#Doing this for music of my heart for one day when I cram it all into a delicious tropey collection

[featureenvyproductions]

Going to forever keep advertising my shit with tropes because do I have to? No. Am I too "stupid" to do it another way? No, not really. And as you've all seen, I also am perfectly capable of writing real blurbs and do write real blurbs. But I think it's fun to make the pic with the tropes anyway and have that around too. And also it keeps the pretentious people away. The sort who don't understand reading is not always for taking a "discomfort" vitamin because they A) are privileged enough to not have discomfort every day of their life to need to escape from or B) are fresh out of college and haven't discovered the joys of/have been shamed OUT of reading as a fun low pressure thing they can do to escape when they're fucking tired (and they think this sort of thing is new with fanfic and not more or less how "trash" lit like romance novels are marketed), as opposed to reading as some sort of Moral Duty To Be Deep that was instilled in them by a middle aged straight white English professor who thinks one can fulfill this by writing 10 pages about books where people scream at each other, have affairs with young women, or Make Up A Guy to warn people about things that Could Happen (that *cough* already happen to marginalized people *cough*) Anyway it's my version of a scarecrow. Firing shots to keep the rent low. Come take a seat next to me in the dumpster my fellow raccoons.

[ch6douin]

Hello I saw that you didn't write anything for Eli from your previous ask,so I have a brain rot for him,so you know that seer are people that have insights of the future right? So what if Eli saw a future where player transported inside the game, what would he and everyone react to this information? I could think Frederick and Antonio cramming to make a musical piece for player for that day,or Naib trying to act displeased but his little cotton heart is hoping for that day.Or will Eli deny this future and keep it all to himself, out of dislike or being selfish?

Took long enough, honestly I just went with my instincts doing this... didn't feel like reading elis lore again

For a respectable and wise seer, Eli did regret his decisions sometimes. He should have known better when he spoke those long awaited words. He also expected from mostly grown adults a tinge of maturity, and not pure chaos that ensured you would step into this manor and never want to go back in again.

He thought to himself that the place was never this loud, never. No one had enough energy to bring life to these old rooms, but suddenly you made it happen and they don't know how to deal with all this excitement. May the higher beings bless you with patience, you're gonna need plenty of that when you arrive.

Frederick and Antonio are working on a musical piece, a token for your company during matches. They are not done yet, perfectionists in their natural habitat. If you look closely, you’ll see that Frederick has some huge eyebags. Others might be more subtle with their gifts of appreciation, your food looks even tastier for some reason. The extroverted ones are definitely trying to help you as much as they can for an easier adaptation. Those who don't talk to you are the most common, the ones who don't like the attention and see no chance to approach you when you’re surrounded.

Eli isn't exactly someone present in all that mess, if a discussion occurs during the preparations, he'll happily take the role as a peacemaker, but that's just it. Don't expect him to lavish you with presents or follow you almost everywhere for answers and some chatting. He will wait for you to come to him, and when the time comes, he will greet you with a smile. There are no ulterior motives, no need to hide his intentions, you know him by the palm of your hand and he has no way to hide.

[cassatelle]

Fight Club

Day 4 of @bucktommypositivityweek 1321 words Rating: teen and up Tags: Fluff, Humor, Insecure Evan Buckley (but not in a serious way), Implied Sexual Content

“It’s a fight club, Buck. The one gets the other down, the ref counts to three, K.O. What’s so hard to understand?” Eddie said, his hands sliced through the air.

“I know!” Buck shot back, but then his voice softened, “I mean, like, what’s the dress code? Is it casual? Sporty? And how do I react, like, should I be sad when someone gets knocked? Clap? Or-or, cheer? Do you guys have any chants or something? Where can I learn it?”

Eddie sighed, shot a disbelief look at him. “It’s a fight club, Buck.”

Buck groaned. “I thought you’re my best friend!”

“I am, when you’re being a normal person!”

"Just be yourself. Tommy will still like you no matter what," Hen said with a chuckle.

"Yeah, you could show up in torn clothes, and Tommy would still give you those heart eyes," Chimney added with a grin.

Buck couldn’t hide his smile. He knew his cheeks would be red by now.

“Aww look at that, the love struck face is back!”

“Oh, stop it!”

There was a fight club Tommy’s friend just set up downtown, and he invited him to watch the sparring. Well not just him, actually it was four of them—him, Eddie, Chimney, and Ravi. Hen, unfortunately, chose to be with her wife instead of their weird little teenager group, as she called them.

They arrived at Buck’s loft crammed into Tommy’s backseat, all grins and elbow jabs. Buck shook his head, thankful that the front seat had been reserved for him.

The club itself looked like a proper club, with all the equipment that got shoved to the corner, cabinets full of thropies, pictures of the fighters on the wall, and flags draped out from the ceiling. More like a martial arts gym that had somehow merged with the bar next door. The decor was a quirky mix, like they’d knocked down the wall separating them and decided to just roll with it. Was it like a gym in the day and a bar in the night situation? Buck didn’t know. Maybe he could ask Tommy about it later. It was weird, but weirdly charming. He wondered if this was like this too in Vegas.

They took the seat a bit further from the crowd but close enough to see the ring. Tommy got them some beer and took the seat next to him.

“Comfortable?” He checked, raising his voice over the loud music.

Buck smiled. “Yup. This place,” he pointed his finger around the room, “interesting.”

Tommy’s smile widened, Buck could tell it was genuine. “I know, right?” And Buck thought he could pretend to enjoy all of this as long as he got to see that smile.

They turned their attention back to the ring as the announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, introducing the fighters. Buck watched them enter the ring, a knot stated forming in his stomach.

The fight had only gone on for eight minutes, but Buck had already winced at least twenty times. He never really understood this whole MMA thing—sure, he could appreciate the idea of muscular guys half naked, glistening with sweat—but not when they brutally beat each other like that. Every time one of the fighters got punched, Buck flinched, feeling sorry for the poor guy, while his friends were cheering like it was the Super Bowl. 

It wasn’t like the playful punches Tommy threw during their Muay Thai lessons. What those fighters did, though, seem like the ones that would really sting.

“You good?”

Buck, caught off guard, quickly tried to play it cool. “Yeah, no, totally.” He gave Tommy a rather unconvincing reassuring smile.

Tommy studied him for a while, clearly unconvinced. “Just tell me if you need anything, okay?”

Buck nodded, with a bigger smile this time. “Sure.”

Another three minutes passed and Buck really couldn’t take it anymore. The queasiness in his stomach was getting harder to ignore. Just as he was wondering how to make a graceful exit, he felt Tommy’s hand slip into his, gently tugging him away.

“Come on.”

“But the fight—”

“It’s fine,” Tommy interrupted with a warm smile. “Let’s get some air.”

They sat on the sidewalk. Buck’s breath came in heavy pants, his grip tight on the water bottle Tommy had grabbed from the chiller on their way out, Tommy’s hand, warm and steady, pleasantly rubbed his back.

“Feeling any better?” Tommy asked softly, concern thick on his face.

Buck took a deep gulp. “A lot.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

But Tommy’s hand didn’t stop. And he was silently grateful for that.

“You know you can tell me if you’re not okay.”

“I know. I-I was fine... well, mostly fine.”

Tommy gave a small nod, his hand never pausing. “You didn’t like it, huh?”

Buck shook his head, a hint of a rueful smile on his face. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s okay not to like something.”

“Yeah, but... you’re my boyfriend.”

“And what does it have to do with being my boyfriend?”

Buck sighed. “You like it. I want to like the same thing you like.”

Tommy chuckled, his hand moving up to gently knead Buck’s scalp before leaning in to press a kiss to his temple. “Baby, it’s perfectly fine for us to have different interests. We’ve got plenty of time to find things we both enjoy, anyway.” Buck let out a small, contented sigh as Tommy’s hand resumed its soothing motion. “God, you’re adorable,” Tommy mumbled, more like to himself. Buck felt his cheeks warmed by that.

“But I still want to spend time with you do things you’re into,” Buck said, his voice small.

“You helped me with the kitchen last week.”

“With half of the time you put the tiles and half of the time we make out? Sure.”

Tommy chuckled. “Well that, babe,” he smirked, “is one thing I’m definitely into.”

Buck chuckled too, but still looked a bit unsettled.

“How about this,” Tommy suggested, “next time, we’ll go to the beach, and you can teach me how to surf. You know I’ve never surfed before. Or maybe we can go biking, hell, I haven’t been on a bike in years. That sounds good?”

Buck smiled, still the same apologetic smile but a little brighter. “That sounds amazing.”

Tommy smiled back, “it’s a plan, then.” He continue to combed his fingers through Buck’s curls, making him almost close his eyes and purr if he didn’t remember where he was. “Anything else you want to get off your chest?”

“Actually, there’s one more thing. But it’s not from my chest.” He smirked as Tommy’s confusion grew. “It’s from your chest.”

“My chest?”

Buck nodded.

“And what is that?”

“Your shirt.”

Tommy burst into laughter. “Evan, you’re going to be the death of me.”

Buck flashed a winning grin. “Let’s go home.”

“Okay, let me just call—”

“No, they can get an Uber or something. Let’s just go—me, you,” he tapped Tommy’s chest, “just us, doing things we’re both into.”

His grin grew bigger as Tommy let himself get dragged to his truck. Tommy, though, still made time to call Eddie, saying ‘sorry we have to head home first, Evan’s not feeling well.’

Buck scoffed. Well, in his boyfriend’s defense, that was not entirely a lie.

When Buck arrived for work the next afternoon, his friends were in the middle of telling the entire firehouse about how the fight went last night; how the winner fought really hard, how they wrestled for a whole seven minutes before one of them gave up, how it was Buck’s loss for missing it out.

Buck just shrugged. “Well, me and Tommy kind of having our own wrestling too last ni—”

Which earned him various responses like ‘didn’t know not feeling well is a code for horny’, ‘that’s too much information, Buck!’, ‘shut up’, ‘oh my God, my ears’ and ‘booooo’ all at once.

The "Your shirt" part was stolen from 9-1-1: Lone Star. Thank you TK for letting me borrow your line!😁

[feral-ballad]

true love is the small stuff that isn’t small. and being silly. always being silly. i never remember the disagreements we have after we’ve talked them through, but i remember all the times we’ve gotten stoned & danced together in our underwear before the shower. i remember all the times he’s pulled me back into his arms to keep me from walking into a spider web. (this has happened like 4 times somehow, i think spiders just love the guy.) i think about all the times we’ve washed each others hair & done each others nails. the time we spend doing day to day stuff together- cleaning, cooking, moving hay, planning for the future, how nothing ever seems hard when i’m with him. and all the fun stuff too, going on walks looking for bones & going out to eat or to parties or concerts or camping with our friends. the nights that we get drunk & giggly & cuddle in bed telling each other secrets & stories about how things used to be. how much better i sleep with him crammed into my twin bed, or listening to him snore on the phone. the long car rides listening to music & talking & sharing cigarettes. i think about the time that i was inconsolably upset & he read me alice in wonderland (his favorite book) until i stopped crying & fell asleep. how natural it is. how safe it is. my first relationship was when i was really young & it was very abusive, so love was always fucked up for me. i was with people that i cared about, that i loved in some way, but it never felt the way people described, it never made my heart pound or my skin feel electric, i could barely be touched, i never felt safe or at home, i never felt like i could be myself, i was never sure, there was always a level of doubt & uncertainty & discomfort. i thought that was just how it was. it’s different with him, in a way i thought i’d never get. there’s never been a moment of doubt with him. i never really believed in love at first sight but i swear the moment i met him everything in me screamed that he was the one, that if i didn’t stop being so scared & go in headfirst i’d regret it for the rest of my life. i fall in love with him more every single day, ive never felt like this before. and the truly crazy part to me is that i know he loves me too. i believe it. even when i’m triggered or having an episode i never doubt that he loves me, he shows me in so many different ways every day that he loves me & that i can trust him. sometimes i just get so overwhelmed with love that i have to kiss every single inch of his face. i want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with him, but even if we don’t get that, if we only get a few years, a few more months, or even if it were to end tomorrow, i will never regret meeting him, falling in love with him, letting myself trust him like this. he changed me & my perception of love for the better in so many ways & also brought back a lot of things about myself that i abandoned a long time ago. i’ll love him forever, and i’ll always be grateful to him for showing me what love is actually supposed to be. (sorry this got so long haha, i just lovee talking about him & i get a lil weepy when i think about how different my life is now)

oh god… tears in my eyes….

[assortedseaglass]

The Ashes In My Wake

Request: Please may I request something with Billy Washington? Perhaps something where he is jealous/possessive over his lady. We don’t have enough Billy content and you write him so well!

@bouncehousedemons

Billy Washington x Unnamed OFC

Warnings: Language, mentions of violence, Trigger Point spoilers(ish)

Word Count: 2K

Note: I’m taking so long with requests but c’est la vie

The bass from the speakers rattled his every organ, but the thrum of guitar and the singer’s rasping voice were warped by the breath ringing in his ears. All around him, the crowd brayed with laughter, pulsed and lurched, shouted words to songs Billy didn’t know. Some edged away from him with disgusted looks. Others laughed. A few were scrabbling at him, their hands pouring from the darkness to pull him away.

Billy hadn’t meant to do it. Not really. Dark spaces crammed with writhing, sweaty bodies weren’t his scene. Give him a pint of pilsner at the pub any day. But when she’d begged him, arms wrapped about the small of his waist, fingers absentmindedly tracing the freckles of his stomach, he’d caved. Surely he owed her something? She had dinner at his parents’, somehow got Lana to like her, let him fuck her. Even dragged him away from those pathetic, self-mutilating thoughts. One night peppered with furtive cigarettes in the piss-stained alley and a quick jägerbomb or three at the bar while she danced her heart out couldn’t hurt. Not him at least.

He'd been gone three minutes, fidgeting with the ring on his index finger, pint of whatever’s cheapest and some water, when his discomfort turned into something more sinister. Sure, he’d wanted to punch the twat’s teeth through the back of his skull the moment he sauntered toward her, the rock of his hips matching perfectly to the sway of hers. Yes, when the dickhead brushed her hair away from her head to whisper something, Billy wanted to pull that stupid fucking neckerchief so hard it made his eyes bulge. But when she threw her head back in laughter and the bellend, with his sleeve of stick and pokes, flashed a vulpine grin with those perfect teeth, Billy’s mind went blank with jealousy. He hadn’t meant to do it, but somehow, he knew that he had.

Over the heads of the crowd, Billy saw two men clad in black weaving towards them. She was screaming at him, hair whipping around her face as she hit his chest. Whatever she shouted was inaudible over the music, her spit flecking his cheeks. The dickhead, with his greaser’s hair and shit tattoos, clutched his nose. At his side, clenched into a ball of perfect rage, Billy’s knuckles were already purpling.

A wayward thud caught him in the sternum and, momentarily breathless, he looked down. Her eyes were red with fury, cheeks flushed from the exertion of dancing and the electricity of her anger, and Billy had to fight not to smile through his hot rage. A hand landed on his shoulder and pulled him backwards. The bouncers.

“Fuck off,” he twisted from their grip and pointed at the twat stood perilously close to his girlfriend. “Don’t fucking touch her again!” The man in the leather jacket stared at him in all his wild-eyed fury, wiped his nose of blood and stepped closer to her.

“You’re a fucking psycho, mate.” He pulled at the collar of his jacket and puffed out his chest. “You need to be put away.”

“Just fuck off!” As he yelled it, so did she. The ghost of a grin shadowed Billy’s face and his heart hammered with pride.

“Don’t think much of your taste, love,” The creep was smiling now, and though he spoke to the woman before him, his eyes bore into Billy’s, whose own fell to his girlfriend. She stared at the man who had so pleased her minutes before. Her face was unreadable, a mixture of anger, exasperation and, was that assent? For a moment, fleeting and pitiable, Billy stilled. The bouncers slackened their hold on his shoulders, and the try-hard backed into the dancing revellers.

“Insecure little prick.”

The stranger knew he was in trouble and his mirthless laughter died. This girl’s fella was scrawny, yes, but when his eyes flickered from her lovely face to his, the pathetic loser he had once seen was replaced by the animal within. It happened almost imperceptibly. The hard nose, carved from stone and no doubt impossible to break, flared with readying breaths. Beneath its shadow, his small scar curved as the thin lips bared across his teeth in a snarl. What scared the man most though, were his eyes. Set beneath a heavy brow, they seemed to flicker under the strobes. With each flash of white, his eyes turned to glass, focused on the man before him and nothing else. Everything about this boy was sharp, and the pain in the stranger’s broken nose seemed to numb. Whatever agony he thought he was in, the next blow would be worse. With a growl and slash of his wiry hands, Billy launched at the cunt.

He caught the man across the face, his nails tearing the skin. Before the bouncers could react or she could intervene, his other fist collided with the underside of the greaser’s ribs. The force of Billy’s punch caused the blood gathered in his nose and the back of his throat to rip past his lips. A few women shrieked and the bouncers leapt suddenly into action. Before they could, two small and solid hands pushed Billy backwards.

“What THE FUCK is wrong with you, Bill?” He stared at her. One of the bouncer’s meaty hands closed around his upper arm and pulled him away.

“What’s wrong with me? WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME!? I didn’t agree come to this shitty gig just to watch you flirt with Danny fucking Zuko!” The man, who had stood aside to laugh at their argument, flinched as Billy lurched forwards once again. The second bouncer gripped a fistful of Billy’s hoodie and yanked, the force causing him to land on his arse. The surrounding crowd oohed and laughed at him. Someone pulled him off the ground and shoved him towards the door. “Fuck off! I’m going.” And without a glance backwards, pushing past bellowing spectators and carrying the last of his pride, Billy stalked from the club.

Drizzle glimmered blue on the black street. Shops were shuttered and a few late-night revellers swayed as they said their goodbyes. Billy took out his phone, her face smiling up at him from the screen. 23.54. He sighed, lit a cigarette and, pulling up the collar of his hoodie, meandered home.

“Traffic light, fag ends, bin, more fag ends, taxi,” His therapist got him to do these stupid lists when he was angry. Five things you can see, four things you can hear…

“Rain, cars, my feet-” The bass of the club still thudded in the distance and Billy kicked a blue bin as he passed it, anger flaring once again. What are you’re hot emotions, Billy? She always asked that. The therapist. After the incident at Cranstead Fields, the hospital prescribed Billy a course of CBT and psychotherapy. The police agreed, saying that if he attended the sessions, the community service he owed due to his attack on the butcher’s could be reduced. Not that any of it was fucking working. He talked until he was blue in the face about Lana and his parents, his rejection from the army, his rejection from work, but the nightmares still came. The car, the bomb, his body scattered across the field…

A dull headache was forming behind his eyes by the time he shut the door of the flat. Vestiges of his life before she had come along still clung to his home; unfolded piles of washing, dishes piling up by the sink, the curtains half open. But there was brightness too. Her coat was hung on the rack. The lounge was now a place to do just that, with cushions and candles and frames hung on the wall. In the fridge, leftovers of the last meal she cooked were waiting for him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and filled the kettle.

Cold showers ease the muscle tension and headaches aroused by angry outbursts.

In the bathroom, her makeup was still scattered across the sink. Billy piled it into the small vanity case she brought when she stayed at his and ran the shower. She’d still be at the gig, and Billy wondered if she’d be dancing with the stranger, or if she’d meant it when she told him to fuck off.

Cold shower having dampened his anger and his spirits, Billy padded towards the kitchen. He thought about calling Thom, but he’d only tell Lana. He thought about emailing his therapist, but it was midnight on a Saturday. There was nothing for it, and Billy did the only thing he could think of. Taking out his phone, he tapped away a quick message, I’m sorry, gone home. Will call in the morning x, and reboiled the kettle.

“I’ve already made you one.” The voice came from the lounge and, ducking his head beneath the frame, Billy saw her sat on the threadbare sofa, staring at the two steaming cups on the coffee table. “I thought we’d talked about this, Bill-”

“Don’t,” he spat, then weakly. “Don’t.”

“Do I need to call Lana?”

“I’m not a child,” he threw himself down in the gaming chair opposite her.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Silence. They stared at each other a while, both too stubborn to speak. When his leg began to bob in agitation, she sighed and leant forward.

“What happened?”

Billy didn’t speak, choosing instead to pick at the skin of his left palm. It wasn’t until her mug knocked against the table that he said anything.

“You looked so happy,” his voice was a whisper, and were she not so annoyed at him, her heart would have broken.

“Well, yeah, I was,” he could hear annoyance decorating her tender words. “But some guy making me laugh doesn’t mean I’m unhappy with you, Bill.” He didn’t look up, and she moved around the table to kneel below his gaze. “You make me happy, Billy.”

From under the sweep of his golden hair, he watched her, all gentle eyes and kindness despite the way he behaved. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m trying-”

“I know you are, and you’re doing so well.” She clutched at his hands, soothing the skin he had been rubbing. “You’ll get there.” Her hand grazed something cool. The ring she gave him for his birthday was cold against the heat of his swollen knuckles. “For God’s sake, Billy! Take it off.”

He tugged at it aggressively, huffing like a child but it didn’t budge. “I can’t.”

His petulance made her laugh and he frowned, pulling his hand from her grip.

“Don’t be so mardy,” she took back his hand and ran gentle kisses over the bruised skin. God, she was good to him. When she had delicately kissed each knuckle, she turned his hand over so his palm was facing upward. “You make me happy, Billy,” she repeated softly, before taking his ringed finger into her mouth. Billy’s breath caught at the warmth of it, they way her cheeks hollowed, the strain the action put on his trousers.

“Fuck,”

He watched, mesmerised, as she drew back. Her eyes never leaving his, she smiled, the ring held between her teeth. “Fuck,” he said again, when she took him by the hand and led him towards his bedroom.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook, Wash.”

Note: When to an amazing gig at the weekend, but there was one guy there who was an absolute caricature of a 50s greaser. Had to put him in. Writing is hard at the moment because of things but I’m getting back to it as it makes me happy. Joined the Hozier lyrics as fic titles band wagon.

Tagging the old Come Back To Me crew: @jessssica1234 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @aemonds-wifey @slytherincursebreaker @valerie977 @greenowlfactif @heimtathurs @yentroucnagol @schniiipsel @multiple-fandoms-girl @just-emmaaaa @tosiaf @kage-no-sonzai @targaryenrealnessdarling

[thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai]

Things to read while Can You Hear My Heartbeat is on vacation #4

Beneath the Shine of a Thousand Spotlights

Summary:

Viktor had forgotten when he had last felt the rush of adrenaline giving way to drunken euphoria. As the photographers raised their cameras, he hid the emptiness in his heart behind a dazzling smile, sculptured to perfection in two decades of competitive figure skating. Flashlights ripped through the arena like sheet lightning on a murky summer night. Viktor swept back his hair and lifted the golden disk that hung heavy around his neck to his lips. A collective sigh rippled through the crowd as he performed the ritualistic kiss of his medal. Viktor flashed the press another star-smile. Then he hopped off the podium. Twenty years of being Russia’s poster athlete have drained Viktor Nikiforov off the passion he once had held for his sport, but caught up in duty and habit he cannot escape the icon he has become. Thoughts of retirement cross his mind when a drunken Japanese Cinderella dances into his life, stirring a dream of life and love beyond scores and medals. But that which sets his heart on fire also holds the power to throw Viktor into an even darker state of mind. This canon story covers the four months between the GPF and Viktor deciding to become Yuuri’s coach.

Tags: Depressed Viktor, light angst, character study, Viktor lives in his own world, the making of Eros and Agape, lonely Viktor, creative burnout, past Nikimetti, Yakov and Lilia are still married (but for how long?), this story made my beta cry

Excerpt:

“How do you feel having broken your world record in the free programme for the third time?”

“Where will you compete next?”

“Now that you’ve won the Grand Prix Final more often than every other skater in history, what is your next goal?”

“You kept surprising the audience season after season. Do you ever run out of ideas?”

“There have been rumours circulating about you wanting to retire. What are your thoughts about your future career? How will you reassure your fans?”

Viktor tucked his black necktie into the waistcoat of his dark-grey three-piece suit and regarded himself in the mirror. As so often, his silver-blonde bangs exhibited an irritating life on their own. He returned to the bathroom.

I wish I had known my hair would do this before I had it cut, he thought as he fixed the stubborn cowlick with hair wax. Now, it’s too thin to let it grow long again. What late-adolescent fit made me think short hair would give me a more mature image?

One last time, he checked his mirror image before he returned to the bedroom. The day had been crammed with gala practice, interviews, gala, and more interviews he had braved with non-committal answers and his star-smile. Now, one last social function loomed ahead and he would survive this one with more star-smiles and non-committal answers.

What people took for the beautiful and mysterious ice prince was a carefully crafted façade. Never give the press what they’re lusting for. Information was power, and Viktor preferred to stay in control of what he wanted to reveal.

They’ve been talking about my retirement as if I’ve already announced it.

Suddenly, he was choking on the sadness that had been lurking at the edge of his mind during the competition. He had thought it was gone. Why was it back? After three days of competition, he had no energy left to deal with this. And all because some overzealous fan had interpreted his expression during his recent performances as a growing contempt for his craft. As if Viktor’s presentation stood in contrast to his season’s theme.

Just two more hours. I don’t need to stay until the end. There will be champagne and music, and small talk. It’s just a different kind of performance. I have scripts for that.

But he was deluding himself. Unlike a programme that relied on muscle memory and an intense, innate focus, social functions demanded constant attention. Just the thing to look forward to after competing had drained Viktor of the energy he had scraped together to get through the event in the first place. And the Russian Hero was expected to attend even more than any other skater, and Viktor hated to disappoint.

There was a knock on his door.

Taking a deep breath, Viktor composed himself. I kept myself together for a long weekend. I can manage another couple of hours.

He picked up his blazer from the comforter. “I’m coming!”

He opened the door and stared right into a red-cheeked face framed by short blonde curls.

“Chris!”

His friend grinned. “Curious. Your hair doesn’t look like that, dear.”

*end of excerpt*

Reblog appreciated 💙💜

[tsarisfanfiction]

Remembrance

Fandom: Trials of Apollo Rating: Gen Genre: Family/Hurt/Comfort Characters: Kayla, Apollo, Michael Human memories fade, and details get forgotten. Godly memories don't, and Apollo will always help his children, if they ask. TOApril Day 30 - Fading Memories. Longest fic of the month to round this TOApril up! Once again it took me a while to work out what I wanted to do with this one, but I definitely need more Apollo&Kayla and also more Kayla&Michael content in my life, so that's where this ended up. There's also a few easter eggs in here for some of my other fics, for the observant/readers with good memories!

Kayla huffed, dragging the box out from underneath the bench.  Damn musicians, shoving all their stuff in the area that was supposed to be her nook, and especially damn the musicians that were also head counsellors that had enabled it.

Also Will, because Will hadn’t been a musician but he’d still let it happen (and Michael, but Kayla would always forgive Michael anything).  No more.  Kayla was head counsellor now, and even if it was only for her final year in camp, this nook at the back of the cabin was going to at least have space for her to stuff all the annoying things like chore schedules.

She wasn’t Austin, or Alice, or Will (or Michael).  She wasn’t having that stuff in her personal part of the cabin, stressing her out with duty­-based things in her safe, stress-free bunk.  Not a chance.  It could get banished to the back of the cabin like she knew other cabins did, for her to pick up when she had to and ignore when she didn’t.

Well, Kayla was realistic.  She wasn’t going to get all of the instruments out of there; there was an entire orchestra’s worth, at least, and several of them were large and heavy, or otherwise not easily moveable – she sent the harp and the full sized drum kits a half-hearted glare, knowing full well that she was never going to win a fight with those particular sisters over the placement of their main instruments.  Still, she could at least clear the flutes that hadn’t been used in years – Kayla didn’t think she’d ever seen any of them come out – off of the desk and find a different cranny to stow them in.

The same went for the crates worth of sheet music stowed under the desk, which was what she was currently trying to wrangle.  For being simple sheets of music, they got heavy when there was a lot of them, rather like a whole pile of target faces all at once, and it took more than a bit of pulling and shoving before she got them moved over enough that she could pull a chair up and sit in it without her legs being crammed against crates.

Well, almost.  She growled as her feet kicked against another one, and ducked back down under the desk to see if she could push that one further back, outside of accidental kicking range.

It refused to, so with another grumble she started to yank it forwards instead, not quite sure where she was going to move it to but determined that it wasn’t going to stay in too-close kicking reach.  Kayla wasn’t tall like Austin or Jerry but she also wasn’t short like Yan and needed some leg room while she was doing head counsellor things.

When it finally came out, it was covered in dust, enough to make her nose itch.  It also wasn’t sheet music, like she’d expected.  Nor was it spare archery targets, which she would’ve been delighted to find – they were forever running out of those.

It was full of photographs.

Curious, she picked one up, puffing until the dust shifted.  There were two boys in the photo – one young and gap-toothed, and the other… well, still young, but maybe at least a teenager.  He had a lot of beads for someone Kayla guessed might be thirteen or so, but the younger kid – and he was really young, definitely nowhere near double digits – didn’t have a camp necklace at all.  He had familiar blond waves and blue eyes, though, and Kayla realised it had to be Will, back when he’d been the baby of the cabin.  The older boy must have been one of their siblings, with his own blond hair and darker blue-green eyes, but Kayla didn’t recognise him.

She set that one down and picked up another, wiping the dust off against her sleeve.  This time, the faces were more familiar, more blond kids, but ones she knew she’d seen before.  Their names didn’t come to her, but she was pretty certain that if she read through the names on the first bead of her necklace, she’d make the connections again.  Unlike baby Will and the unnamed boy, these two were more rough and tumble, with the girl having the boy in a headlock while he clearly fought to get out of it.  Both of them were laughing, though, and the camera was held at an angle, as if the photographer had been laughing too hard to keep it steady, too.

The third photograph made her freeze when the dust came off.

It was her, from behind.  Her hair had been freshly dyed, with no sign of her natural colour at all, and Kayla had only dyed her hair like that for a short time before deciding she preferred to keep the crown of her head visibly ginger.  She was at the archery range, bow in one hand and  gesturing wildly with the other.  Next to her, also with their back to the camera, was someone with black hair in a short pony tail, more or less the same height as eleven year old Kayla – gods, this had been taken six years ago – and gesturing back at her.

She didn’t recognise them.  Not really.  She knew who it was – of course she did, it was Michael, and she was sure she’d always remember the way he kept his hair tied back like that – but what she recognised was his bow, the beautiful horn horse bow that now lived in the attic of the Big House.

Staring at the photograph, she was suddenly hit with the realisation that she didn’t remember his face.  She didn’t remember his voice, either.  She remembered him being her big brother, that he’d spent hours and hours with her at the range, better than any of the Olympic archers Da had coached but completely disinterested in competition shooting, but she couldn’t remember his face.

Kayla had no idea what colour his eyes had been.  If he’d had bangs or if his hair was all swept back into the ponytail.  Details that felt like they should never be forgotten, but she couldn’t remember them.

Logically, she knew she’d only known Michael for a few months, which was basically no time at all compared to the length of time she’d since spent at camp, but with how often his name still flittered through her thoughts, it felt like she ought to remember him better than that.

It hurt, to realise that she didn’t.

Kayla dived back into the box, trying to find more photographs of him.  There were a lot where there was a blur of black hair in the corner, or turning away, or with his back to the camera.  She even found one with a younger-looking Alice braiding his hair, but Michael hadn’t been looking at the camera then, either.  He’d been looking back at Alice as best he could without turning his head.

Still, it was the clearest one she’d found so far, and she cleared away more streaks of dust with her fingers until it was clean.

Seeing Michael with Alice reminded her that she was the only camper left in their cabin, now that Austin had left, that had met Michael.  Raphael and Emma had arrived the next summer, and everyone else was even later than that.  There was no-one else to show the photograph to and reminisce with, or try to remember with.

Okay, maybe she could go to Chiron, but as great as Chiron was, it didn’t feel right.  Chiron hadn’t been any closer to Michael than he was to any other camper, she didn’t think.  She didn’t know how he could have been.  It wasn’t like he was family, really, although she was pretty sure he and Apollo-

Apollo.  Dad.

Her dad, Michael’s dad.

She didn’t even finish thinking it through before she called him, startled when her voice sounded thick, like she’d been crying.  She didn’t think she’d been crying.

The instant appearance of her dad, and the way he immediately wiped tears from her face, told her that she had been.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her, sitting cross-legged in the small patch of floor that wasn’t covered in photographs or musician things.  It put him right in her personal space, but Kayla never minded that with her dad.  Either of them, actually.

“I found these,” she said, waving photographs in his face.  One of them was the first one she’d found, with her and Michael.  Another was the one with Alice.  “And I don’t… I don’t remember him, Dad.”  A sob erupted from her throat.  “I’ve always said he was my favourite brother, but I don’t… I don’t remember him!”

Part of her waited for him to poke her in the chest and tell her that actually, she did remember him.  That he was in her heart, her favourite brother, and it didn’t matter if she couldn’t remember the exact shade of his eyes, or whether he usually had bangs.  That was the sort of sappy thing people usually said, after all.

But he didn’t.  He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her against his side, tucked under his arm like she was younger than she was, like she wasn’t now the most senior Apollo kid in camp.

“Do you want me to talk about him?” he offered, and her head snapped to look at him.

“Yes,” she said, latching onto the offer like it was a lifeboat.  “Yes, Dad.”

He chuckled, quietly enough that it didn’t feel like he was laughing at her.  “Okay,” he said, and plucked the photo of her and Michael from her fingers.  She barely felt it go.  “Michael was a fighter.  And I don’t just mean because of the war, or his arguments with Clarisse – and he got into a lot of those with her.  He was a fighter because he had something to fight for.”  Kayla felt Apollo squeeze her shoulders.  “You.”

The noise that escaped her was both unladylike – not that she cared – and very startled.  “Me?”

Apollo gave a one shouldered shrug.  “Well, his siblings.  All of you,” he admitted.  “Michael was always one for loving deeply, when he let someone in.  He had a reputation for being harsh and prickly, especially with other campers, but beneath the thorns was a massive heart with so much love to give out, if they could make him believe they were worth it.”

“I don’t remember him being prickly,” Kayla admitted.  “Except for the arguments with Clarisse.”

Apollo gave another chuckle.  “He was always arguing with Clarisse,” he said, sounding fond.  “That started his first day at camp and never stopped.  Then again, I probably didn’t help matters,” he added, and that sounded sheepish.

Kayla twisted in his grip to look at him, astonished.  “What did you do?” she demanded.  Apollo’s smile definitely twisted into something sheepish.

“I claimed him,” he said, and Kayla frowned, because of course he did.

“How-?”

“I claimed him because he shot her in the thigh,” he clarified, and she felt her jaw drop.  “It was the first time they’d met, and both of them were very volatile back when they were that age, more so than by the time you got here.  They got into a fight, and well.  It was the first time Michael had ever held a bow, and it was a beautiful shot.  How could I not claim him for it?”

“You claimed him… because he shot Clarisse?” Kayla repeated slowly, trying to wrap her head around that.  In some ways, it made sense.  In other ways, it really didn’t.  Then she registered the other thing he’d said.  “Wait.  He’d never held a bow before camp?  Really?”

The one thing she definitely did remember was how amazing an archer Michael had been.  It was the sort of skill that came from being an archer from the moment he was old enough to hold a bow – Kayla should know, she had the same skill – not from being a preteen, or maybe even a teenager, before ever touching one.  Actually… “how old was he?”

“He was nine, at the time.”  There was a story there, Kayla could tell, but Apollo didn’t show any signs of expanding on it, and she decided it wasn’t worth asking.

Demigods didn’t turn up at camp that young without a reason, and the reason was never a good one.  Kayla didn’t need to know what Michael’s was.  She didn’t want to know.

“He was amazing at archery,” she said, instead, and Apollo smiled fondly.

“That he was,” he agreed.  “He could out shoot some of my sister’s Hunters.  They hated him for it.”  Kayla could imagine that – Thalia and Reyna were chill, but some of the Hunters were definitely snobbish over their perceived archer superiority.  It was one of the reasons Kayla kept rejecting their recruitment pitches; they didn’t like being challenged by an archer who didn’t wear Artemis’ silver colours.  She bet it was even worse with a boy.

“Serves them right,” she muttered, and leant back against her dad’s side again, reclaiming the photo of Michael and Alice.  “I remember him being an amazing archer,” she admitted.  “And his arguments with Clarisse.  I just…  I wish his face hadn’t faded.”  She tapped at the photograph with a chipped nail.  “The photographs aren’t clear enough.”

“I can make them clearer, if you want,” Apollo offered, and Kayla didn’t know how but she wasn’t going to turn down a chance to re-memorise Michael’s face.  Properly, this time.  She nodded.

Apollo held up a hand in front of them, palm up and loosely cupped, and hummed lightly.

Whatever Kayla had expected, it wasn’t for a ball of light to convalesce in front of them, swirling and shifting until Michael appeared in front of them, perching on the box full of dusty and abandoned photographs.

Kayla had forgotten how short he was.

She’d seen it in the photograph, how a sixteen year old Michael had been the same height as an eleven year old Kayla, but being seventeen herself now – gods, she was older than Michael when he’d died – and more or less fully grown it was stark, seeing him in front of her and realising that he really had been tiny.

He didn’t say anything, probably because he wasn’t real, just Apollo manipulating the light until it showed her her big brother again.  Still, there was life in the way he looked like he was sitting, one leg straight down and the other knee raised up, foot on the edge of the box he was perched on, with one elbow resting on the knee.  He wasn’t looking directly at them, but he was focused on something that only the apparition could see, and it was good enough for Kayla to finally, finally, remember the exact shade of brown his eyes had been.

He didn’t have bangs, either.  There were some loose hairs that didn’t quite reach back into his ponytail that stuck out a little, but no bangs.  He did have earrings, though, a single golden stud in the ear lobe.

Kayla had forgotten he’d had those.  She wasn’t sure if she’d ever noticed them when he was alive and she’d taken his presence for granted, unlike the way she was drinking every detail in now, because this felt like a last chance.

Mortals weren’t supposed to dwell in the past.

Something warm dripped onto her cheek and she glanced up on instinct to see silent tears rolling slowly down her father’s face as he looked at the apparition he’d created.  It was a comfort, to know that she wasn’t the only one affected by it.

Still, her eyes were drawn back to Michael, the ephemeral sight that wouldn’t last forever.  His mouth was twisted into a slight smirk, confidence pouring off of him from his expression to his pose, and even though he looked small and young in a way Kayla knew he hadn’t when he’d still been alive and she’d been five years younger than him, rather than a year older, it felt right.  Familiar.  She was sure she’d seen that expression on that face many times before.

Apollo gave a shuddering breath, and raised his hand towards Michael again.  His fingertips dipped into the illusion, and it rippled slightly.  Kayla knew what was coming, and refused to look away as, slowly, Michael faded from sight again.

“It’s good to remember,” Apollo said hoarsely as her brother disappeared.  Kayla wondered if she was supposed to feel worse, losing him again, but instead she thought it felt more like closure.  “But don’t get trapped in the past.  Keep looking forwards.”  He squeezed her arm.  “You’ve got a future ahead of you, and if he was still with us, Michael would be the first to tell you that you’ve got that Olympic gold in the bag next summer.”

Kayla remembered archery lessons with him, being pushed past anything Da had ever tried with her, because he’d known she could keep up, even back then.  “He would,” she agreed.  “I miss him, Dad.  I know I only knew him for a few months, but… I miss him.”

“I know,” Apollo said.  “So do I.”  He reached out and picked up some of the other photos, of familiar and semi-familiar and unfamiliar faces.  “I miss all of them.”

Kayla plucked another one from the floor – the one with the two blonds wrestling.  Both of them had died in Manhattan, she was more certain of that, now.  Siblings she’d known but not for long enough, although with her mind in reminiscing mode she found names finally climbing to the front of her memory.  Nathan and Robyn.  She didn’t think she’d ever seen one without the other.

Looking at them, with their semi-familiar faces, and the other photos still strewn around from her frantic hunt for pictures of Michael’s face, she found an idea forming in the back of her mind, and she barely let it finish before she spoke.

“Dad?”

He hummed, turning his head towards her.

“Help me put these up on the walls?”  She gestured to the box.  It wasn’t like it was doing anything except getting in her way under the desk, and photographs deserved to be looked at.  Her siblings deserved to be remembered, not stashed away and forgotten.

He stared at her for a moment, clearly not expecting the request, before his whole body softened.

“I’d love to.”

[vidavbooks]

Life of the fucking party - Euronymous x Reader

WARNING: This is based off the Rory Culkin character of him, not the real man.

Story Masterlist

Next Part

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Depression. One of the most draining yet confusing things in the world. My roommates have been concerned but they always just brush it off, who cares right? I was staring at my ceiling when i heard the door open and my friend Celia clear her throat.

“Honey…you’ve been in here for 3 days. I know you have your own bathroom or whatever but have you consumed food or something?” I gestured over to my bag of chips next to me. “Honey no, a real meal.” I shook my head no as she sighed and sat next to me.

“Well there’s a party tonight and you’re coming with me.” “No I’m not” She scoffs and stands up then walks into my bathroom without saying a thing. I slowly sit up as she comes back with a cup of water. “If you do not get the hell up, shower, put on your best fucking outfit and come to this damn party I am going to pour this all over you.”

I sighed, she didn’t get it. Showers were so draining to get up and go try not to just crumble. Getting ready is so tiring and parties? I hate them so much, she thinks a lot of bodies and yelling will make me feel better? She doesn’t know me at all. But I won’t hear the end of it if I don’t so I will just give in.

“Okay whatever I’m getting up” I brushed her off and heard her squeal as I closed the bathroom door. After my shower she laid some dress on my bed and wrote a note that said “Get ready and wear this, I’m getting my hair done right now be ready by 8.” I roll my eyes as I pick up this outfit, whatever.

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We are in the car and there’s 5 more girls I don’t even recognize all crammed in their loudly gushing over this band that’s hosting this party. I’ve heard them and was dragged by Celia to go to their concert. We pull up and everyone rushes out of the car running up to the band members and flirting.

I walk inside to grab a drink as people are breaking things and screaming. I start feeling my heart beat faster being overwhelmed with everything. I grab the vodka bottle off the counter and I open many doors trying to find an empty room that didn’t have anyone.

I walked into an empty dark room with all of these guitars and pictures. I sit down and calm down my breath and open the vodka. I take a sip as I look up to see these vinyls on the shelf. Mayhem, that’s the name. As I stand up to look at them the door barges open.

I look at him as I smile gently, he has some greasepaint on his face and long dark black hair. “Who the hell are you?” He looks me up and down as I brush my hair back with my fingers. “I-I’m sorry i shouldn’t be in here there’s just so much going on and I don’t really..” He sighed and looked down.

“It’s whatever just don’t fuck with anything” His friends were yelling his name “ONE SECOND FUCK FACE!” I chuckled a little as he looked back at me and I put on a straight face clearing my throat.

He grabs the vodka out of my hand while closing the door and sits on the bed as I stare at him. “Are you just going to stare at me or what?” I stuttered and shook my head no as I sat next to him on the bed. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Astrid, and you?” “Euronymus” I look around as the room fills with an awkward silence. “What kind of music do you like?” I looked down at my hands and fiddled with them and started to speak as he cut me off.

“Look at me when you talk” My heart felt like it skipped a beat, he just had this aura that made him scary yet attractive. I nodded as I looked up at him, “I like metal…” He handed me the bottle and I took a sip. “Yeah well I invented black Norwegian metal, fucking invented it” I smiled a bit as he stood up to grab a vinyl.

“Listen to this shit it’s fucking beautiful” He put the record on the player and started banging his head. I started chuckling and bobbing my head along to it. He looked up at me and smiled as he kept rocking his head and grabbed me to stand up. He grabbed my hand and put it in a devil horns position.

I smiled as he made me ‘rock out’ “Come on let loose!” I chuckled as I started following his movements. We continued this until the song ended. “Yeah! That shit is real not some poser bullshit. What did you think?” I smiled at him as I nodded, “It was pretty good, my friend Celia who brought me here had me go to your guys concert a bit ago.”

He walked closer and smirked, “Yeah? What did you think of it?” My breath hitched as he came a little closer “I-I liked it it was good just not all the people pushing and-” He grabbed my waist a bit as he looked at me “Mhm?”

I gulped a little bit as his face got closer, “Fuck it” I grabbed his cheek and forced his face closer as he leaned in, he backs me up against the wall and starts kissing down my neck. I put my hands through his hair and groaned a little bit but we got interrupted by Celia calling my name.

“God damn it, we have a ride and when she leaves we all leave..” He nods and grabs my waist. “A shame to see you leave but I’ll see you again, I know I will.” I smile as he kisses me again then backs away. “Here.” He walks over to his desk and writes his number on a paper then shoves it in my hand.

“Call me whenever you can.” I nod as I kiss his cheek once more and I leave the room. I run out to the car and cram in next to Celia, “Looks like you had a good night.” She said as she pointed to my hickey “Shut up” I chuckle a little as I look out of the window and he gives me a gentle wave goodbye.

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Authors Note: HEYYY!!! sorry i like fell off the face of the earth but! i made it up by making this a nice long story maybe a part 2 if we get enough support. tell me what you guys think i love y’all!

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Moon River

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Demigod!Reader

Warnings: siblingxsibling, do not read if you don’t like it

Words: 1757

Summary: Wherever Luke went, you wanted to go too. Even if that meant foresaking Olympus. You loved Luke more than you loved the gods.

“One of the Apollo girls taught me how to play it! I only know one song, but it’s one of my favorites.” You happily tell Luke amidst the chaos that was the Hermes cabin. Flipping open the metal latches of your guitar case. You didn’t have to worry about putting a lock on it. Even though notorious for being a cabin full of thieves, none of your half siblings would dare try to steal it. You were second oldest among them besides Luke, well respected and even slightly feared. When a newcomer tried to steal your ipod that you had snuck in, you were quick to beat their ass with the closest item by you.

Luke sat across from you, legs crossed as he watched you remove a beautifully crafted acoustic guitar. “Did they give you that too?”

“No. It used to be my mom’s. One other gift Hermes gave to her besides me.”

That was enough to make him grow quiet. He always felt a little jealousy at your relationship with your mom. Far different from the one he had with his own mom. “I’m not much of a music lover.”

“Oof, why are you breaking my heart?” Feigning the wounded tone, you situate the guitar in your arms like the Apollo girl had showed you. “Indulge in me. I practiced hard. Plus this is the song that my mom was playing when Hermes met her.”

“You sure you’re not secretly Apollo’s kid?” He smiles into his palm and leans forward. You knew he would rather be practicing his swordplay instead of listening to you play music. Truth be told, that was what you would be doing too on a normal day. But you were feeling nostalgic and couldn’t help yourself.

“Well, Hermes did claim me. But he could just be covering for Apollo.” You giggle and wink at him playfully. Always worth it when it made Luke’s smile grow larger. He might not have liked music, but you knew that Luke would tolerate anything for you. Perhaps you were a bit cocky in thinking this, but you were probably his favorite sibling out of everyone. And that was saying a lot considering how many kids were crammed into the Hermes cabin. Many were your siblings, the rest were poor kids who hadn’t been claimed by their godly parent. Kids who might never know. The gods were a busy bunch and couldn’t be bothered to lay claim to each and everyone. They were cruel in that way.

You settled in and began finger-picking along steel strings a soft melody that was near heartbreaking. Calmly you let your voice take control of you. “Oh, dream maker” Quickly you flick your eyes up at Luke “You heart breaker. Wherever you’re going I’m going your way.” You kept your eyes trained on Luke, highly aware of your other cabinmates watching you play guitar. It must have looked like you were serenading him which inwardly caused you to blush. It wasn’t your fault that those were the lyrics to the song. Just a coincidence.

Remembering your mother playing the exact song for you years ago made your voice tender. As she was putting you to bed, she would open up the window to let the moon filter in and pull your blankets over you. Next to your bed was a stool that your mother always used nightly to play guitar for you. She’d pull it up to the side of your bed and play until you fell asleep. Riding into sleep with a chariot filled with music. Life wasn’t always easy for you and your mom, but she made up for it with the joy of song. Apollo should have been your father in this regard. Maybe if you were Apollo’s child, then the feelings you felt for Luke would be less blasphemous. No one dated within their cabins since in each cabin everyone was half-siblings.

A spell cast upon everyone, your other siblings listened comfortably as you continued the song you had practiced for so long. You wanted it to be perfect. This was the only song you bothered to learn. It was all you needed.

“(y/n).”

You let out a whine in complaint when someone shakes your shoulder, waking you up from your pleasant slumber. Again a soft nudge jars you.

Crusted slightly with sleep, you grudgingly open your eyes to meet the darkness of Cabin 11. The victim of your deadly glare was Luke, wearing a red sleeveless shirt and black shorts. Those definitely weren’t his pajamas.

“What are you doing up?” Grumbling, you run your hands over your eyes to scrub away the crystallized gunk.

“Get up. I have something to show you.” Luke whispers.

He must be crazy. Like hell you were going to forsake the comfort of your bed to go outside in the middle of the night. Plus you didn’t want to risk the wrath of the Cleaner Harpies who lurked the grounds of Camp Half-Blood, patrolling for wayward campers who should be in bed.

“Can’t this wait until morning?”

“In your song, you sang that wherever I go, you go too.”

“It was just part of the song.”

“Yet you looked at me.”

Sighing in defeat, you lift yourself up. “Alright, fine. Give me a second to put shoes on.”

When you accomplished putting your shoes on, you grab an orange Camp Half-Blood jacket and throw it on; following Luke as he led you quietly outside while everyone else slept. You didn’t dare speak in fear of the Harpies. Obediently you went wherever Luke led you. Staring at his broad shoulders, you think about how much he had changed since the quest that Hermes sent him on not too long ago. The scar wasn’t the only thing that changed him, his eyes just seemed darker to reflect his thoughts. He spoke of the scorn he felt about the failed quest and his resentment toward Olympus. All of this he told you in secret when it was just the two of you. This worried you quite a bit. There was nothing you could say to soothe the hurt that Luke was dealing with. He felt cheated by Hermes, unacknowledged.

It didn’t take you too long to arrive at the Combat Arena, the Greek styled arena where you had trained many times throughout your summers earning scars and bruises that you took pride in. What you were doing there, you had no idea. Luke passed under the archway entrance inside. There in the center of the sand pit, Luke turned to you.

Extra cautious, you look around the stone ledges that served as seats for onlookers.

“So, why’d you drag me out of bed?” You grimace when you feel sand leak into your shoes. You weren’t exactly in proper attire and most likely will have sand particles clinging to your pajama pants.

“Did you mean it? That you would follow wherever I go?”

“Of course.” It was an easy reply. You knew if you asked the same thing of Luke, he would follow you to the Underworld if you asked him. The two of you had that ride or die bond. You were an extension of each other. “Where did you have in mind?”

Luke appeared hesitant before taking steps toward you. The moon bounced on his hair, making it look brighter. In one of his hands was a knife. He slid the sharp edge of the blade across his palm making you flinch. “I need you to make a promise that whatever I say next, you will not tell a soul.”

In the night, the small beads of blood that were beginning to rise on his skin looked black. “A bit extreme, Luke. You’re starting to freak me out.”

He hands you the handle of the knife and you reluctantly take it. Taking a deep breath, you quickly draw the blade across your palm and hold in the his that was the product of the sting. You place your slowly bleeding palm against his, weaving your fingers so that your hands were clasped. You trusted Luke.

It makes Luke smile, the scar on his face softening with relief. And that's when he told you of his dreams. More specifically, who was speaking with him in these dreams.

Your stomach dropped when you learned that it was Kronos who spoke to him. Even if it was simply a dream, it never bode well for anyone if the former King of Titans was speaking with you.

“The gods don’t deserve to be in power. Look how full Cabin 11 is. They don’t care about us. Kronos. . . Kronos has a plan to rise again.”

Fear made you feel colder. “No. . .”

Luke nods. “I’ve pledged my allegiance to him. I’m going to help him with his rise back to power.”

“Luke you can’t! There’s a reason Kronos was cast down. Why he is imprisoned in Tartarus! Whatever problem you have with the gods, Kronos is not the answer. What he represents. . . it’s nothing good.”

He held onto your hand tighter, unwilling to let you go now. “He’s offering us freedom, (y/n).” Voice soft as a feather, Luke pulls you closer and you find yourself lost in his eyes. Tentatively, his free hand lifts and cups your cheek. His hand wasn’t soft by any means. Callused and hard from hours of training each day. You wouldn’t have them any other way. “We could finally be together. Noone telling us it’s wrong. Noone stopping us.”

What he was proposing was indeed crazy. To forsake Olympus and the gods all together for Kronos- no, not for Kronos. For Luke. You couldn’t easily accept his proposition though. What he spoke of was blasphemous. You agreed with his views of the gods. They weren’t perfect. They were neglectful when it came to their demigod children. You felt sorry for the many kids in your cabin. Most of them were there because their godly parent never bothered to claim them.

A life of a demigod meant you were on your own. Expected to fend off monsters that wanted to feast on your flesh. That wasn’t a life you wanted to live.

“I want you to be by my side, (y/n).”

You close your eyes. Luke had been the one constant in your life. You loved him more than you loved the gods. “Okay. Tell me what I need to do.”

You open your eyes just in time to see Luke lean in, capturing your unsuspecting lips in a demanding kiss.

[misc-obeyme]

A mini fic update, I love that ajdjf. I'm glad someone else is enjoying this too 😭 my silly little poly ship. And I'm taking screenshots of my asks to put into a doc later whenever I finally have free time !! I sent them to a friend as well and she says she'd read it if I wrote it too which made me 🥹 i also have my notes app for when i gotta write down an idea at work

i forgot that group chats will usually share the same name across all phones, and was completely ready for everyone to have their own unique chat. Though, this could be a funny idea later when I start realizing the feelings, and I change the group chat to "my dumbasses <3" without realizing it changes it for everyone. Neither Solomon or Mammon mention it (at least not for a while. Or they do when I finally come to terms with my feelings LMAO).

Mammon's would've been "More than regulars" but Solomon ?? He knows I like FOB, so he would've suggested "Coffee's for Closers" or "Music or the Macchiato" because it connects everyone. It's a reference to Music or the Misery which makes me happy, Solomon is literally going to college for music, and a macchiato is a coffee so that's how it ties Mammon in.

The group chat is them all sending snippets of their day. Mammon trying new latte art. Solomon sending a pic of a half finished score. Me sending photos of new things I got in. Solomon sending a photo that Friday, and it's a pic of his coffee. On the side is written "good luck with your exam" with a doodle of a calculator. And maybe a scribbled out heart. "I got a doodle today! :]" "Aww!! Good luck with your exam!! Also, what's that blob scribbled out?" "ADKSJ IRS NTOJING. NOTHING. SHUR UP. TOU DONT SEE ANYRHIJF." (it's written like that, broken up into multiple messages. I think I remember Mammon key smashed when Solomon listed those 10 reasons to him about mc.)

Okay but last time Solomon was cramming for the exam and mentioning how he has limited hours at school to use the grand piano, right? Well, the old owner used to play piano, and had one in the shop in the corner. But when he left and passed on the shop, it started collecting dust and wasn't getting used. It probably went out of tune, and it definitely made me sad seeing it all lonely (and made me miss the owner), but I wasn't about to sell it either. I end up blocking it off with standing dividers, and using those as a board for upcoming events around the city and to hang posters.

But it's now Monday, and all I can think about is what Solomon said. I'm zoning out, staring at the dividers when Lucifer walks in. He has to wave his hand in front of my face, effectively scaring me, but only because he called my name like three times and I didn't answer.

He scolds me, saying I should be more aware of my surroundings in case something happens. He asks out of curiosity why my shop was closed an extra day, and I sheepishly told him a vague version of Wednesday of how I was hanging out with another regular and Mammon at his cafe. How I lost track of time and fell behind. He raises an eyebrow. I feel like I'm dying of embarrassment.

He asks if that's why I was zoning out, because I was reminiscing, and I shrugged. I told him what Solomon said about piano time and then explained how I was thinking about the piano the old owner left, and the problems with it/why it's blocked off. Lucifer perks up considerably, and asks to see the piano. I'm extremely confused, but there's no one else shopping, so I move the dividers and show off the piano. "May I?" Lucifer asks, wanting to be respectful. I nod, watching curiously.

We both wince at the first note, and it's definitely out of tune. But Lucifer plays a small piece, and I've never seen him look so content. "I didn't know you played piano." "Ah, yes. It's a big passion of mine, but I don't have much time nowadays. I actually tried to teach one of my brothers to play, but he wasn't very interested." "Oh. Which one?" "Mammon, of course." "Mammon... Can play the piano?" "I wouldn't say he knows, but you could ask him to play. If it's for you, I'm sure he would try. If you'll allow me to fix this piano for you, that is." "Wait, what?!" "Hm? Was I not clear enough? I can fix this for you, I take care of my own at home. And then you can tell your friend he can use it. Or is that not what you were aiming for?" "No, this is- Lucifer, thank you so much. I swear, I'll hunt down a really cool record for you as thanks!" "I'm simply doing a favor for another music lover. There's no need to repay me." "Too bad, because I'm doing it anyway. Also... What did you mean by 'if it's for you'?" "If you haven't figured it out now, you will in due time. I'll be back tomorrow when you open to fix it." "Huh- LUCIFER !! YOU CAN'T SAY CRYPTIC SHIT LIKE THAT!! What the hell does that mean anyway?"

I think when Luci checks in on Mammon at the cafe, he either asks about the regulars, or Mammon tells him about them unprompted. And both mine and Solomon's name keep popping up. Mammon's ears turn red when he's talking about us I bet.

okay I'm done aaa. Next is the horror night idea? Maybe? Also I googled if you could tune a piano yourself, and one result said getting it done by a professional could cost upwards of $300. 😭 Luci definitely does his own maintenance to save money.

- ✨ anon

Phew, I'm relieved to know you are saving everything because I'm like listen you gotta keep track of these things you're putting in the ask box!! LOL!

Oh my gosh the synced group chat situation is so crazy like who came up with that? My nieces keep changing the family group chat. It was Chicken Nuggets for the longest time... I don't remember what it is now, they had like a group chat renaming battle with my brother-in-law and I stopped keeping track. Anyway, sorry for that tangent!!

I love the idea that you didn't know it did that and changed the group name to my dumbasses, that's adorable!

Trust Solomon to come up with something so specific but that still works for everyone... he's so funny I love him.

OH NO the calculator and crossed out heart is SO CUTE I'm dead.

Okay so as a piano person, I can tell you that tuning a piano is no easy task & a lot of times, you gotta hire the professional because you run the risk of messing it up. (This is also why they charge so much - 'cause they got that knowledge lol.) And the older the piano, the more difficult it is to tune it or fix it up. It'd probably need to be cleaned out too, possibly have repairs and parts replaced. It likely needs a full restoration or refurbishment.

The thing about these kinda details, though, is that it's really up to you how you wanna go about it! It's a story, you can easily just say Lucifer did all the necessary training and that takes care of that. You could also say the piano itself is not that old and only needs tuning rather than a full restoration.

It's the magic of ~fiction~! Plus unless your readers know about pianos, they likely won't even register this lol. I just happen to know about it, so.

Anyway, I really like the idea of Lucifer getting involved and doing something nice like that - he cares about everybody and wants to see you guys get together hee hee!

Uh oh horror night?? I'm worried about Mams lol!

[eleanorbloom]

Home (Trystan Thorne x MC)

Book: Crimes of Passion Pairing: Trystan Thorne x F!MC (Amelia Rose)

Rating: Teen Warnings: Language. Words: 2,100.

Summary: What happens inside Trystan's head when Amelia found belladis for him (Book 1 Chapter 11).

A/N: I can't believe I'm doing this. I told myself I would only play some Choices books and not write any fics because life is messy enough, but I just fell in love with Trystan Thorne (hard not to) and loved the belladi scene so fucking much, that I had to write something about it. Honestly, that scene is one of the most beautiful things a MC has done for a LI. It was so sweet and considerate, I just needed to add the proper sappiness, as usual. This is my first fic outside Open Heart, and I haven't written something in English in about a year and a half, so I apologize for the rustiness. Whoever takes the time to read this, thank you so much! I can't wait to catch up with the content you have written for this gorgeous person ❤️

Tagging @choicesficwriterscreations to get some boost. I'm not sure who else wants to be tagged in future works, if there's any.

____

Home.

Even after eight years, New York has never felt like home. 

A penthouse crammed with people. With music, laughter, booze, men, women, sex, poker, gambles. Not even all the fun in the world has made Trystan feel it like home. 

Not even her sister. Mag’s the only thing he has left from both his family and Drakovia, and yet, even if he adores her, he can't remotely feel close to home when she’s around. She only evokes the melancholy of not being at home.

  The Agency, on the other hand, feels like a community to him. A place with an unusual sense of belonging. Where people appreciate him for him, not for what his title is or where he comes from. The banter, the shared coffees, the theories, the mutual help. It’s all a comfortable space that makes him feel useful for the first time in a long time. It has given him a purpose.

And Amelia… Amelia soon has started to feel like something he had never experienced before. A warm and enveloping sensation every time he sees her. And it’s not just because of the fire that lights up her eyes in every action she does seeking justice,  or because they have been spending an incalculable amount of time together in the past weeks, so it could be said he’s been getting accustomed to her presence.

No.

It's because of the sincerity in everything she does and says. The purpose in all she does. This is not just a job, it’s her true calling. And the confirmation just keeps appearing before his eyes day after day. With every theory she makes, with every risk she takes.

And it’s also in the sincerity she calls him out every day. The way she calls him annoying at least ten times a day and the ten times a day he silently agrees, but keeps doing it because he likes the way his brown eyes roll in weariness, but a moment later melt into subtle amusement, letting him know she actually likes how annoying he is. Her smirk confirms it.

Besides his sister, Trystan has never met a person who confronts him the way Amelia does, and much less that the same person who does it, still chooses to spend day after day with him. 

He has never met a person who had trusted him with her life. Even after telling her his fault in Juliana’s death.

Being around Amelia makes him be the closet he is at heart. What he truly is. Without pretending, without showing off to prove something. Without having to slow down to be taken seriously. Or having to do grand gestures just to fit in the Prince stereotype. Even if they bicker, even if Amelia groans at him every two seconds, he knows she appreciates him just for the way he is. Otherwise she would’ve gotten rid of him the very first day he hired the Agency.

That’s why Trystan prefers to take a walk by Central Park with her instead of resting at his penthouse, or partying with some ‘friends’.

That’s the reason why just strolling by her side is enough for him. Just walking and bantering about his million qualities and fancy abilities, or watching Amelia twirling around him while Fiera races behind her. It’s simple but it’s everything to him right now. 

And that’s why having a bagel with avocado and a fried egg sitting on a bench, is the best lunch he has had in a long while. Topping the most fancy shit he had ever had.

 “Do you ever miss it?” Amelias asks, seeing the subtle longing in his eyes as he talks about  Drakovia.

“It’s not worth thinking about”, he answers, shrugging.

“So, yes?” She insists.

“...Sometimes.” He confesses. He does miss it, but for once in his life the answer doesn’t sting like before. For once he prefers to be precisely right where he is instead of somewhere else. “This just reminded me we have a place like this in Drakkos. The People's Garden. I used to get belladi there as a child.”

“Belladi?” She inquires, curiously. 

“It's a Drakovian dessert. A bit like  a scone, with sort of a melty Cadbury egg in the middle, topped with a dusting of sugar.” Even if there have been years, he could taste the sweetness of that first bite every time he tried one. 

“Sounds delicious”. 

Trystan sighs wistfully, watching some kids racing a few feet from them. His feelings haven’t changed, he prefers to be right where he is, but he does wish to have a belladi right now in his hands. 

“They are. But I've never found them anywhere else. No sense brooding over it…”

Trystan can see from the corner of his eye how Amelia looks silently at him for a moment, thinking. 

“You know what? I agree,” Amelia says as she hops to her feet, “No sense brooding over it. I'm gonna get you that dessert.” 

Trystan turns to her, taken aback with her declaration. He would've expected a change in the topic to make him feel better, probably an invitation to try some new pastry to satiate his thirst for something sweet. But not this. 

“I’ve just told you. I have looked” Although he is surprised by her intention, it doesn’t crack the hopelessness he feels about it. There’s no way he will try a belladi ever again.

“If it exists, you can find it in New York. You’re just not looking hard enough,” she gives him a wink, “Lucky for you, you're in the presence of a detective” she adds playfully, pointing with her head towards the path that leads back to the food stands.

But the glint in her eyes tells him this is more than some detectivesque challenge, a treasure hunt. This is a different kind of fire than the one that drives her daily. There’s something else. And for some reason it makes his heart flutter.

Amelia makes him go back to the vendors and asks every single one of them if they have heard about a place where they could make drakovian food. For about half an hour, they only encounter shook heads and apologizing looks, until finally a woman at the end of the park, clues them in of a food truck in the 82nd. 

Trystan hadn't had his hopes high in all that time. He didn't want to be disappointed. Yet he was feeling very grateful to Amelia for trying. But the moment the woman tells them she had heard there was a truck with drakovian food but that had moved out of the park, something warmed up inside him just like when he was a kid. 

The sun is going down by the time they make it to 82nd Street. Trystan cannot contain his smile when the man behind the window recognizes him and then, after taking a selfie with him, starts to prepare the pastry.

“I must admit that, even if I have never doubted that you are an impressive detective, I really thought you wouldn't find it" he confesses somewhat regretfully, “You can add “dessert hunting” to your resume now”.

“I know, I'm truly impressive, am I?” Amelia says, almost only to herself, “I never doubted myself, but making this happen feels really, really amazing”. Suddenly, Amelia giggles, clapping her hands in excitement. “I'm so glad you are going to get that belladi you so much wanted”.

Trystan grins, amused, because he had never heard her laugh like that, like a child. And that sole view touches him deeply in his heart. To be able to see another side of Amelia. A side less tough and more effusive. And he feels somewhat more grateful than he already was.

A few minutes later, the man behind the window reaches to give them the belladis plus some bitter drink to enhance the flavor of the pastry. Both content with the food, take it to a quiet stoop a few feet away and take a seat to enjoy the much awaited delicacies. 

Trystan groans full of pleasure the moment the belladi melts in his tongue. 

“Oh my god, this is even better than I imagined”.

He feels shivers down his spine as the sweet flavor invades him along with some of his best childhood memories. 

Happy and truly thankful for the gesture, Trystan turns to thank Amelia for the crusade she put herself in just to get him a belladi, absolutely convinced she would be wolfing down the pastry just as he was. But instead, he caught her watching him with a wistful smile and warm eyes.

The moment their eyes meet, Amelia hurries to take the pastry and engulfs her mouth with it.

“Woow, yes, indeed, this is amazing,” she says, hastily, her cheeks evidently blushed. 

“Yeah”, he sighs, trying to contain a chuckle. 

That was just the confirmation he needed to convince himself that all that wasn’t just about proving herself being an amazing detective. A personal challenge.

This was for him.

Who would walk almost the whole damn Central Park just to prove a point? Well, she would. But no one offers to find it in the first place just to prove a point. She could prove herself with anything else. But something that seemed too personal for him? 

Only Amelia would take the challenge just to get him the damn belladi and calm his homesickness. 

She might look tough and cold, but she was the most considerate person when it came to the people she cared about. So, acting like that meant that she… Trystan stops himself right at that moment, trying not to jump out to conclusions. 

But he just cannot shake the idea off his head. So he searches for her hand and takes it in his.

“What?”

And then lifts it to his lips, as Amelia doesn't seem to oppose. 

“Thank you”, he says, staring directly into her chocolate eyes, charged with intention, meaning and candor. 

She blushes again, more profusely, then shakes her head, "It’s nothing". 

 “Uh-uh,”  Trystan stands up and turns her body to him, still holding her hand, “You know how difficult it is for me to be away from home. That I can’t go back there. You saw that I miss it, and when you found there was a tiny chance to make me feel like home, you took it and made it possible. It's not nothing, Amelia.”

She looks at him, serious, her eyes glistening. 

“I hate to see you sad, missing home, because you don’t deserve it, you don't deserve anything that has happened to you, so I had… I had to try at least, to find you this something that you were missing so much, even if it was a goddamn pastry”. 

He gives her the most dazzling smile she has ever seen, it was almost blinding.

“Thank you. Thank you, Amelia. I really mean it.”

And without giving it a second thought, he embraced her, tightly but delicately, his arms around the small of her back, his cheek pressed to her head, his nose feeling the critic scent of her chestnut hair. Amelia stands frozen for a few seconds, petrified, before giving in to the embrace, crossing both arms around his back, grasping the silk fabric of his shirt, smiling softly. 

“You're very welcome, Trystan,” she says in a tiny voice. 

What if he was wrong all along? Or maybe he was just looking in the wrong places. About home.

Maybe he thought home would always be the same place, that place in the past he couldn’t return. Drakovia. But even if someday there was a chance he could return, he knows it will never be the same. It was now tainted with bittersweet memories and grief.

Maybe home turns into something different once he finds a new place with happy memories.

Maybe home is not always a place but a person, or a pastry.

Maybe a truck with belladi.

Or maybe a person leading him to a truck with belladis.

Or maybe a person who would do anything to get him a belladi, just to see him happy. 

As the sun goes completely down and the purple sky reflects on the skyscrapers of 82nd Street, Trystan sighs happily, contendly, peacefully, for finally being home. 

The Detective Amelia Rose had helped him to find more than belladis that afternoon. 

She helped him find his home. 

Her. 

Amelia.

[apprenticestanheight]

The Last Star in the Galaxy- Viktor x gn! reader

Requests for Viktor are open! 

Fic type- this is really, it’s just--it’s severely heartachy fluff. I really needed a good cry and didn’t want to write angst so I wrote this instead

Warnings- this hasn’t been proofread

Throughout the decade that your relationship had gone on, you’d grown used to seeing two different sides of Viktor. In the workplace, affection was rare. 

A kiss to your cheek in passing on a particularly bad day, the use of ‘my love’ when mentioning you or asking you to pass him something were the only things of it that were commonplace. 

As the two of you left, Viktor would take your hand, interlace your fingers, and listen to you discuss the happenings of the day while the two of you were not either together or within close enough proximity. The moment you two were home, Viktor didn’t shy from pressing a kiss to your hand or telling you that he loved you, offering a sweater he’d bought with the intent of allowing you to ‘steal’ it. 

Weekends off were a rarity not often given to employees, but that didn’t mean that there weren’t patches of the day that were particularly slow. It was during one of these slower periods that you heard Viktors voice. 

“Dance with me, love,” he said. You looked up from the notes you were revising--his notes, to be precise. A set of things he’d jotted while observing the Hexcore only the pervious day--and scoffed at him, though you smiled as you did.

“To what music?” You asked.

“The music of our hearts, perhaps,” Viktor said before noticing the gramophone which had been placed in the farthest right corner of the room. It was one that Mel worked in from time to time, and she’d once told you that she kept it around in case she or yourself happened to want to listen to music to have something to bask in rather than the total silence otherwise. “Or your choice of the vinyls that Mel has bought for the gramophone.” 

You stood, rifling through her collection for a few minutes before landing on one you’d liked. You set it onto the gramophone, set the needle in the right spot, and grinned as you met Viktor near a desk. 

He wrapped an arm around your waist, the other one holding his crutch and keeping him upright. You rested your arms on either of his shoulders, the two of you beginning to sway to the melody.

“You missed me, Vik?” You asked. “Even during the slower parts of our days, you don’t normally come in asking me to dance.” 

“Yes, actually,” Viktor said. “We rarely get weekends off. We work twelve hours sometimes, sleep for eight. That’s four hours of me getting to admire you crammed into a day. I’ve missed you more and more lately, and I’ve decided to stop using the slower parts of our days to sit and do nothing. Dancing, talking, being in the same room as you, I need it to keep myself sane, I think.” 

“I’m not complaining at all,” you said. “I just--I was a bit taken aback, at first. You’re not quite the type to show affection in a work setting.”

“Jayce tends to tease me the moment I do more than glance lovingly at you when you’re not looking,” he said. “I can’t be bothered to care about it anymore, really. I can’t keep staring at my notepad wondering why the answers won’t come out of thin air. I can, however, take the time to spend it with you. Otherwise, most of the time we’ll have spent together will have been while we slept. Our work-life balance is pretty terrible.” 

You laughed. “Mhm. I agree with that, and I thank you for dancing with me at all. I love you so much, Vik.”

Viktor took a step closer, and suddenly, he was so close that you could feel his breath as he breathed in, out, against your lips. 

“I will love you until the last star in our galaxy dies out,” The words were followed by Viktor leaning back, resting his cane against the edge of the desk. He cupped your face in his hands for a moment, lips ghosting near your forehead until he felt you nod.

He pressed his lips to your forehead, allowing them to stay there for a long few moments as the two of you basked in what could only have been described as the purest form of contentment either of you had ever felt.

He pulled away, pulling you into a hug moments later.

“I love you,” he said. “I love you so much.” And really, truly, he did. He’d loved you since the two of you were eighteen and at the Piltover Academy together. He’d loved you when you were twenty-two and graduating with grins on your faces. He’d known he would love you for the rest of his life when he took Jayce with him to shop for an engagement ring at twenty six, needing a second opinion. You were the love of his life at twenty-seven as you said your ‘I do’s. You were the love of his life at thirty, as the two of you stood, wrapped in each others arms in the middle of an office space, a song playing faintly in the background. 

“I love you too,” you said. “Until the last star in our galaxy dies out.” The two of you pulled away as you said the words, and Viktor only grinned, pressing a quick, light kiss to your lips in response.

As Viktor ran a thumb across your cheek, catching a tear that’d skated down it in your moment of perfection, the office door opened.

“I knew you two were off being cute somewhere,” Jayce said with a laugh. Heimerdinger grinned, flexing his hands twice before moving them behind his back. “Heimerdinger wanted both of you to consult on a project he’s been working on. I offered to help him locate you two, and we’ve been looking for the better part of thirty minutes.”

“You’ve met your soulmate, Viktor,” Heimerdinger said. “They’re rare. Don’t happen often, but I really think the two of you were meant to be. I do request your council for this idea, but after, you two may go home. Enjoy the rest of the day to yourselves.”

Viktor cast a look at you as his hands moved from your face, one taking hold of your free hand, interlacing your fingers. 

“Thank you, Heimerdinger,” you said. 

He shook his head, pointing a finger in Viktors direction. “Until the last star in the galaxy dies is a very important vow. I expect you to keep it to them. Your partnership has done incredible things for Piltover. I don’t need that being messed with.”

Viktor laughed, a look of shock coming to his features. “How did you--”

“My hearing is impeccable. Now, if you will, our meeting will occur in my office.” 

Viktor and you both left, hands interlaced. As Jayce closed the door, Viktor pressed a kiss to your temple, feeling his heart fill with the love he felt, just as it always did when he looked at you. 

“I love you,” he mouthed as the two of you walked into Heimerdingers office.

“I love you too, Vik,” you mouthed back. “I vowed that I always would, and I don’t intend to break that any time soon.” 

Viktor let in the contentment he felt in that moment, knowing his words rang true.

You were the love of his life, really and truly. You’d be the one to hold such a candle until the last star in the galaxy finally died. There was no denying that. 

[ticklish-n-stuff]

Profile Tag Game

Hello: I'm Sakura! No offense, but umm... why do you want to talk to me? Haha! That was awkward... but jokes aside, let's strive to have a pleasant chat!~

Chat: Tickling - Do I like tickling? Well... yeah. It's been one of my "special" interests for as long as I can remember. W-why are you looking at me like that...?

Chat: Psychology - I don't get passionate about many things, but this, this is something I'm sure of.

Chat: Music - When my emotions can't get put into words, listening to music helps gather my thoughts.

When it Rains: I never understood how nature sounds can be relaxing. I just automatically tune out the noise.

After the Rain: Ugh, it's gonna get real cold tonight. Make sure to bundle up well, don't want our joints hurting now, haha!

When Thunder Strikes: *gasp* S-sorry, I get easily startled...

When it Snows: Snow...? I've never seen it myself. Although, I doubt my body could handle it.

When the Sun is Out: Hngh... my eyes are weak to such intense light...

When the Wind is Blowing: Even when I cut my hair shorter, it still brushes against my ears and neck! It tickles so bad... Don't laugh at me, haha!

Good Morning: Morning already...? Ugh... How do I get out of bed?

Good Afternoon: Can I nap already, pleaseeeee? I promise I'll do my work later.

Good Evening: It's evening, y'know what that means... Time to suddenly feel somewhat energetic and cram everything I didn't do during my day!

Good Night: Every night without fail, I'll daydream about my interests until I fall asleep.

About Sakura: Physical affection - I'm not the most touchy person out there, but that doesn't mean I'm against receiving it!

About Sakura: Relationships - I recently learned that I value my friendships more over romantic relationships, although I'm still a sucker for crappy romcoms.

About Sakura: Perception - It always baffles me when people describe me diferently as to how I view myself. It probably comes off as attention seeking, but I genuinly don't get it.

Something to Share: Language - My main language is actually spanish! Although I prefer to speak english, much easier hehe.

Interesting things: Growing up - Growing up is much less scarier than what other people make it out to be. Could've saved me the extra anxiety, haha!

Sakura's Hobbies: I don't open up about my hobbies much because of past judgement. But essentially, I like to play videogames and write. Sometimes I'll read or watch shows if I'm not too tired.

Sakura's Troubles: What troubles me...? Haha! Hahahaha! Where do I even begin?

Favorite Food: I could eat pasta every day of my life and die happy.

Least Favorite Food: I'm not really sure. I tend to dislike most foods based on texture more than taste.

About @xsezzie : Sezzie is such a sweet and caring person, I'm so glad I get to call her my friend. I wouldn't trade all those talks about MEN for anything, hehe~

About @nervousswitch : At first, I wasn't too fond of being viewed as a big sister, but Ariy has made me enjoy it, not gonna lie.

About @kairoscler : It's kinda crazy to think that Kairo showed up randomly one day in my ask box talking about lee Rui, and now we have such a strong bond.

About @lovinglyroses : Lucy is my platonic soulmate!~ But in all seriousness, I'm so glad to be friends with such a ray of sunshine.

About @practickles : Those thoughtful conversations I've had with Catet will forever reign in my heart.

About @jackytickles : With Jack, there's never a dull moment. He's one of the few people I'd go out of my way to hug.

About @azureyemberzz : Being friends with Amber is a rollercoaster of emotions. I don't like rollercoasters, but reaching the end makes it all worth it.

-

Ty Sezzie for tagging me, this was fun to do (^○^)💖

Tagging: @kittyfluffies @jackytickles @duckymcdoorknob @kaerichan-yatta @kairoscler @lovinglyroses @practickles @azureyemberzz and anyone who wants to do it!

[nighttimeebony]

Reactions to The Last Olympian. Spoilers under the cut. And warning: long-ass post ahead.

EDIT: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

Yay, Rachel’s back! I like that Percy is able to have a mortal friend.

Paul is cool.

Look, I love Rachel, but why does there have to be a goddamn love triangle? Percy likes Annabeth, Annabeth likes Percy, you’ve already put the work into making me like them and we all know they’re going to be endgame, so why does there have to be so much fucking romantic drama? Can’t Percy and Rachel just be friends without the weird romantic tension? This whole plot is busy enough on its own without you trying to shove something else in at the last minute just because you’re bored, RICK.

Wow, Percy really doesn’t get to have any downtime, does he? My boy’s really on “save the world o’clock” time at all times.

Yay, Beckendorf! I love you!

OH MY GOD AND HE’S ACTUALLY DATING SILENA???!!!! Oh, that makes me so happy!! I love that my little background crackship is actually canon! And the fact that they were apparently Camp Half-Blood’s “yeah, we know” ship is hilarious and I love life right now.

Ooh, bombs.

Wait. No. No no no no no no no stop

FUCKING STOP, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!

WHY?!?!? WHY DID BECKENDORF HAVE TO DIE?!? RICK!!! WHY??!!! WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME

I can’t even be happy that Tyson is here, I’m already so fucking depressed and it’s your fault, Rick.

Oh, hey, Triton. Which, fun fact, since Triton is Ariel’s father in the Disney movie, this means that (in the Disney canon at least) Hercules and Ariel are canonically cousins. So, hypothetically speaking, Percy would be related to the Disney princess Ariel, which you can’t convince me he doesn’t brag and joke about all the time.

“[Poseidon] had told me that I would know when to ‘spend [the sand dollar],’ but so far I hadn’t figured out what he meant. All I knew was that it didn’t fit the vending machines in the school cafeteria.” I love that the implication behind this is that Percy actually tried. He took this mysterious magic sand dollar that the god of the sea gave him and told him to spend wisely and wait for the right time to use it, and one day while he was at school, this fucking mad lad child decided to just cram it in the vending machine just to see what would happen. Percy is amazing and if you don’t love him, you’re wrong.

“Annabeth ran in right behind him, and I’ll admit my heart did a little relay race in my chest when I saw her. It’s not that she tried to look good… Still, just seeing her made me feel fuzzy in the head.” Actually screaming.

Clarisse’s friendship with Silena makes me so fucking happy. Clarisse is softer than she wants people to know and I love that about her. She’s so gentle with the people she loves and I’m here for it.

“Chiron and Annabeth exchanged looks, like they knew something that I didn’t. I hated when they did that.” Understandable. It happens a lot.

Oh, I recognize the name Chrysaor. Such a random reference, I love it.

JUST ADMIT YOU LIKE EACH OTHER YOU FRUITCAKES

“We headed downstairs to join the others. I didn’t know it then, but it would be the last time I ever visited the attic.” You know, Percy says something along these lines in every one of the books leading up to this one, and you’d think that I would learn to stop freaking out every time we get one of these lines, but you’d be wrong. Still getting anticipatory nausea and anxiety.

"The mountain tore itself apart, collapsing inward, and an enormous form rose out of the smoke and lava like it was emerging from a manhole." Typhon?!?!?! Do we have to deal with Typhon now too?!

Well shit, I guess we have to deal with Typhon now. Yeah, okay, sure, I don’t mind or anything.

“As far as I could tell, Rachel’s only rule about music was that no two songs on her i-Pod could sound the same, and they all had to be strange.” Hey, Rachel and I have the same music library.

Wait, so Rachel’s getting future vision dreams now too? But she’s not a half-blood, right? I thought only demi-gods got prophetic dreams.

Where the hell is Nico? What has he been doing this whole time? Just chilling in hell with dead people? And what even is his plan and why is it bad?

I think Silena is my new favorite character. Eating chocolates she doesn’t even like to try and cheer herself up is so horribly sad and depressingly relatable.

Percabeth!

“I shuffled uneasily and pretended to go through some more reports. Technically, even on inspection, it was against the rules for two campers to be… like, alone in a cabin.” I see what you’re implying, Rick, and I’m laughing.

“And I know some of you might be thinking, Aren’t all demigods related on the godly side, and doesn’t that make dating gross? But the thing is, the godly side of your family doesn’t count, genetically speaking, since gods don’t have DNA. A demigod would never think about dating someone who had the same godly parent. Like two kids from Athena cabin? No way. But a daughter of Aphrodite and a son of Hephaestus? They’re not related. So it’s no problem.” This is exactly how I predicted half-blood dating works, and it absolutely did not need to be addressed, but I kind of love that it was. It’s probably only funny to me because I was talking to my friend about this exact topic during school, and I made a “god incest chart” on a whiteboard so I could figure out if Percabeth would be considered incest. We eventually decided no, but still. My other non-pjo fanatic friends definitely started to question my sanity after that.

OH MY GOD! Is something gonna happen?! Are they finally going to confess?! Please, God, just give me this!

FUCKING GODDAMMIT, RICK!!! YOU CAN’T KEEP BLUE-BALLING ME LIKE THIS OR I’M GONNA RIP YOUR HAIR OUT

Oh, yeah, where the hell is Grover?

Wow, Annabeth really going for the throat here.

Aww, giant hell puppy

Nico!

Aww, of course Nico is sweet with the hell puppy

“Leneus’s knees started knocking. ‘I… I won’t answer questions with this hellhound sniffing my tail!’ Nico looked like he was trying not to crack up. ‘I’ll walk the dog,’ he volunteered. He whistled, and Mrs. O’Leary bounded after him to the far end of the grove.” I love this child. This child is my spirit animal.

Aww, Nico likes Juniper. That’s kind of adorable.

“[Nico’s] cold creepy smile made me sorry I’d agreed.” Have I mentioned I love this child?

Okay, shadow travel is the coolest thing ever, and definitely one of the coolest powers you could give to a child of Hades.

Everything with Luke’s mom… Oh, that’s horrible. I can’t imagine having to come to the realization that your own parent isn’t entirely there, especially at so young.

Little girl… not a monster… and something to do with fire… Shit, I got nothing.

HESTIA! Goddammit… I should’ve known that one.

I like that Percy refers to both Paul and Sally as his parents.

I really like Paul. I love it when step-parents are portrayed in a positive light, ‘cause I’ve got a step-dad too, and he’s more of a dad to me and my brother than my biological father.

Percy telling Sally that his signal to let her know he’s alright will be blue just about broke me. Fuck.

Orpheus!

The black figure Grover saw—I know him. Hypnos, the god of dreams. He’s a twin brother to Thanatos, the god of death. I think in some versions, Hypnos is actually female, but most people seem to agree that Hypnos is a male deity.

MOTHERFUCKER! Okay, so not Hypnos. Morpheus. I guess that makes more sense. *one google search later* Okay, I was kind of right. Morpheus is the son of Hypnos, and while Hypnos is the personification of sleep, Morpheus is the god of dreams and also has the ability to put people to sleep like Hypnos. Close, but no cigar sadly.

Nico! Why would you trick Percy?? If you just told Percy that Hades wanted to talk to him, he probably would’ve agreed, you didn’t have to lie to him.

PERSEPHONE!!!!!! And Demeter!

Demeter being a massive bitch about Persephone choosing to marry Hades is so on-brand and perfect. And that line about marrying the god of lawyers or doctors—oh my God this book is amazing.

Can we have an entire book about Hades and Persephone, please? This entire scene with all three of them is golden.

Why does Hades suck? Why did you do this to me? I had faith in you, Rick.

WHY IS PERSEPHONE SO INDIFFERENT TO ALL OF THIS?!?!??!!

ACHILLES!!!!! Wait, isn’t Achilles supposed to be blond?

Is it a coincidence that one of Greece’s most famous gay icons now stands before Nico di Angelo?

ANNABETH IS PERCY’S LIFELINE!!!! HIS TETHER, THE THING THAT KEEPS HIM HUMAN!!!!!! ToT DOES ANYONE HAVE ANY GLASS I CAN EAT

Holy fucking shit…… River Styx magic doesn’t fuck around.

Percy going on a murder rampage and nearly stabbing the god of the underworld because they threatened his dog is honestly such a mood.

*GASP* Baby Annabeth!

“The god looked at Annabeth, who was doing her big-pleading-gray-eyes thing.” The fact that Annabeth leverages puppy-dog eyes is hilarious, and the fact that Percy is so familiar with it by now implies that she’s done it on him before and that it apparently works! Oh my God, I love these children.

Also, Athena being an overprotective mother who doesn’t approve of Percy is just… Have I mentioned I love this book?

“‘This is a huge spell,’ Silena Beauregard said. ‘The bigger the spell, the easier it is to resist. If you want to sleep millions of mortals, you’ve got to cast a very thin layer of magic. Sleeping demigods is much harder.’” Yeah, that makes sense. Since the spell is bigger and spread across a greater number of people, it’s less concentrated than it would be if you wanted to just knock out two or three people.

The Hermes Cabin is just an army of Weasleys. (PJO Harry Potter au where the Weasleys are all children of Hermes and Harry is a son of Zeus when?)

“‘I’ll go with Percy,’ [Annabeth] said. ‘Then we’ll join you, or we’ll go wherever we’re needed.’ Somebody in the back of the group said, ‘No detours, you two.’ There were some giggles, but I decided to let it pass.” Everyone knows Percy and Annabeth are completely obsessed with each other.

“The girl in the lead had spiky black hair and a black leather jacket. She wore a silver circlet on her head like a princess’s tiara, which didn’t match her skull earrings or her Death to Barbie T-shirt showing a little Barbie doll with an arrow through its head.” Have I mentioned that I love Thalia? Goth-punk icon for the generations.

This is so fucking epic. I love the fast-paced battle planning stuff.

Michael Yew has a brother named Austin. I have a brother named Austin.

Percabeth. There’s that light-hearted snarky banter I’ve been craving.

Oh, yeah, since Percy’s fighting the Minotaur right now, I figured I’d make a reminder here that I forgot to write down in my first reaction post to the Lightning Thief. In the original mythology, the Minotaur was killed by Theseus, who was also, coincidentally, a son of Poseidon, so Percy slaying the Minotaur is kind of like a mirror to the original myth, even though he’s named after Perseus. But also I thought this was a good time to remind everybody that the Minotaur’s mother Pasiphae had sex with the Cretan Bull, an actual animal. Which, fun fact, is because Poseidon arranged for Aphrodite to put a spell on Pasiphae to make her fall in love with the bull. Kind of awkward that the Minotaur is technically Poseidon’s fault, and now Percy is the one that has to deal with the consequences.

“Tied around the base of each blade were lots of bead necklaces. I realized they were Camp Half-Blood beads—necklaces taken from defeated demigods.” Holy shit, that is dark. We’re really going there, huh, Rick?

Percy is a first-class badass.

Having all the monsters disintegrate when they die is a pretty clever way to avoid having to show actual blood and gore.

ANNABETH!!!!!!!!!!

“‘Percy?’ Silena Beauregard sounded like she’d been crying. ‘Plaza Hotel. You’d better come quickly and bring a healer from Apollo’s cabin. It’s… it’s Annabeth.’” NO!!! NO NO NO NO NO NO DO NOT DO THIS TO ME!! I SWEAR TO FUCK IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO ANNABETH I’M GOING TO SET MY HOUSE ON FIRE

“‘Get back!’ I slashed the air in a wide arc, driving the rest of the demigods away from Annabeth. ‘No one touches her!’” This. All of this.

Will Solace. I found the other gay one, but I can’t even be excited about that because ANNABETH IS PROBABLY GOING TO FUCKING DIE

Even when Annabeth has actual poison in her system, she cannot resist the opportunity to tease Percy for being worried about her. I’m deeply upset, but I still love them as a couple.

This entire scene is everything. Annabeth touching Percy’s weak spot—this is easily the most romantic thing I have ever read, and I read fanfiction for a hobby.

Okay, someone really needs to find this spy because they are wreaking shit and hard

I have no idea who the spy could even be. My first thought was Silena because of how prominent a character she is, but not only does that not make sense, but that would also be a fucking horrible idea. I don’t need to hurt anymore than I already do right now.

Wow. Holy shit, Nico’s life is a fucking tragedy. This child needs all the therapy after this. I’m not thrilled with this portrayal of Persephone, but it is what it is and it is fucking depressing.

What is going on with Rachel? She knows Greek now?? What is happening???

Oh, hey, Prometheus

*after learning about Luke's backstory* I can smell the redemption arc.

I feel I should mention that in the original myth, Pandora was the first woman and was created by Zeus specifically to make men's lives harder as punishment for Prometheus giving man fire, because Ancient Greece was sexist as all fuck.

HOLY SHIT!!! Percy is a first-class badass!!

Okay, so, Hyperion getting absorbed into a tree is prime nightmare fuel.

(Also, I was listening to We Will Rock You as I read this scene, which I feel is pretty apt.)

"'Yeah, baby!' a voice wailed. 'PARTY!'" Ah, I see the centaurs have joined the chat.

"The last part was because a panicked Hyperborean giant stumbled backward and sat on top of him. The lord of time disappeared under a giant blue butt." Only in Percy Jackson can you expect to read a sentence like this.

I love Dionysus being weirdly invested in Pac-Man of all things. That entire conversation between him and Percy in the bar was absolutely hysterical. Percy is such a snarky little shit and I love any interaction between him and Dionysus. It’s like watching two smart-asses trying to out-roast the other.

Sally and Paul!

Oh, no. Oh, this fucking hurts.

That fucking jar! Goddammit!

Rachel!

Annabeth, stop acting like Rachel isn’t already your friend now too. We established that last book, remember? You guys are nerd friends now.

YAS, ANNABETH! Girl held onto the outside of a crashing helicopter, and after pulling herself in, somehow managed to make sense of the controls and not only stopped the helicopter from crashing into a building, but also pulled it out of the fall to turn in a circle and hover before landing it on a New York highway with other people nearby without hitting anything or hurting anyone else. And she did all of this while the helicopter was literally seconds from crashing. Also also, technically only hours after she was stabbed in the shoulder with a knife coated in poison. *slow clap* BAMF Annabeth Chase, everyone.

“Rachel plopped down on the curb and put her head in her hands. ‘I’m sorry, Percy. I didn’t mean to… I always mess things up.’ It was kind of hard to argue with her, though I was glad she was safe.” Jesus Christ, Percy. Annabeth’s abandonment issues and poor socialization skills are not Rachel’s fault. But I guess she did just fly headfirst into a literal warzone, so I guess Annabeth’s reaction is a bit more understandable.

“I looked in the direction Annabeth had gone, but she’d disappeared into the crowd. I couldn’t believe what she’d just done—saved Rachel’s life, landed a helicopter, and walked away like it was no big deal.” Yup. You picked a good one, Percy.

"'Everybody keeps telling me to sleep,' I grumbled. 'I don't need sleep.' Chiron managed a smile. 'Have you looked at yourself recently, Percy?'" Yeah, for real, when's the last time any of these kids slept?

"You can't just abandon your family because they did something horrible." Um. Yes. Yes, you absolutely can. The abuse victim says you can. (It's me, I'm the abuse victims, and I give you full permission to tell your family to go fuck themselves if they've ever done anything horrible to you.)

I get what the message is intended to be, and what Nico's trying to say: wanting revenge is a valid feeling to have, but holding grudges and holding onto that pain and fury will not actually make you feel any better. And by refusing to help the Olympians in the fight against Kronos, not only is Hades ultimately destroying himself, but he's also inadvertently aiding in the destruction of everyone else. Zeus is really the only one that deserves Hades's revenge, but at this point Hades isn't just hurting Zeus, he's hurting everyone, and when you cross the line of hurting innocent people in your quest to hurt the one that's actually guilty, your desire and quest for revenge is no longer justified. And if you've reached the point of hurting innocent people for no other reason than to make yourself feel better, then you really are no better than the person who hurt you in the first place. But none of this has anything to do with the so-called sanctity of "family".

We really need to find this fucking spy. They're running everything.

CLARISSE!!!!! YAY CLARISSE IS BACK!!!!!!

"Through her war helmet, I could only see her eyes—but I could tell something was wrong. Her blue eyes shone with fear. Clarisse never looked like that. And she didn't have blue eyes." Wait, what? What's going on????

"I looked down at the dying face of Silena Beauregard." WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!!????!!! WHY?!!??!!!??? WHY DID SILENA HAVE TO DIE?!??!! HAS SHE NOT BEEN THROUGH ENOUGH ALREADY?!??!!!

"Silena opened her hand. In her palm was a silver bracelet with a scythe charm, the mark of Kronos." WHAT

This entire chapter is literally nothing but pain.

"Standing at the foot of Zeus's throne, looking up at the stars, was Rachel Elizabeth Dare. She was holding a Greek ceramic vase." Oh no.

"[Rachel] focused on me as if she were coming out of a dream. 'I found it. It's Pandora's jar, isn't it?'" OH NO

"Her eyes were brighter than usual, and I had a bad flashback of moldy sandwiches and burned cookies." OH FUCK

"I picked up Pandora's jar. The spirit of Hope fluttered inside, trying to warm the cold container. 'Hestia,' I said, 'I give this to you as an offering.' The goddess tilted her head. 'I am the least of the gods. Why would you trust me with this?' 'You're the last Olympian,' I said." Title drop! It's all coming together!

This is the hypest thing I have read in years.

Chiron! Please don't die, I am literally begging you.

NICO'S BACK!

Everyone here is a fucking badass

Paul just stabbed a monster with a sword, and Sally fucking shot another one! In stories like these with divine powers and weapons that begin and end with stabbing, you are not expecting someone to just pull out a fucking gun and shoot the thing. I love this book.

"'Thalia!' Grover cried. When the dust cleared and the mountain stopped rocking, we found her still alive, but her legs were pinned under the statue." Holy fucking shit!

"Annabeth wipes her tears away. 'There was a time I thought… well, I thought…' She looked at me, like she was drinking in the fact that I was still here. And I realized I was doing the same thing. The world was collapsing, and the only thing that really mattered to me was that she was alive." Love. Just love. It's beautiful and heartbreaking and I love these kids so much and I'm so glad they found each other.

"I turned and faced the Olympians. 'We need a shroud,' I announced, my voice cracking. 'A shroud for the son of Hermes.'" I mean…… What can I even say?

Percy's wish is everything.

OKAY, WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING TO RACHEL?!??! Someone really needs to do something about this!

I love that Percy refers to Blackjack as his pegasus.

RAINBOW! <3

Oh! She has the gift of prophecy! Now that makes sense!

Wait. OH, FUCK!!

Okay, I'm glad Rachel is okay, but these fucking prophecies, man! We literally just got done with the Great Prophecy, but now there's another one we have to deal with?! Don't get me wrong, I'm still gonna read it and I'll probably love it, but still!

The moment when Percy and Annabeth finally get together is everything I ever hoped for, and it completely justifies every goddamn fake-out leading up to this point. I'm just so happy right now

That ending, man..... This book series is amazing. I'm so glad I was able to fall in love with it without knowing any significant spoilers. I cannot wait to read The Heroes of Olympus. Maybe I'll do a reaction series for that too.

[hils79]

Hils Watches The King's Avatar - Ep 35

I have the day off today so I'll probably have time for a couple more episodes than I usually watch. While it's tempting to cram in all 6 and finish it I probably won't do that but we'll see how it goes.

I am having a lot of feelings about these literal children having to raise themselves. I know shit like this happens a lot in the sports and idol industries and it makes me so sad. I know Ye Xiu got kicked out but where are Mucheng and Muqiu's family?

Also, yesterday @hphaeton pointed out that the voice actor dubbing Ye Xiu is the same person who dubbed Cheng Yi in Love and Redemption. It's so obvious now I know. I can't believe I didn't spot it before. He has a very nice voice.

Oh no he's crying again

Poor Mucheng this must be so hard for her too. It's like losing her brother all over again.

Oh no they're all blaming each other for the loss and it's making Ye Xiu Even Sadder. But, look, isn't this the first time they've actually lost a pro game? No team can win all the time this is something they're going to need to get used to. I'm sure Ye Xiu will teach them that.

Oh do NOT start lashing out at my son who is trying to keep the peace

Everyone is so upset. Also, that is a very Western breakfast they are eating

Look, obviously I love them all. But if you're going to suggest disbanding every time you lose a game then maybe you aren't suited to being a team. Take the loss, reflect, bounce back. That's what sport is. To make it All About Me when I first got into hockey my team of choice had one of the worst seasons ever seen. 5 years later they won the championship.

I shouldn't laugh when everyone is dramatically breaking up but Mo Fan is such a mood

He's tired and sad and that should be your rallying point. Unite to cheer him up and help him rebuild his weapon (which I'm assuming they will do when they get over all this)

Ye Xiu at least understands that they need more time to properly bond as a team. The latest member joined them right before the game that they lost.

NO THE GAMER GIRLFRIENDS HAVE BROKEN UP THIS IS TERRIBLE. They were my first ship in this drama 😭

I'm glad you've learned this lesson but you literally ran away from your esports team because you lost a competition and back to your piano school that you also ran away from because you lost a competition. We seem to be going in circles here.

So Tang Rou has gone back to music school and Wei Chen is selling his account. This is all feeling very permanent and I am Concerned

Oh, thank god. Baozi is there to (hopefully) stop him

How could anyone resist the puppy face

I love Baozi so much. He really is the heart of the team. He just wants to hang out with his friends and do the thing they all love whether they win or lose. I think he should just go around everyone and 🥺 at them until the agree to come back

Great now I'm crying

Well, fuck, he signed it anyway

Ow, shit, Mo Fan comes out of left field and kicks me right in the chest

God, he still looks so sad! Everyone is so sad and I hate it! If Yifan cries again I am done!

I can't believe this many journalists and photographers have shown up for one minor league esports team

No journalist ever has asked for proof in the middle of a press conference

Wu Chen of all people to the rescue. Holy shit!

To the surprise of no one Wu Chen's 'betrayal' was all just a big misunderstanding

I'm very sorry I called you a dirty cheater. Thank you for being the voice of reason

[mahuhumaling]

post velum;

textpost edition. a freeform poem about the journey of patpran.

🔗 — [visual edition.] [insp.] [x]

PRELUDE.

PROLOGUE

Let me not tell you a story about two households both alike in dignity, in fair Bangkok, where we lay our scene. And instead: about two boys, their hundred stop-it's, but-what-if's, and what-the-fuck-does-this-mean's; simultaneously flown and grounded by the passage of time.

And maybe a little bit of Fate.

THE ENGINEER

Picture fierce eyes, dark swept hair, and a natural affinity for people. He walks with such swagger and charm that makes you both remember and forget he's been Head of the Class for years. But don't let that fool you: despite always being sleeveless, he wears his heart on it.

THE ARCHITECT

A walking amalgamation of a question mark and an exclamation point, he is sarcasm embedded in a smirk that extends to deep dimples for most, a sketch book with a puzzle lock for some, and a thousand meters of ocean depth for him alone.

ACT I.

SCENE ONE

The plain black watch tells us we're doomed from the start. But shh. Do you hear that?

It rings to signal a start — to start it is, again, is to love and grieve at the same time, what we equally had and never could. What we really were and never allowed to be.

SCENE TWO

The universal truth is that the sky is blue. But I can also tell you without uncertainty that the day you stormed out with sunken eyes and parted lips with my father's words, that day, the sky was red.

SCENE THREE

Is it worth cutting yourself open over guitar strings? A stolen third wonton? How about a half-assed paper airplane? An imaginary corpse flower? The black instrument case or the makeshift pavillion sign? Or is it the million little things in between them all?

SCENE FOUR

The nightlight's smile looks like a teasing grin now, unsympathetic to the unwashed gray shirt, the shared blue sheets, and the space and warmth in between.

At least it's not bright enough to reveal tears pleading to fall.

ACT II.

SCENE FIVE

What are we? I search for it in the crevices of your mouth. What are we? In the years of distance between our flushed necks. What are we? In the cold rooftop railing full of want.

I can feel it start to rain. It's not the reason you walked away.

SCENE SIX

The only thing the salty water and air can heal is us.

SCENE SEVEN

I lost. I have been losing from the start. Have me.

SCENE EIGHT

It's in the third beer that the weighted truth sinks in. Everything else fades, including the mundane lies. The bang of the xylophone sticks don't quite strike like the drum, but it hits like it's stripping us off of untruths.

Red dropping.

ACT III.

SCENE NINE

Facing the music has never been this loud. An untouched football, a graze across the stomach, a few ragged breaths, and fingerprints obscuring a hidden venom.

Red dripping.

It can't get worse than this, right?

SCENE TEN

Guess not.

SCENE ELEVEN

The only thing the salty water and air can heal is us.

SCENE TWELVE

The strings of our tin cans were shrouded by a strong, lingering mist of guilt and misery, too many decades old to be pulled apart, so it stays. We also do. But it never rusts. We clean them regularly.

POSTSCRIPT.

EPILOGUE

We were doomed from the start. But shh. Just like writing plays, like writing songs, there are revisions. After all, this is our story, our song. We get to dictate who are part of it. We get to compose how the Coda sounds like.

Fate is not as cruel as we think she is.

INTERMISSION.

the Our Skyy 2 crossover.

SCENE 11.1

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the stupidest one of all? Is it you who insists on cramming every inch of yourself into the spaces I consume, or is it me who pushes you not to?

Because what happens if I get accustomed to it? What if I become so familiar with your fingertips on my arm that I caress the ghost of it when I eventually leave for two years? Even for a while, would the single bed and the sole toothbrush terrorize me awake?

Give me an apple. I'm getting on the bus to leave this doubt behind and seek answers.

In the throes of teasing, of pushing and pulling, Fate's shadows skirt around the edges of another story, waiting for you to collide.

THE FOREST RANGER

You see yourself in him, with the way he closes his arms and his heart. He is years ahead of you, but you can feel it: he is just as scared as you are, except his fear has worn down and dulled. When he says nothing, you go to sleep understanding the faraway look in his eye. It must be a fissure.

Afraid that someone will go in; begging for someone to go in.

(You're also pretty sure that not even Snow White got lost in the woods as long as this, not with a silent Huntsman by her side.)

THE TEACHER

He is also engineer — he is also impulsive and brash with the way he sways to and fro along the road that leads to the cliff. He has the same reckless abandon as you when it comes to loving people with the way he demands to find the student while sporting a high fever. You try to blame it on the surgery scars on his chest or his reputable last name, but you learn that that's always been him, just reformed.

You also learn he's been deaing with guilt.

time for the curtain call.

SCENE 11.2

I don't really think about the fact that my laughter only echoes the loudest when I'm sure they can be muffled by the wild thrash of the waterfall, or that you can fully bury your face in my nape under the comfort of mesh curtains. I don't really think about how I surrender myself to loving you in the most open of spaces — the sea and the mountain.

I don't think about it. Instead, at night, I long to climb up the cliff and just count to a thousand. How did the Teacher put it? 956, 957, 958...

Damn it. I can't finish it either.

SCENE 11.3

It's 10:10 when you first return it to me with kid wonder and the water washed out. It's 10:10 when I take it out the box the second I meet you again with a kick to the chest. It's 9:31 when I decide to start wearing it, 9:04 when I see you at the rooftop, 9:17 when you clutch it close with a confession lodged in your throat thinking you'd lost me, and 9:39 when I reassure you with bandaid words that you hadn't.

It's always been nine or ten PM. It's always been this deep into the night when I can look you in the eye and ask, "So?" with a teasing lilt, but secretly plead for you to admit that you feel as deeply as I do, that you're dancing in the same thread of forever as I am.

You whisper yes, and a whole lot more.

SCENE 11.4

For once, the red doesn't drop. It stays high, high up, high enough that everyone can see. But everyone is cheering. And even if both of us are donned in costumes, I kmow the love we are putting under the spotlight is just as unapologetic and carefully mended and queer as our own. They are cheering for us too.

And since I know you want to be seen, I remove the glass coffin and let you pull me in.

END.