel Alessia’s eye roll at Mary’s sarcastic comment, not needing to face your favourite blonde in order to clearly picture it. 

“We’re not even doing anything?” The offended tone in the striker’s voice had you holding back a proud smile as you nodded in agreement.

If you both were honest, the two of you had been mindful of your interactions all evening, not looking forward to the myriad of teasing often directed at you two.

Keeping any form of PDA to a near zero had been a struggle, but handling the teasing of both Tooney and Mearps without another teammate there to defend you? Yeah, no, the two of you could survive one night without any hand holding.

“She’s right…we’ve barely even held hands, much less done anything else…Earps what are you on about?” 

Across from Alessia, Tooney stifled a laugh, head whipping back and forth between the confused expression on your face, the exasperated one on her best friend’s, and Mary’s shaking head. 

“That,” Mary’s explanation came in the form of one word, pointed eyes directed at your plate. 

Face scrunching in even more confusion, you couldn’t help the annoyance in your voice from spilling out.

“Mary, what? You can’t just look at my plate and say one word!” 

At this point, you were nearly out of your seat, Alessia having settled back in her’s, head tilted, silently curious as to where this conversation was going to go. 

“Your crusts…” 

“Yeah? What about them? They’re regular pizza crusts? What’s that got to do with-” You cut yourself off as the realisation hit you, falling back in your seat defeatedly, a wry smile on your face. 

Covering your face with your hands, trying to hide your reddening cheeks, you barely managed to hide your exasperation. “Really Mary?…Really?”

Seeing the keeper’s teasing shrug from the space between your fingers, you shook your head, peeking over to see Alessia’s bashful smile and an amused grin on Tooney’s face.

Throughout the night you had been offloading all your pizza crusts to Alessia, well aware of the blonde’s affinity to them. 

As you had grown accustomed to from many, many nights before, you had absentmindedly left all your uneaten crusts in your plate, not paying them much attention, subconsciously aware that the newly signed Gunner would finish them off for you.

Case in point, at the indirect mention of the crusts, Alessia reached over to grab another, beginning to eat quietly beside you, a smile hidden slyly. 

“See! It’s like the damn pickle thing!”

As Mary’s voice got louder with each word, you couldn’t help but sink into your seat more and more, a mortified look on your face, your better half still happily eating your crust, unbothered at attention being attracted. 

“What’s the pickle thing?” Apparently this was the perfect time for Ella to join the conversation. Just great. 

“Isn’t it the thing…the…what’s the word?” 

A pregnant pause took over the table, only the crunching of the crust in Alessia’s hand to be heard. 

“AH! I remember. Erm, it’s a theory. The pickle theory is where one person in the relationship hates pickles but the other loves them and so they’re perfect for each other! Like you both right now- ‘cause you-”, Mary shot a look in your direction, “hate crusts, and Lessi here clearly loves them.”

“Oi! Wait hold on. Less I swear you’ve hated crusts growing up! All the times we got pizza when we were younger, you’d leave yours on the plate!”

You whipped your head around to Alessia, eyes widening at what you were hearing. 

“Sorry- WHAT?”

“I- I hated them as a kid but now I, I think they’re alright?” The feeble explanation combined with the slight waver in her voice didn’t have you as convinced as she would like however. Raising an eyebrow in a silent question, you stayed quiet, waiting for Alessia to continue speaking. 

“Okay, so I might just hate crusts? Just a little bit?” 

“Are you telling me or asking me?”

Letting out a sigh at your sharp words, Alessia fully turned to you, the last two bites of the pizza crust in her hand long forgotten. 

“I don’t like crusts,” the near whisper barely audible through the noises of the street. 

You blinked your eyes and soaked in what the blonde had just said, staying silent, processing.

“See! Told you!” 

“Tooney! Not the time!” The following smack on the shoulder that came flying from Mary working to break you out of your trance.

“Less…over a year, nearly almost a year and a half…you’ve been eating my crusts…and you didn’t like them this whole time?”

Shaking her head in response, Alessia quickly shot out an explanation.

“Listen, one of our first few dates- we had pizza and you left the crusts, and I wanted to tease you so I made fun of you for not liking them, and then- okay this is silly but I didn’t want you to get back at me if you knew I didn’t like crusts, so I’ve tolerated them ever since…” Trailing off, Alessia rubbed the back of her neck nervously, rosy blush coating her cheeks, an abashed grimace on her face.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.  “Alessia…we’ve had pizza nearly a hundred times since…”

“Well you didn’t like them, and I didn’t want to waste food either.” 

At her last statement, you facepalmed. Right in front of Tooney, Earps, and whoever else had the pleasure (or displeasure) of walking by.

“Alessia…I love crusts. I’ve always loved crusts. Have since I was a kid…” Taking a deep sigh in, dumbfounded at both yourself and Alessia’s ability to put the other first, you continued.

“The only reason I didn’t eat the crusts that day was because I found it to be too doughy for my liking. But then you started messing with me about it and I figured you loved crusts, so, well, I’ve told you since then that I don’t like them…”

A shocked silence hung in the air as you finished your explanation, you meeting the eyes of your girlfriend as you both threw your heads back, wincing at your lack of communication.

As the two of you sat there, staring at each other, the table silent, you waited for the other to say something. Anything really. Just a little something to break the tension, the incredulity of the situation.

Thankfully, your reprieve came in the form of one of your best mates.

“You two really are not the brightest of the bunch, yeah?” Interrupting your moment, Mary’s shrill voice cut in, roasting the two of you as she picked up another slice of her own pizza. “And to think all of this came about just because I called you both cute…”

Reaching for the half-eaten crust from Alessia’s plate, you quickly grabbed the small chunk of bread, quickly throwing it at Mary before scooting your chair closer to Alessia, the no PDA rule be damned.

Lovesick smile on your face, you couldn’t believe that this was the dork you called yours, wondering why she loved you through all these shenanigans and more. Taking one silent look at the crusts on your plate, then craning your neck to meet the eyes of your blonde, you dropped your shoulders in an appreciative manner, placing a quick kiss on her lips before grabbing a crust of your own and taking a bite.

Maybe the two of you were a little silly, trying too hard to please the other, choosing them over yourself. But at least you knew you loved each other, the silent love and care present without ever needing to be announced. 

Wrapping an arm around Alessia’s waist, head resting on her shoulder as Tooney started making fun of the two of you as usual, you brought the pizza crust to your mouth, taking a bite and silently munching away, glad that you could finally enjoy a full slice of pizza properly, with the girl of your dreams in your arms.

[danadiadea]

You’re completely correct. The narrative gaslights us into viewing adult Severus’ responses to the Marauders as petty, as if he should put it to one side because they’re on the same team now and that it’s a major character flaw that he’s unable to do this.

Fuck that. If Severus ever got validation of what they did to him, then maybe. But he never does, so why should he be a good little girl and shut up about it? And JKR went so hard with the bullying - it’s one thing to be hung up over schoolboy bullying in your 30s, it’s another thing entirely to be hung up over sexual assault, attempted murder, and an institutional cover up.

Exactly. Not only Severus has extremely traumatic experiences and shows clear signs of PTSD, he never even got space where his feelings were validated and his struggles acknowledged. How is he supposed to "get over it"?

People love to frame Snape as extremely revengeful and vindictive, but what is so vindictive about him? Outing Remus when Remus put people's lives in danger as a werewolf and lied to Albus, after 16 years of keeping his secret, and 1 year of attempts to subtly warn the students about the man who, as Snape has all the reasons to believe, works with a murderer that already used him as a weapon once, while making him a complicated cure that gives him an opportunity to work at all? Not asking Voldemort for James’ life even if he comes to Dumbledore afterwards and warns the head of the order he is going to "kill them all"? Wanting a terrorist and a traitor of your closest person to be Kissed perhaps a little more than you would if you were not personally a victim of his cruelty? Not talking sweetly to Remus and Sirius and not trusting them when he has absolutely zero reasons to? Being triggered (which is not a choice and is something people have to receive professional help with) by the face of his abuser on a boy he has to protect? Seemingly forgiving Minerva and at least partly Albus who both don't seem to even acknowledge what the fuck did he come through under their "care"? This is not "extra revengeful". This is normal and human and way less messy then I'd be.

I'd put the flyers with "Remus Lupin is a werewolf" all around Diagon Alley during a school break or at least after the graduation. I'd stomp on Sirius' face when he laid unconsious before me and took only children to the castle and called the Dementors then to kiss him right there myself. I'd not risk my life for a man who publically undressed me and a woman who chose to overlook it. I'd talk to Albus and Minerva and Horace the way Severus talked to Lupin and Black, especially if Minerva kept praising James and Sirius like she did. Now THIS is really revengeful! What Severus does is just normal, humane reaction of a person who has trauma and is forced to relive it and has a constant psychological pressure on top of that and no safe spaces or support systems to work with all the shit he went through. This isn't Snape's awful character flaw – this is how human psyche works.

[cyliph]

Post- Below Zero outfit concept

I wanted to make an outfit more befitting a maze-like homeworld. The PDA draws from locally available materials after all. I think this Robin is a bit more serious than what we see in SBZ.

Design Notes:

This outfit is designed with terrestrial travel in mind. While I do think a two-piece would be more practical, every subnautica protagonist and several NPCs wear a body suit. Being on an alien planet I feel she still prefers the practical safety a reinforced suit like this provides. Push comes to shove she can wear a tank and tie the upper portion around her waste.

Went with purple and green for two reasons: We see past Robin wearing purple, and they are Al-An’s colors (to imply his role in designing it).

Most promo art depicts Robin with her blue and red wetsuit which looks quite heroic and serves to illustrate her strong will. I think it’s fun to think of those colors as likewise symbolizing her conflicted relationship with her sister. Sam wears exclusively blue from what we see, Robin always strives to be her opposite. Red is the color of passion and aggression, a pretty fitting for the ideal Robin holds for herself as Sam’s opposite. Red is also the most notably characteristic of bird robins, which I think is just kind of cute.

In my headcanon purple symbolizes Robin when she’s at peace with herself. It’s a mix of red and blue, symbolizing that shes not as estranged from Sam as she sometimes believes. We see her wearing purple at her most comfortable in the picture with Augstrobite. A muted purple is also useful in showing a Robin that’s more reserved following the trauma of 4546B.

The diagonal lines also serve to reference her alliance with Al-an. Her most notable wetsuit is constructed with bold horizontal and vertical lines, very squarish. Diagonals better suit to illustrate a character that is “off-balance” so to speak. Being on an alien planet thousands of light years away from humans after losing possibly your only family member is probably enough to shake most people’s sense of balance.

I also think that because Robin kept her hair long during the events of 4546B that she probably just likes it long. Imagine how impractical it would be maintaining long hair on an oceanic planet for months on end. Not to mention, at least type 3 hair (Sam seems to have type 4, but it’s not exactly clear what type of hair Robin has. In game she either has braids or locs it’s hard to tell. Either way, not a low maintenance style.) I just think it’s a pretty good symbol of her character, I also think she would let it continue to grow during her time on 4546B and beyond. At some point it’d start getting in the way even in a ponytail. That’s why I think she would start putting it in a bun. A changing hairstyle as a symbol of a maturing character my beloved.

(It also gives me an excuse to draw her hair down in the future >:3c)

[calqlate]

RE: LOVE & LIFE | THREE

— THOSE WHO SHARE THE MEMORY

SERIES MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

PAIRING(S): zhongli x f! reader + diluc x f! wife! reader

SUMMARY: As the wife of the famous big shot in the wine industry, you have everything you could ever ask for — a beautiful mansion, endless wealth, servants at your beck and call... However, you lack the one thing you yearn for: love. With your beloved husband neglecting you and being stuck in a loveless marriage, you decide to end it all, only to be stopped by a man whom you have never met before, and who also coincidentally happens to be your soulmate. In addition, there just might seem to be more than what meets the eye in regards to your peculiar soulmate, and you just might have to find that out for yourself.

CW(S)/TW(S): contains mentions of suicide attempts

TAGLIST (italicised blogs are unable to be tagged, pls dm me with your updated username): @crescentmoonnn + @deeomi + @esthelily + @holaseniorahoe + @loving-august + @mshope16 + @needsleep3000 + @nerdiel-has-no-braincells + @saintbernardthethird + @seyboo + @thelonelyarchon

A/N: apologies for the wait, uni has been kicking my ass (i'm in my final year of bachelor's rn! wahoo!) which made my brain go to a stalemate for a while. bUTTT i've recently finished tale of the nine-tailed which caused my brain to spur into action again (everyone say thanku to lee dongwook)! without further ado, pls enjoy!

You were presently seated in the Third-Round Knockout, a Liyuen restaurant which was famed for its gorgeous dishes which had a mouth-watering taste. Zhongli was seated diagonally across you to your left and Ajax in front of you. It was an odd combination, really, having a meal together with your business associate and your soulmate in a fancy, high-end restaurant.

From the corner of your eye, you notice Zhongli's direct gaze on you. It was zeroed in on you, making it seem like he was scrutinising every square inch of your face, and yet it made you feel warm all over, making you feel... embarrassed, somehow? You could only take small sips out of your cup of tea, careful as to not burn your tongue.

(Your tongue, or your cheeks, either one was applicable in this situation.)

"Are you familiar with Mr. Zhongli's practice, Mrs. Ragnvindr?"

Ajax's voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

"I'm afraid not." Oh no, was your mind preoccupied with other thoughts while Ajax was talking? "Could you elaborate on it?"

"I should let Mr. Zhongli do the talking instead," Ajax said, "It's better for him to explain his job scope."

"I am a consultant at the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour," Zhongli spoke, "And I simply give people suggestions on how to proceed with their funeral preparations and which packages would best suit their needs. We have a variety of packages for everyone's needs, thanks to Director Hu's business-savvy mindset."

"I wouldn't have expected you to be a funeral parlour consultant," you said, smiling candidly at him, "If anything, I thought you would be an art museum director of sorts."

"He does look the part, doesn't he?" Ajax said with a laugh, "I once mistook him as a CEO of some sort the first time I met him."

"Oh, I understand what you mean," you laughed, "It's in the way he carries himself."

"And the fancy choice of words, too," Ajax chimed in, "That's not all: he's so unusually knowledgeable about every topic!"

"You flatter me," Zhongli shook his head with a smile, "I simply have a good memory."

"Excellent memory, you mean," Ajax corrected him almost immediately, "Anyone would kill for that kind of brainpower. Remember the time you gave advice to that one Fontanian guy who pivoted into film-making? He immediately made a whole lot of money with his debut film!"

You raised your eyebrows. If Zhongli was even adept at advising a novice filmmaker, perhaps he had some good suggestions for your new business plan you had in mind.

"Mr. Zhongli," the dark-haired man immediately turned his head towards your direction as soon as you called his name, "If you would be so kind, I would like to hear your opinion on my business plan."

He straightened his back slightly and interlaced his fingers together, interest piqued as his entire body was turned to face you as he spoke, "Sure, I am all ears."

"This is the business plan I had in mind, which is in collaboration with the Fatui Network..." You launched into your spiel, mapping out the business plan you had in mind (which all of the details had already been discussed with Ajax beforehand), and Zhongli listened attentively. After you were done speaking, there was a brief moment of silence.

"This is indeed a well thought-out plan, but could I make a few minor suggestions?" Zhongli asked.

You nodded, "Please feel free to do so, the floor is yours."

Zhongli began to speak his mind, pointing out what particular flaws and loopholes your business plan might have concerning your consumer base in a respectful and straightforward manner, and what particular negative repercussions might be incurred. You thought Ajax was bluffing when he said Zhongli was insightful; Zhongli was pretty much a wise sage speaking with all the knowledge Teyvat could possibly even offer. If he were a movie character, he would be the wise old pilgrim living at the top of some snowy, out-of-reach mountain that the main character had to climb for months just to reach him.

"...That is all I have to offer, and you might want to take my thoughts with a grain of salt," Zhongli concluded his verbalised thoughts, picking up his teacup again.

"No, what you've just said makes complete sense," you shook your head, "I'll adjust a couple of points on my end. Thank you for your insight, it was really helpful!"

As if right in cue, the food that Ajax had ordered arrived and was served on the table.

"Let's dig in, shall we?" Ajax grinned, and you mirrored his smile and dug your chopsticks into your bowl of noodles as a response.

Ajax left as soon as brunch concluded, scurrying off to pay for the meal first and apologising for leaving first due to urgent business matters.

So that left you and Zhongli alone, standing outside the restaurant.

"Are you heading back to the hotel, Mrs. Ragnvindr?" Zhongli asked, hands situated round his back.

The sun was shining in the sky, but it was not unbearably hot. On the contrary, it was warm and inviting, perfect for an afternoon walk.

You shook your head, "I was planning to go for a stroll. Would you like to join me?"

The man smiled as his eyes softened, "It would be my pleasure."

You and Zhongli walked along the roads of Liyue's capital, taking in the bustling chatter of people and the busy city life. Vehicles were whirring past the both of you, and the rays of the sun ricochetted off the glass panels of the buildings. Somehow, doing something as simple as going on a promenade was much more fulfilling than doing work back home.

"Oh, look! Roadside stalls!" your eyes brightened as you spotted a couple of stalls set up by the road, with old women managing them and selling a variety of trinkets. Without hesitation, you made a beeline towards the stalls, eyes scanning through the products on display. Zhongli joined you soon after, peering past your shoulder to peruse through the items on sale.

"It's nice to see you, Zhongli," a welcoming, gentle voice spoke, causing both you and Zhongli to look up. It was an old woman with her silver hair tied up into a low bun, and a pair of round-rimmed spectacles perched on her nose.

"The pleasure is mine, Street — ahem, Madam Ping," Zhongli returned the greeting.

"Ah, and who's this young lady you've brought along with you?" Madam Ping's eyes shifted over to you, and for a split second, you could see some sort of surprised expression in her eyes. However, it was fleeting and was quickly replaced by a warm gaze and a complementary, friendly smile.

"She is an... acquaintance of mine," Zhongli explained.

"It's nice to meet you," you smiled and gave a little bow (It's customary in Liyuen tradition for younger people to bow in greeting to the older folk, you remembered), then refocused your gaze on the items on display, "You have wonderful wares on display, ma'am."

"Take your pick, child," Madam Ping smiled, then bent over to whisper, "As Zhongli's friend, you're entitled to take one for free."

Your eyes widened into the size of saucers, "Oh, no, I can't do that! You're running a business here; I wouldn't want to make you lose any profit!"

"I insist," Madam Ping shook her head, then nodded towards Zhongli, "He doesn't have a whole lot of friends, so I'm happy to know he's made a new one. I guess you can say this is a little bribe from me to convince you to stay friends with him."

While you really thought you should not be imposing and picking out something for free, you knew you would offend this sweet old lady if you turned her offer down. With a smile and dejected shake of your head, you said, "Alright, then."

Madam Ping brightened almost immediately and you went about the stall, browsing through the wares, discreetly looking at the price tags and trying to pick the cheapest one so that you would not be the first step into driving this poor woman into bankruptcy (or whatever it would be).

Madam Ping shifted over to Zhongli and lowered her voice down to a whisper, "So, it seems you've found her again in this life."

Zhongli hummed.

"This is her last life, isn't it?"

Zhongli nodded, a bittersweet smile taking over his features.

Madam Ping studied his facial expression before speaking again, "You don't seem that happy to know that she's one step closer to reuniting with you."

Zhongli shook his head, "I am beyond delighted to know that she is not too far from reincarnating again and spending her next life forever with me, but..." Zhongli frowned before continuing, "I cannot help but wonder if that is exactly what she wants in her next life is all."

Madam Ping mirrored Zhongli's expression, but in a curious manner, "What makes you say that?"

"I was never her lover in any of her past incarnations," Zhongli explain in a slow manner, as if recalling an archaic tale from long ago, "I had always been a friend, a companion to her. In one of those lives, she told me that she never wanted to live her life like that, having me by her side."

He could remember it as clear as day. The day he saved you from drowning, his body completely drenched in seawater. The fabric of his clothes was clinging to his skin and his hair was tousled and damp. Your skin was pale and your lower lip was trembling, but most importantly, your eyes were filled with tears and you were hitting his body repeatedly.

"Why did you save me?" you wept as your fists struck his chest weakly, "You should've just left me to die!"

"I would never want to see you give up on yourself," he whispered as he swept a stray lock of hair out of your face.

You lowered your head and gripped his clothes, "Did it never occur to you that this was not the life that I wanted?" You raised your head to look at him directly in the eye, a sort of sad fury burning behind your eyes, "In this life, or in any other life, I've never wanted you by my side."

It was a painful yet memorable moment that haunted him every waking hour. Perhaps he had been wrong to even make that contract in the first place. All of this happened because of his selfish desire to see you again, to meet you again, to just stand by your side for another day. He had never once thought about what you wanted. And so, that day woke him up from his self-centered fantasy and caused him to question all his choices. Maybe he should have just let you leave and not hold you back. Perhaps that was what you wanted in the very beginning.

Madam Ping frowned, "I'm sure that's not what she meant. You know she's got a tender spot for you."

Zhongli lowered his head and stared at his gloved hands, "I hope that holds true, Streetward Rambler."

"Ma'am! I've found something!" your voice plucked the two old friends out of their little bubble of conversation, and both of them turned to look at you. You were waving at them, a smile in place as your other hand was holding something small in your palm. You looked so carefree and happy, and Zhongli could only hope you would stay this way forever.

"Don't worry too much, Rex Lapis," Madam Ping whispered as she gave the man a gentle pat on the arm, "I know she wouldn't blame you for your choices."

As the old woman walked off to talk to you and package your procured item into a small wooden box, Zhongli could only hope and pray that Madam Ping's words rang true.