#I underlined it both times he said it in my copy of the book because it was SO CUTE

[canongingeredwardcullen]

I have to know…. I can’t be the only one who pretends that eclipse and breaking dawn never happened and just embraces absolute sweetheart new moon jacob, right?

[verlaines-corner-archive]

aaa i'm sorry i actually haven't sent it until now! forgive me T-T i got caught up with a lot of irl matters

anyways the scenario for our dear Fedya!

Rather than reading his annotated copy of the books he recommends to them, his lover had started buying their own copies recently. Before this, they would read his copies and go through his annotations, wanting to see what thoughts he had throughout the book. There would often be folded sheets of paper in between pages where Fyodor left notes that the margin couldn't contain.

His lover beams when they come across these every now and then. They would have fun trying to read his cursive handwriting, while trying to make out a few words in Russian that he had taught them before. At some point it becomes difficult and their reading session ends up with Fedya offering to read some notes aloud to them. When this happens late in the evenings his voice soothes his lover to sleep, leaving the discussion about the book for the next day.

Now, onto why his lover has recently started buying their own copies. Reading is a part of both of their everyday routine, though it mainly consists of Fyodor sharing his books, which his lover would then read by themselves and discuss their thoughts with him after they've finished the book. They didn't mind doing it this way but they wanted to try something different.

Fyodor didn't think much of it when they started buying their own copies, he didn't mind to be honest. Perhaps they want to add their own annotations this time, he assumed. BUT WAIT — wait until Fyodor finds out that his lover has been planning to surprise him with pressed flowers in between the pages of the books !!! Using some flowers to mark their favourite parts, they also began leaving notes too. By doing it this way, they could give Fyodor their annotated copy of the book. And so from now on, he reads their copy while they read his, both of them doing so together.

🎠 anon

the other day I was going through a pile of pressed flowers that I kept in a notebook and it ultimately lead to this. Writing isn't my strong point and writing for Fyodor's character is a struggle sometimes so this may be ooc but, nonetheless i hope you enjoyed ! Have a lovely day/night :D

All good dear anon, life has a habit of getting hectic haha! I figured it’d be best to just make sure y’know? 

Fyodor and annotation [scenario/thoughts]

I sympathise with your worry about writing Fyodor as ooc dear 🎠 anon, he’s certainly tricky to get down! Though in my interpretation of him (and lord knows how in character that is) sharing annotated books seems right up his alley. 

I think being willing to share his thoughts and actually doing so is a big thing for Fyodor, a sign of trust and maybe even comfort. He likes discussing all manner of things with his s/o, but especially books. He’s fascinated by the way they interpret the stories and their meaning.

Now Fyodor’s annotations are not only very pretty (he’s a man of aesthetics after all) but also rather thoughtful. As you said yourself anon, his lover will often find sheets of paper between the pages because the margins simply weren’t big enough. Usually it’s what he thinks about the events, what he would have done, or even debunking why the characters/authors philosophy is incorrect, but sometimes it’s also just fun facts! Some obscure item is mentioned? Well he’ll be writing about it, telling his lover the origin and its proper use, along with the why of it.

Sometimes there’ll also be sticky notes explaining words he knows his lover might not understand, along with (once again) their origin.

He’s also fond of underlining sentences or sections that remind him of them, and sometimes it’ll even be accompanied with bits of romantic poetry. Also every time they receive one of his books, without fail they'll find a love letter of sorts written on the title page, in his finest penmanship. He is totally not showing off and it is also totally not coded :)

Speaking of codes you’ll find a fair bit of that. That poetry I mentioned before? Yeah have fun. 

Now most of the notes are written in his lover's mother tongue, though he also writes a fair bit in Russian. There are three reasons for that second one, the first being so he doesn’t forget it. The second reason is to help his love become fluent, he uses it as a learning exercise of sorts, and is admittedly rather proud when they figure it out on their own.

The third reason is that he’s a playful bastard and enjoys watching them try to figure out what’s written. It’s like with the coding from earlier, he enjoys challenging them, which is also why sometimes he’ll even change language mid-sentence (though this one is definitely more to annoy them than anything). Hell, he might even write in a language he knows they have no knowledge about just to watch them try and figure it out. 

This might be a little ooc, but he also has a habit of doodling in the books too! Usually it’s music notes or little mice scurrying about on the pages, but sometimes he’ll doodle flowers, mini churches, and other assorted things. 

Now you mentioned Fyodor reading the notes his s/o doesn’t understand aloud to them and I completely agree. Of course he’ll tease his lover for being a quitter but he’s all too eager to curl up in bed and read to them.

When his love starts buying their own copies I can imagine Fedya being a little upset. He likes sharing his copy with them, but as long as they still discuss their thoughts with him afterwards he’s okay with it, and ultimately pays it no mind. 

He definitely suspects that they want to annotate for themselves, and while he's sulky about that too, he’s also happy that they want to do such a thing. So imagine his surprise when they give him their copy, not only annotated but filled with pressed flowers. He’s truly overjoyed, and I feel like it’s more apparent than he thinks it is. 

He ends up collecting all the flowers and keeping them safe and hidden in his desk draw, and with his lover's permission he’ll end up keeping their copy of the book too. They end up being some of his most treasured possessions.

Definitely ends up adoring switching copies and reading them with his love <3

[rokkenjimaisland]

been talking abt it with a friend today so i'm curious how people interpret the metaverse and also the forgeries from a more mystery/real world angle etc. long (oops) so i'm cutting it

for example: i don't think the metaverse debates (i.e. parlor scenes) feature in the forgeries, by which i mean forgery = the in-universe stories sayo and tohya write. i also don't think ange features much in the forgeries either, tohya writing ange dying the gruesome death that she does in ep4 doesn't really make sense to me. nor does tohya having ange feature in ep7 the way that she does make sense to me either. also he obviously couldn't interpret anything from maria's diary so that means all of the maria sections in ep4 have to be explained through ange.

my friend n i were discussing it and sort of agreed that ep3 is like where ange starts to insert herself into the stories. girl is HIGHLIGHTING and UNDERLINING and writing "STUPID ONII-CHAN" in her printed copy of ep3 and that's how she features in the meta elements. and as she begins to sort of explode and unravel the truth she continues to slip and insert herself into the stories that ikuko and tohya publish. i know i just said she was highlighting and stuff but this doesn't necessarily have to be via annotating but rather mentally. i just think it is funny to imagine her going ham with a highlighter like "HE WOULD NOT FUCKING SAY THAT!!!!"

ep7 could easily just be a secret copy that ikuko gives ange without tohya's permission because i don't think he would ever publish something like that; this could also be why featherine features so strongly as an antagonist in ep7 for both BATTLER and ange, because maybe ikuko went behind tohya's back and gave the book that he intended to be a pure dream for the dead sayo to ange so she could learn the truth about what happened, and of course ange would instinctively hate the person who tells her that her parents killed everyone. and i don't really think that tohya would write the woman who took him in/his roommate as like an evil witch who is on purpose getting in the way of ange finding happiness. (parallels of ikuko to beato's role in ep8 go here?)

finally, i don't think of ep8 as an in-universe story at all, except maybe perhaps it could be a story ange writes for herself in her journal that then leads to her realizing how much she loves writing and wishing to share her heart with people as a children's book author. i guess this could also explain why the gameboard in this one features a child ange and why this translates to her wanting to write books for children. TT_TT

i'm beginning to ramble but tl;dr i think anything metaverse could maybe be explained by someone "alive" injecting themselves into the stories already written. this could be tohya reading ep1 and ep2 for the first time and struggling with the thoughts of battler resurfacing. i think the only episode that is actually a perfect 1 to 1 of a forgery is ep1. other than that, the forgeries and the episodes are not the same.

curious to see what other people think ^^ if i've made a post like this before mb i just feel like my interpretation is always shifting with this stuff so it's fun to hear what other people have to say about it too.

i also keep seeing people making comments about how they're mad that all the episodes are just in-universe stories and so i thought to myself "do these people really think that everything in the episodes was 100% written down on paper as a story?" because i don't think that at all

ik i said this at the beginning of the post but bear in mind also this is me asking from a real world pov/mystery pov not a fantasy one.

[prismatic-bell]

as youre very both old school fandom and also someone who works to preserve old fandom content, what do you think is the best way to print off and preserve fanfics? I've been wanting to start to move my many many many archived pdfs into actual physical copies but ive been way too intimidated to really look deep into it so I was wondering if you had a preference

Okay, so.

My preference is "yes." Yes, I want you to archive them. Yes, I want you to save them. I've worked to preserve 1960s teen pulp mags, for fuck's sake, it can't get much worse than that, and I'm grateful to have them.

With that said, pick any or all of the following options to make your physical printouts last longer: --select acid-free paper --bind by sewing, not stapling --store in archival sleeves, like the ones you use for old comic books And now, pick any or all of the following options to make my life easier as a historian (or, you know, the lives of the historians who come after me): --include the title --include the author's name --include the fandom name --include which version of the canon, if relevant (e.g. the OG Transformers show vs the Michael Bay movies) --include the date, or at least year, of publication --include the summary --include the site of origin, including the URL All of these things are called provenance and help not only to identify a specific work, but to place it within its cultural context. As an amusing example: I recently got into James Bond, and decided to go through every fic in the main pairing tag, in chronological order. There came a point where suddenly, out of nowhere, there were like two solid pages of nothing but A/B/O, which I previously had not seen at all. I had a suspicion, so I looked it up, and sure enough--those two pages appeared within just a couple of weeks of the corresponding Supernatural episode. Having publication dates let me determine that. If I were a historian trying to piece together a long-ago puzzle instead of going "lol I live on the hellsite, I bet I know exactly where this came from," that would be a huge datapoint. I could probably find a similar sudden explosion in other fandoms, as well--and if we're going far enough in the future, if Supernatural were to just vanish off the face of the planet along with its entire fandom, historians could still trace that it existed and even determine some of its events based on when certain tropes begin to appear in other fandoms. And further, the fact that its tropes and major events appear in so many other fandoms would allow those historians to say "this must have been a very, very popular story." (This isn't just me making shit up to sound important, by the way. This is literally how we have records of a lot of things throughout antiquity and even into the Renaissance. The more copies there are of something, or the more references that are made to a thing in other things, the more likely it is for at least part of it to survive. This is literally how we know about Shakespeare's two lost plays--he was a popular enough playwright that quartos of his plays were advertised for sale.) Whew! Now let's get into stuff you could do that would make me, as a historian, scream with delight if I were to open your folder full of labeled, acid-free fanfiction fifty years from now: --write a little something about why you picked this particular fic to preserve in hard copy when doing so is bulky and time-consuming compared to the easy instant storage of the internet, yes, even if your reason is "I'm trying not to use my phone in bed because the screen keeps me awake but this story is soothing to reread" --write a little something about who you are, even if it's just "my name is X, my age is Y, I live in Z, I printed this out in 2022" And last but not least: Marginalia. Marginalia. Marginalia, my beloved. That's when you write your thoughts in the columns on the sides, underline stuff, circle it, and so on. Having marginalia means I actually get a window into your thoughts as you read--your perspective, stuff that stuck out to you, places the story made you feel some kind of serious emotion. And yes, this goes for everything. Villain A kills Hero B and you write "YOU MOTHERFUCKER" in the margin, that tells Future Historian Me that you really loved Hero B, you were invested in seeing her succeed, and that this scene really resonated with you. One of my most treasured possessions in the fandom museum is a copy of the novelization of the Help! movie the Beatles did. This particular copy is very worn--unsurprising, it was a cheap paperback even when it was printed--but also, its original owner apparently took it to the movie theatre and

wrote notes in the margins indicating all the things happening onscreen that weren't in the book. What does this tell me? WELL. Let's go ahead and take a look: 1) the written ink doesn't look any newer than the book, so I'm guessing a little when I say this was the original owner and in the theatre, but I have an actual datapoint I'm basing that on 2) based on handwriting and the main demographic of the Beatles audience at the time, this was a young woman, probably a teenager. 3) she went to see the movie more than once (some notes are in pencil, some in ink, but the handwriting is all the same) 4) she was dedicated to making sure every moment of the movie was preserved. This was an era before home video players, so once the movie left theatres, she had no guarantee of seeing it again. 5) while the book is worn, it's not beaten all to shit. It was read a lot, but there's no evidence it was mistreated, so it was probably a prized or at least respected possession.

What can I extrapolate from this, with the understanding that I mean "what theories can I reasonably form but not prove"? Well. She was probably a pretty big fan, since she went to see the movie at least twice and also bought the book. Maybe she wanted to keep the story after the movie was gone. Maybe she was looking for answers for some teen mag contest like "find these things in the Help! movie and win a chance to meet the Beatles." Maybe she had a friend who wasn't allowed to go to the movie. You know what the most tantalizing possibility is to me, although I'll never be able to prove it and actual ethics as a historian mean I can only present it as one among many possibilities? Maybe she did it as a source reference for writing fanfiction. We don't know. We can't know, because I have no idea who the original owner was or if she's even still alive and no way to trace her. But that? In terms of fandom history, that is a fucking gold mine. Pure 24-karat all through. From a strictly historical view, that's worth more than the animation cel I've got in there, and I paid over a hundred bucks for that thing.

So yeah! That was a lot of words to say "just do it." But there's your answer!

[holden-caulfield]

Hi! Hope everything is great with you! ❤️ are you taking requests now? I have an idea for a Draco x reader fic. If you want to write. It’s ok if you’re not feeling it or if you’re not taking request ☺️

I was thinking about plot with something like that the reader and Draco are always on each other and fighting, but secretly like each other. They fight to make the other to notice them or to interact. One day the reader borrows a book at the library and made some notes in it (even if she’s not supposed to, just a bad habit that she has). She just writes some thoughts or comments regarding the book or life in general. And then Draco borrows the same book after the reader and sees that there are notes in the book but don’t know who made it. He likes the notes and decided to write his own notes in the book. The reader borrows the book again and see the notes that Draco wrote. So maybe they go back and forth writing notes in the book or even change to another book. Then I don’t know about the plot only that they end up together and it is a fluff ending ❤️

Oh. God. This request was e v e r y t h i n g, i loved it so much, thank you lovely anon!🤧

Wouldn't You Like To Know

↪︎ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary: draco and reader hate each other but a common interest might change everything.

Warning: none :)

Word Count: 1207

//

Nothing could make you angrier than that slytherin prick, Draco Malfoy, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to loathe him. There was something just so intriguing, so intoxicating about the boy that made you forget about how much of a haughty twat he actually was.

He seemed to be always picking on you, always having to comment on your choice of clothing of the day or stating how 'immensely insufferable' you were. You obviously never backed down, taking every chance you got to talk with the slytherin, even if it was just to insult his incredibly unnatural, yet entrancing hair or his arrogant ways.

You hated the boy, but you couldn't ignore him. Even though you very much wanted to on certain occasions.

It was saturday, a moment to finally be able to relax a bit and forget about lessons for a while, but someone decided to importune you. It was way too early to engage in a full battle, so you saved your efforts, leaving him in the hallway with his clique and a snarky reply. He had a rather surprised look on his face at the lack of interaction, but you couldn't notice it.

You made your way to the library; it seemed to be the only place you could find solace in. Reading had always been a way to unwind for you, therefore it was no surprise that the library was exactly where you were headed.

You skimmed through the long shelves of books, stopping your finger on a very old-looking volume. You took it out carefully and found yourself a cozy spot in the library, near a window so that you could see the lovely morning unfolding.

It was a copy of your favourite book of all time and you could swear the vintage-like look of the tome was due only to your continuous readings. You loved that book, every time you read it feeling like the first time and successfully taking your mind off of whatever you were worried about.

You started reading it for the hundredth time, taking your time while doing so, and without even realizing it you were starting to underline certain sentences. The quill and ink in front of you on the desk seemed to be begging you to use them and that you did. You highlighted all of those phrases that struck something you, you wrote tiny notes near the words you found the most interesting and you realized that when it was too late. The damage had been done, so why stopping?

You kept reading for a long time, the sky visible through the windows changing vastly beside you until it was already past lunch-time. You closed the book lovingly and put it back where you found it, sure to be able to return later, and took off towards the great hall.

Unbeknownst to you, that was also someone else's favourite book because when you came back, more notes had been added. Tiny messages in the most elegant calligraphy you had ever seen were adorning the pages you had previously stained. What really surprised you was that most of those short lines were actually replies or simple comments to your own.

'This is my favourite line.'

'I'd argue that the best line is actually at the next page.'

'This passage, i will never get tired of reading it.'

'How could one get tired when it's the best piece of literature ever written?'

You were completely shocked but somehow your heart warmed at the gesture: a stranger liked your same exact book and took the time to reply to the silly comments of some heedless student, it sounded almost romantic.

You immediately took a quill with the intention to add more comments but froze as you dipped it in the ink. What were you going to write?

You stopped to think for a moment and the most obvious question came to mind, so you retrieved the quill from the inkwell and wrote onto the last page, the only blank one.

'Who are you?'

You let the ink dry and placed the book back in its place, planning to come back the next day and find an answer.

It was silly really, to be so excited just because a couple words exchanged with a stranger. It had no meaning either: said stranger might have had the same habit as you, writing in all the books they read, or maybe said stranger only found your comments funny and wanted to add their own.

Nevertheless you returned to the library the next morning, very early given the fact you hadn't really slept the previous night, excitement flowing freely in your veins and keeping you awake. You hurried to the chosen section and grasped the book, clutching it in your hands as you brought it with you towards your usual spot.

You opened the book and quickly browsed through the pages until the last one. A reply was there, but not the one you were expecting.

'Wouldn't you like to know...'

What now? You couldn't just keep writing there, you couldn't just change book and keep on writing on every single volume in the library...

Defeated, you stood up, book opened in your hands as you walked through the library you knew by heart, trying to decipher who your mysterious correspondent could be.

"You?!" your eyes shot up from the book to meet his grey ones, Draco Malfoy.

"What? Can't even visit the library now?" you replied, eyebrows raised. You noticed he was oddly eyeing your book and slowly closed it.

"Why do you have that book?" he asked again, almost ignoring you with his eyes still set on the tome.

"I was reading it? That's what i usually do with books, you know."

"Are you sure? Because i have a feeling you write in them." your displeased frown soon turned into one of stupor.

"You?!" he nodded, smirking; for the first time you noticed a tinge of genuineness in his smug grin and the thought that maybe, just maybe Draco Malfoy wasn't the bully everyone thought passed through your mind.

You didn't know what to say and apparently neither did he for you both remained still and silent, staring in each other's eyes. It wasn't awkward: you looked into his grey orbs with longing, as if you had always known he could have been what you wanted and finally were able to see this side of him, the side of him you were in love with even if you didn't know it existed.

He cleared his throat then, making you focus back on reality.

"Although i enjoy the library, i think we should find a different place to talk about... this." he motioned to the book and your dreams completely shattered. He was probably not pleased with the discovery, one of the students he hated most exchanging notes with him. "Maybe at hogsmeade, tomorrow, at 8?"

"You don't hate me?" as relief washed over you, surprise did too.

"Not really, i actually quite like you, but i thought you hated me so i played along." you smiled at the unexpected confession and he furrowed his brows. "So, is that a yes? Because i can go back to hating you if not and forget everything."

You chuckled lightly, rolling your eyes. "Wouldn't you like to know, Malfoy..."

//

Taglist <3

@turn-to-page-394-please @gwlvr @dracosaccount @astoria-malfcy @dracomalfoys-wh0re @eunoniaa @cherie-draco @oeuryale @wh0re4blaise @90smalfoy @sanctimoniousslytherpuff @maybesandohnos @dracoswhore007 @macheregrace @paulina1998 @bungunz @malfoysbiitch @dreamy-clousds @malfoyxxdraco23 @saayanaaa @xlauren-malfoyx @riddleswh0r3crux

[if your name is crossed out, check your privacy settings!]

[alittlelove4u]

mha boys/girls saying ,,I love you“ for the first time

including: Denki • Momo • Iida • Todoroki • Bakugou

WARNINGS: none except my tenses and my English

NOTE: requests are open

part2

masterlist

Denki Kaminari

It was after the training. For the first time since months he lost control over his quirk. Of course you brought him to recovery-girl and took care of him.

When he finally came back, you were still sitting in the nursing room next to him with his hand in yours and your head on his shoulder. Your eyes were closed but then you heard his voice. It was nothing more than a whisper. ,,I love you,“ he said with a soft voice.

You looked up to him, to see him looking at his hands. You always knew that he was insecure about his quirk and felt helpless in these situations, but you never left his side and always told him that he’s a great hero.

He realized that he loves you weeks ago but was too scared to tell you anything.

,,I love you too,“ you said with a lovely smile and squeezed his hand softly. Denki finally looked you in the eyes and as he realized that you were serious, he kissed you softly. Trying to show you how much he loves you. To him you are the most perfect human being in existence and he’s thanks the gods evey day for the privilege to know you. He would have never dared to believe that you would even like him and yet, you just said that you love him.

Iida Tenya

Tenya didn’t say it directly. He’s too shy for that.

But one time he gave you a book as a present. It was a random Saturday morning and you recognized the book, because he’s read it multiple times and sometimes he even read it to you.

,,Well, you said you like it. So i got you your own copy,“ he said with a shy smile and rosy cheeks.

As you stated reading it, you found little notes on the pages. Some sentences were underlined others were crossed out. You recognized Tenya‘s handwriting and couldn’t stop smiling. He marked every sentence that reminds him of you or that sounds romantic.

You finished the book a flew days later, late at night. As you finished reading, you saw that the very last page had a fold. There was one last note that Tenya left for you.

,,There are many people who wrote stunning poems about the people they love, but none of these can describe what you make me feel. From the deepest roots of your anger to the way you tuck your hair back. There is nothing that I couldn’t love about you. There is nothing that I wouldn’t do for you. I love you Y/N“

Still in your pyjama and with the book in your hands you run to his room. It took him a while to get up and open. He seemed alerted as he saw you, but you just pulled him into a hug and kissed him.

,,Y/n, what are you doing here? Did something happen?“ he was still concerned until you hold the book up. For a second Tenya stiffened, afraid that you might reject him.

You were still hugging him tightly with you face in his neck. ,,I love you too, Tenya.“

Momo Yaoyozoru

Momo had a plan. She would cook you your favorite meal and after that the two of you would go star gazing. She would tell you that she loves you and kiss you unter the stars.

However.

Just a flew days before your special date, Momo caught the floo. Fever, Headaches and much more. She was laying in bed all day and of course you took care of her.

,,Y/n you really don’t have to stay here. You’ll get sick too,“ she protested as you brought her her favorite tea and sit down.

,,I don’t care. You are sick and my ma always said that you take care of people you love.“ You didn’t really though about the things you said but Momo froze for a second.

...for the people you love...

...you love...

You took care of her...this means you love her. Right?

Momo didn’t know if it was because of the fever or the weird medicine that Midorya brought her.

,,I love you, Y/n!“ Momo shouted as loud as she could and sit up. She had forgotten all of her plans. All she could think about is that you love her and she loves you too!

,,What?“ You asked, still in shook but with a growing smile on your face.

,,I love you.“ she reapeded, this time calmer and soft. But she started doubting herself. Maybe you didn’t mean it that way? Maybe she didn’t hear you correctly.

,,I love you too, Momo,“ you said with the biggest smile on your face and kissed her.

Todoroki Shoto

You and Shoto were laying in bed, listening to music and just relaxing after a hard day. Your head was on his chest and his arms around your waist.

Shoto realized that he loves you just in that moment. You were singing along to some song and were playing with his fingers. He was looking at you and thought that even if the world would end right now, he wouldn’t care because you were with him. He could stay in this position forever.

I love you. He thought and almost said it out loud but there was this little voice in the back of his head. How could you, the most stunning person, love him, when not even his own mother could love him. He was probably unable to be loved.

Maybe I did something bad in my previous life? Maybe all the people who love me are cursed. No...I’m the curse.

He would give all his belongings, yesterday’s and tomorrow’s if it would mean that you could love him. He would even forget his groll against his father.

Shoto stiffened and you noticed that. He seemed so distant and scared. ,,Shoto? Babe are you okay?“ you looked up to him and slowly run your finger over his cheek.

Shoto needed a second to put away his thoughts. ,,Yeah.“

,,You are lying,“ you noted and the hurted look in your eyes, broke his heart. ,,I thought we can talk about everything.“

He looked at you for a flew seconds. He’s already hurting you. ,,W...What would you do, if I’d love you?“ Shoto knows that his question is probably weird but he just wants to know it.

You are quiet for a moment. Processing the question. ,,I would love you back,“ you replied with little smile.

They boy with the red-white hair is speechless. You would love him back. You wouldn’t leave him.

Shoto doesn’t say anything but he smiles and places a gentle kiss on your forehead. He was relaxing again and even though he didn’t say it, you both knew what this question really meant.

Bakugou Katsuki

Just like Momo he wants everything to be perfect but nothing reaches his expectations. He took you out to three different dates last week and every time he almost said it, he got to scared. He can’t stop thinking about it.

The two of you were sitting in the common room, watching some sitcoms. You were sitting next to him with his arms around you. I love you. He thought but it wouldn’t fit. Who wants to hear their first ,,I love you“ on some random couch.

,,Do you wanna go get something to eat later?“ you asked with a sleepy voice and looked up to him.

I love you

You looked so beautiful and it made Katsuki only angry because he couldn’t find a proper way to tell you how much he loves you. ,,Yeah.“

He didn’t say anything else and you just keep watching TV. Until you stood up and left his arms, wich he didn’t like. He loves it when you cuddle, because it calms him down.

,,What are you doing?“ he asked with a grumpy face and held your hand.

,,I promised Mina to help her with her hair. We can get food afterwards. I won’t need long,“ you explained and placed a soft goodbye-kiss on his lips.

,,Okay.“

,,See you later. Bey, Babe,“ you walked around the couch and gave him a last kiss from behind.

,,Bey, love you,“ Katsuki said and regretted it immediately. Not because he didn’t meant it but he didn’t wants to say it like that. It slipped from his mouth and he froze.

,,What?“ you stopped walking as you realized what he just said. With rosy cheeks and a big smile you turned around. He actually said it. You weren’t stupid, of course you knew why he took you on so many dates.

,,Nothing,“ he denied it, hoping he could say it later right, but you were tired of waiting. With a big smile you jumped on the sofa and looked at him. His cheeks were burning and he was afraid to look you in the eyes.

,,Nhnh. You said, that you love me,“ you just love it to tease him. You sit on his lap and grinned at him. You wouldn’t leave him until he said it again.

,,So what? I do.“

,,Say it again,“ you pull a pout and wrapped your arms around his neck. Katsuki couldn’t resist your puppy eyes.

,,I love you,“ he said, still a little grumpy but smiling as you kissed him.

,,I love you too, Katsuki,“ you giggle happy and Katsuki could swear this was the most beautiful sound he ever heard. It’s rare that someone says his name with so much love in their voice.

Bakugou held you as tight as he could.

[lizbotw]

it’s only sharing a disgustingly sweet milkshake at the local college town diner after both of your evening classes that suna graciously provides the answers to the math homework.

the spongy pencil eraser is easy for you to sink your teeth into as you puzzle over his handwriting. “you know,” you mumble around the nib, trying to figure out if that’s a 5 or a 6, “i never know why you do this to me every week.” this time the drink with two plastic straws floating in an unhealthy heaping of whip cream is a syrupy strawberry flavor.

rintarou tips forward to sip at one of them and in your peripheral, chunky pink-coated fruit pieces travel up the clear tube and disappear between his lips. he releases the straw with an annoying ah that makes you frown, even if you weren’t concentrating in the first place. “aw, don’t tell me you don’t like hanging out with me.” he feigns hurt.

a well placed sip of your own allows you to avoid having to answer that—you have a personal rule of never being sappy in the presence of calculus. if you didn’t like him, suna knows you wouldn’t be hanging out with him—there are just some things you can’t do, even if it’s for the sake of your grade. none of this has to be said out loud of course, but he decides to be annoying and ask anyway.

actually—well... maybe hanging out is... not exactly how this appears to bystanders.

sharing a drink like this, you two probably look more like a couple on a (terribly cheap) afternoon date, rather than two broke college students that split meals to save money and believe that sharing answers for homework isn’t cheating, it’s collaboration.

ha, as if it would ever be different—things like the former never come true. maybe in movies, but that’s about where the line is drawn.

as if he knows what you’re thinking, suna raises an eyebrow at you over the glass, a smile playing on his lips—the same stupid look he always gives you. it feels particularly worse this evening.

it’s hard to avoid eye contact with him mere inches away, but you manage when a car painted a very interesting shade of red rumbles past the fingerprint covered window. you’re grateful for the distraction.

the subject changes when you realize suna has terrible taste when it comes to ordering milkshakes. “what flavor is this?” you spit out the word as though the very concept of calling this a real flavor is more disgusting than the drink itself, smacking your lips and screwing up your face at the excessively saccharine, artificial strawberry aftertaste.

this is no ordinary strawberry milkshake. no, this is a so-bad-only-suna-rintarou-would-order-something-this-horrible-(and-not-necessarily-on-purpose-either) strawberry milkshake.

“valentine’s valor,” he states matter-of-factly like those words mean anything to you. you stare at him until he elaborates. “their valentine’s special,” he clarifies and is gifted with a sarcastic thumbs-up from you in thanks—it is pointedly ignored and suna slings an arm over back of his seat. “dunno the exact flavor though. forgot.”

it tastes like the embodiment of pink, you decide. valentine’s valor. what a stupid name. there are a million and one better words that start with v... you can name at least five with a little thinking. you should ask them to hire you as part of their marketing team, you decide.

maybe it’s fitting title though. you certainly need valor to even think about taking another sip of that... concoction—which you do because you are obsessed with getting your money’s worth.

“valentine’s day was half a week ago?” your mental calendar helpfully supplies.

the clatter of pans in the back kitchen somehow mingles charmingly with the way rintarou throws his head back to laugh—a scene straight out of a movie really. you decide you hate him in the moment. “right you are. want a prize?” ugh. you stick your tongue out at his tone.

great. as if to add insult to injury, of course you’re sharing an out-of-date love holiday special with suna of all people. valentine’s was four days ago and this is where you are on a thursday night. the sticky upholstery of the booth seat, ripped and fraying at the corners, squeaks and groans and attaches itself to the fabric of your jeans as you shift around, suddenly hot. what a strange situation to be in, you think. this has to be a metaphor for life—then again, you’d been thinking this whole... thing has been a metaphor anyway.

yup, ever since suna sat next to you in a calculus II lecture all those fated months ago and took pity on how much you fucking sucked at math, up until the present where he takes slightly less pity on you but does enjoy emptying your dorm mini-fridge and making you pay for his milkshakes—all of it. this entire thing with him. one big stupid metaphor.

the specifics of how you came to have a routine like this are certainly murky, but two things are for certain—one, your calculus grade is certainly a lot better than it would have been otherwise, and two, you have one friend more than you did at the start of the school year. (that last one is kind of a big deal, you think. the college social scene is brutal. the word friend has started to become more disappointing than exhilarating lately though.)

rin reaches to your left to pick at the fries you’d ordered as a side—you’ve learned not to try and stop him. “also,” he adds, mouth full, “you’re totally getting me a new pencil after this.” yes, true, the pencil you’re currently leaving frustrated teeth marks all over isn’t yours. very easy to forget in the moment. you’ve probably destroyed 15 of his pencils by now for the 15 weeks of the last semester—only 7 so far for the current one. you do the mental math.

instead of drawing in the sharp lines of the differential equation that should be going in the question box, you lightly trace in the curves of a 2 and then another one next to it in the corner of the worksheet, graphite underlining them both in one swoop. the horribly thin paper of the school library’s printer is scratchy as you write but soon you flip the pencil over and under your fingers to tap the eraser (that has seen better days) just below what you wrote. “this is pencil number 22.”

suna leans over to look at the number as if you hadn’t just told him what it said. what an idiot. “glad you’re keeping count.” he settles back into his seat. “when can i expect my reimbursement?”

“you’re funny,” you say, without a hint of humor in your voice. the pretty 22 you had written now has flower petals growing off of the sides as you get distracted doodling along the edges of your work. it’s quiet for a moment as he watches you, or maybe as he takes the chance while you’re distracted to shove more french fries down his throat—either option is plausible and you don’t lift your eyes to check.

something occurs to you.

“rin.” you take an extended pause in between the words as you continue drawing, just to annoy him. you don’t continue speaking until he grumbles in acknowledgment (you try to hide your smile). “do you ever doodle in your notebooks?” now that you thought about it, suna was surprisingly pretty straight-laced when it came to class—you couldn’t ever recall him ever slacking off to the degree that meant his pages were filled with hearts and stars and flowers and suns and atomically inaccurate animals and tiny people in different colored ink. your work was always certainly the more vibrant out of the two (perhaps that could explain your grades and how you understand like... nothing in your lectures, but you decide correlation does not equal causation).

“waste of time,” he says around another mouthful of fries, another one already halfway there to his mouth.

suna is also surprisingly negative at times—but the blue book flipped open to his homework says maybe he’s just a liar though. you squint at it.

“it’s still pretty early but we probably should get out of here soon,” suna says, pulling his phone out from his pocket to check the time and leaning his elbows on the table. “i’ll walk you back. your roomie doesn’t leave the gym until 9—before you ask, yes i’ve been keeping track. it’s not stalking if it’s for my own sake.”—rin is, of course, referring to the long standing rivalry between him and your (very nice, might you add) roommate you don’t really understand but which has cumulated in him deciding he would avoid them as much as humanly possible purely out of spite. (“the only person i like in dorm 302 is you,” he’d told you one time and the throwaway sentence maybe made your heart flutter more than it probably should’ve.)

the bell above the front door jingles behind you as another patron enters. rin glances up at the sound and then returns to his phone with a bored bat of his eyes, probably scrolling through twitter or replying to texts, and picking at his teeth with a toothpick (where did he even get that?).

you try to get back to work (copying) but something in your gut tells you there’s more to his notebook than the messy handwriting and crossed out words that meet the eye.

with suna distracted, you take the chance to carefully slide the book towards you and then, in a single quick swipe, pull it into your lap under the table, already leafing to the back pages—everyone knows that’s where the real secrets are—not sure what to expect. a flash of color makes you pause and you flip back to a page that has the corner folded into a tiny, crisp triangle.

whatever you were thinking suna had stashed in the back of his calculus notebook certainly does not match up with what’s staring you in the face currently. sparkly, gel-inked hearts in neon colors glitter under the fluorescent overheads. in each of them, written in capital letters neater than you thought possible for suna, is your initials, a small plus sign in the middle, and then S.R. (for none other than suna rinatoru) next to it. it instantly makes sense to you. “rin, what the fuck.” one side of the book dangles from your hand, pages fluttering, and you hold it up for him to see, other hand flying to cover your mouth because you don’t know whether to laugh or pretend to be mortified or what.

it’s very amusing to watch how suna goes from a disinterested stare, to widened eyes, to reaching over the heaps of school supplies to attempt to grab the book from you, frantic. you hold it just out of reach. “what are you—” an old lady at a table shushes him when he half-screams. “—give that back,” suna whisper-yells instead in the greatest verbal equivalent of tiny caps you’ve ever heard.

“not a chance.”

he looks like he wants to lunge across the table and pry his prized possession from your meddling hands, but also has half the mind not to make a scene. getting kicked out and then subsequently banned from his favorite diner all on a noise complaint and disorderly conduct accusation was not ideal.

you hum, flip back to your place, and observe the drawings covering the lined pages. you shoot him a venomous smirk over the edge of the cover, one that’s more theatrics than anything, and say with all the satisfaction of someone who knows they have all the power, “oh, this is gold.” he deflates and you feel grateful he doesn’t see right through your facade because oh man are you sweating inside right now. what the fuck? no way suna rintarou is drawing little hearts with both of your initials in it like a lovesick middle schooler. no fucking way. you almost want to tell him that you did the same thing once when the thoughts about him had gotten especially bad (you felt guilty afterwards though, thinking you never had a chance with him, but... now... if he’s doing the same—well, that kind of changes everything).

suna is utterly defeated you think—doesn’t even try to defend himself, just slumps in his seat with a groan. you at least expected a “i can explain!” from him, a last attempt at dignity, not the resigned “i’m never going to live this down, am i?” he mumbles after a few seconds. well, either works for you.

“nope,” you quip, maybe a little too cheerfully because the response you receive is a distressed wail and him banging his head against the table. the old lady shushes him again. you chuckle at that (it feels a little wobbly though because once again, freaking out here) and flip the page. you stop.

this one has similar perfect little hearts drawn all over it, but there are other things. cute, standard shaky drawings of misshapen dogs and volleyballs and other things you never thought suna would take it upon himself to create but all of which make sense are there. but there’s something else. little scribbles in the corners with your last name swapped with his and even him trying out his name with your last one—all of them are scratched out but not so much you can’t read them. a list on the right in a very tiny font that makes you think he was embarrassed even penning the words is titled “date ideas?” (the question mark is in red and the dot is a heart) and has several popular spots around town written down in the local lingo of unofficial names for them.

“listen... please let’s forget about this.” rin’s voice is muffled and he’s still faceplanted. “it’s fine if you don’t... you know... yeah.” if you don’t feel that way, he means. true, the doodles were a pretty good indication of his feelings.

what to do...

well... you take pity on him, let your lips upturn and your eyes soften to reflect the sentiment, and shut the book with a quiet thud. you slide it back across the table from where it came and back to him silently. you give it a resounding pat when suna peeks up at you, expression saying it all—he was so going to get you back for this. you stick your tongue out—acceptance of the challenge. and just like that, you’re friends again—maybe that’s what’s so great about suna.

as you get ready to leave and slowly begin the trek back to the dorm buildings with him, street lamps glimmering a pasty yellow, there’s no awkward tension, no need to ask questions, no verbal wonderings about what ifs between you two. it’s just joking and shoving each other around and challenges to see who can run to the next tree the fastest in the middle of the chilly february night. you know, maybe for now you’ll keep your own thoughts a secret.

[gwynrielsupremacy]

THIS IS PART 8 NOW :)

Of "Time to rest your weary head" (or 'Azriel surprises Gwyn for her birthday'!!!!)

Check out the whole story here

Since last chapter was so short, I made this one bigger - and I absolutely love writing through Gwyn's perspective. I always try to be as mindful and careful as I can when I write her POV and address her trauma, but if there's anything you feel could be done differently, please let me know! :) and thank you so much for reading. Your support means everything to me <3

HEY GIRLS @katiebellf @starbornsinger @madie2200 check out my new chapter!!! and if you wanted to be tagged on this too, feel free to comment ;)

A few days passed by, and Gwyn could say she was already feeling at home in the House of Wind. She continued attending the services at dawn, pushing herself at training, then having lunch with Nesta, Cassian and sometimes Azriel, and at last spending her habitual hours in the library doing research work for Merrill before returning to the House. It was a routine she was kind of used to by now, and it made her happy.

She hadn’t been to Velaris after dinner with the Inner Circle and was secretly growing impatient to visit it again. She was planning to go shopping with Nesta and Emerie, but didn’t summon courage enough to invite them. Something about strolling around the city streets at dusk made her a bit nervous. Although she didn’t feel like admitting it out loud.

She was proud of herself, because she truly felt she was overcoming her fears. These last months were ones of a slow, but effective healing journey. She felt herself being less intimidated around others, mostly males like Cassian and Azriel. Rhysand was more distant, but even the worry she felt at dinner that night had faded. She saw Azriel almost every day and nothing seemed to have changed between them; so she believed in Rhys’s word when he promised her not to tell him.

Something caught her eye and interrupted her line of thought. She was sitting in a comfortable armchair by the fireplace at the House’s private library after a particularly exhausting afternoon, trying to read a not-too-smutty book Emerie had lent her, and immediately raised her head from the shadow near her feet to the door, where Azriel stood by.

“How long have you been there?” She asked and quietly hoped her blushed cheeks went unnoticed by him.

Surprisingly enough, sharing a hallway with Azriel didn’t mean they saw more of each other. He was so quiet she couldn’t detect his presence in his room, and usually she woke up before sunrise, so they didn’t meet each other until breakfast. A part of Gwyn couldn’t help but feel a little frustrated by that.

“Not much.” He said, stepping into the library. She motioned him to seat on the armchair across from hers, and so he did. “Actually, I just came here to ask you something.”

Oh.

She felt something flunk in her chest; it’s been a while since they last met at the training ring late at night, and that was because lately her nightmares were keeping themselves at bay. She remembered their last encounter, his hazel eyes shining under the moonlight as he stared at her from across the room, and they sparred in silence almost until the time of her service.

He didn’t seem different around her, although she could notice him staring at her sometimes with a glimpse of emotion in his eyes. And she felt she was becoming better at hiding her feelings when near him; oddly, something had calmed inside her. That urge and nervousness weren’t the first things to come to mind anymore, and she was content to enjoy their friendship. At least that’s what she kept telling to herself. There were some nights in which her dreams were filled with cedar scent, a pair of hazel eyes looking at her intensely, his beautiful hands on her hair…

She shook her head slightly and forced herself to meet his stare, the firelight making his face look golden; an elegant, handsome angel staring straight at her.

“What is it?”

“I wanted to know if…” His throat bobbed once, and she couldn’t help noticing he seemed nervous. Him, the Shadowsinger, nervous. He rephrased it, staring intently at the fire.

“The Velaris Philharmonic Orchestra will be performing tomorrow. They were in a long undetermined hiatus during the last fifty years, and now they’re back.” His brows furrowed, eyes filled with anger at what had caused it. “I used to go there every other night. And I was wondering… Since you said you’re meaning to leave the House more often, if we, well…”

She tried to suppress her chuckle at the way he fought to find the words. Instead, there was a timid smile on her face when she hesitantly interrupted him:

“Are you asking me… To come with you?”

He finally tore his stare away from the fire to meet her; those hazel eyes filled with something resembling hope.

“Would you like to?”

And damn her if his smile didn’t make her heart and her chest heat up when she responded:

“I would. Very much.”

Suddenly the room felt smaller. She swore the lights dimmed a bit, and all she could think and see was the silhouette of his face and his eyes. Those eyes that’d seen so much, endured so much, and now looked at her, as if trying to vocalize something without saying anything at all. They stayed like that, lost in each other for what seemed like eons, before he cleared his throat.

“So… I’ll let you to your book, then.”

Those words sounded forced, as if he didn’t in fact want to leave. She gave him a smile, but it didn’t quite meet her eyes. Stay.

His shadows were all around her now, gently circling her shoulders.

Just as he meant to leave the room, she found herself stating:

“I’m glad you listened to it. What I said about restraining them.” She gestured with her head towards the shadows, and reached for one with her finger. The tendril seemed happy to be touched and wrapped itself in her hand, to what she giggled. “I really like them, you know.”

When she looked up to Azriel, he had a cryptic look on his face, watching in wonder the interaction in front of him.

“They like you too.” His voice was filled with a hidden emotion, and his eyes twinkled.

She smiled at him. “You can stay here for a little while, if you want. I’m not going to bed for a couple hours yet, and I must admit I’m not completely captivated by this novel.”

Even though he had that cool, unreadable mask on almost all the time, she could still see him restraining his surprise. And the way his lips tugged upward told her she was right to assume he didn’t want to leave just yet.

“What’s it about?” He asked while sitting again.

“Well” She skimmed distractedly through the pages, calming her racing heart. “She is a healer from a land up in the North, and he is a tradesman from the South. There’s a curse that connected them since birth, but they don’t know it yet. And that’s what leads them towards one another, the urge to break this curse.” She traced the title, reading the name of the author. “It’s good, just not as good as Diane.”

She casted him an amused look as he laughed quietly at her criticism, shaking his head:

“Because no one will ever compare to her.”

“Never.” She agreed dramatically, and his laugh turned into a grin. “Emerie and Nesta think I’m exaggerating, but I mean it. I must have read her books like ten times by now.”

His eyebrows shot up, clearly interested. “She must be great then.”

“Wait a second. Five hundred years and you’ve never read her?” Gwyn couldn’t hide her astonishment as she gasped.

“Why is that such a surprise?” He leaned back in his chair, that small smile never fading from his face.

“Well, is just… You had plenty of time.” She teased.

“My life is busier than you might think, Berdara.”

“Well, be that as it may, this can no longer go on. You must read it.”

Before he could answer, she called the House to deliver her the stack of Gadot’s novels that were in her bedroom. Her private collection.

“Start by this one” She handed him a copy of And So the Story Goes, that had magically appeared in the table between them “This is my favorite.”

He reached for the book, and she watched as he flipped through the pages. She would admit that sight made her heart flutter once again. The book she had ever since she was little, that she read alongside Catrin, one of the only things she asked Mor to grab her after everything. Its edges were worn, some pages marked and underlined. To have Azriel hold it in his hands…

“You can read it at your own pace. And don’t worry, I have a spare” She showed him the copy Diane had signed her, a newer edition, that beautiful inscription that she knew it by heart in its front page.

I hope you find out what you knew all along.

“I can see you read it a lot.” He stated, musing through the pages and stopping at some passages.

She leaned forward to slap his arm. “What are you doing? Start at the beginning!”

He laughed out loud at her exclamation, his eyes meeting hers.

“Ok, bossy. I definitely will.”

After a few hours of talking and laughing together, she felt the tiredness taking the best of her.

“Goodnight, Az.” She said when she stopped by the door. Even during their conversation, he still held the book, keeping it close to his chest.

“See you tomorrow, Gwyn” She had just turned away when she heard him. “And thank you.”

She looked at him over her shoulder and saw him lifting the book. “Anytime.”

And when she finally shut the door of her bedroom, she couldn’t stop the light feeling on her chest.

***

On the next day, she knocked on Nesta’s door. It was the afternoon, and both Cassian and Azriel were out paying one of their routine visits to the Illyrian camps.

That morning, at service, Gwyn felt like she was flying. She sang like those ancient hymns were all that was left in the world. Even some other Priestesses had commented on that after it was over. And at practice, she couldn’t help her grin when she spotted Azriel across the training ring. And couldn’t help the blush that crept onto her cheeks when he almost immediately turned his head to her, the corner of his lips tugging upward.

She woke up thinking about their meeting at the library, their casual conversation and bantering. She didn’t feel an ounce of discomfort when they were together; everything was so easy. He knew her, her story; he had saved her, for Mother’s sake, and he didn’t make her feel like porcelain, like one blow could shatter her.

Instead, she felt braver and confident when he was around. They could still talk and laugh together as if they hadn’t shared that terrible experience in the past. Mindful of each other’s traumas, indeed, but... It still was light. Trustful. She hoped he’d read the book; she could secretly picture his eyes flipping through her markings and notes. She wanted him to know that part of her.

“Come in” Nesta said from within, interrupting Gwyn’s reverie.

She opened the door, only to find her sister sitting comfortably in an armchair by the window, book in hand and a cup of tea in another. Her training leathers were displayed on the bed, as she thought of training afterwards.

“Hey” Gwyn greeted. She didn’t know where to start.

Aside from Rhys, no one was aware of her recent discovery about the mating bond. Of course, that didn’t stop her sisters from smirking mischievously whenever Azriel was around, at training or during meals. Gwyn knew both Nesta and Emerie had picked upon whatever she was feeling towards him, but they were kind enough not to inquire in public.

“What’s going on?” Her brows furrowed as she got up of her chair.

“Nothing.” Gwyn took in a deep breath. Out with it, Berdara. “I was wondering if you could borrow me a dress.”

Nesta squinted her eyes, and raised an eyebrow as a slow smile started to appear on her face. Cunning, as ever. “May I ask what for?”

Gwyn herself didn’t know. When she found herself alone with Azriel for a moment during training, she had asked him what outfit would be suit for the occasion. He just shrugged with a half-smile, and reassured her she didn’t have to worry about it. But even so, she wanted to look decent for a night out.

“I’m going to Velaris tonight.”

Nesta gasped quietly, and Gwyn could see her eyes were shining with pride. “Alone?”

“No.” Gwyn went to sit at the trunk by the bed. Seeing that Nesta was still staring at her with that knowing smile, she added “Azriel’s taking me to see the Velaris Philarmonic Orchestra.”

She watched as her sister gave her a broad smile, and couldn’t help the blush on her cheeks. “What?”

“Nothing” Nesta hummed back, as she opened the doors to her wardrobe. “Just the two of you?”

Gwyn nodded, standing up and joining her sister in front of her rack full of clothes. So, so many outfits, a myriad compared to Gwyn’s scattered ones. “I don’t know what one’s supposed to wear to the theater. Even less so to watch a live orchestra.”

Nesta huffed a laugh, but her eyes were fixed on the garments in front of them as she scrolled through her various dresses. “Well, I do.”

They spent the next few seconds in silence, as her sister skillfully searched through fabrics. Strangely enough, Gwyn didn’t feel as nervous to have told her as she thought she would. But she was certain Nesta was only waiting for the right moment to fill her with questions.

“Oh, wait. I know.” She passed Gwyn and went to the trunk by that king-sized bed she shared with Cassian. The thought of her sister and her mate didn’t make Gwyn blush the way she once used to, but now the predominant feeling was that she could have that, perhaps. One day. That thought alone made her stomach flutter.

“Here” Nesta drew a burgundy midi dress out of the trunk. “Try this on.”

The V-necked laced bodice wasn’t too tight around the waist, and it had a light and also lacey skirt that draped around her knees, showcasing her legs. It was modest, and yet delicate and elegant.

When Gwyn looked at herself in the mirror, Nesta standing behind her as she zipped her up, she was breathless. It’s been a long, long time since she wore a dress, and this one fitted her perfectly. Alongside with the necklace, her freckled skin and hair, it made her feel… Beautiful. Stunning, even.

“You look splendid” Nesta stared at her through the mirror.

“Thank you.” She turned to her friend, who grabbed her arms and hugged her. She could see she was having fun.

“Do you have shoes to match this?”

Gwyn tilted her head.

“I could use my flats.”

Her sister shook her head, and reached for a matching pair of ankle-strapped scarpin heels under her bed. “Now there you go.”

Suddenly Gwyn felt an urge to cry. She was so happy to count with her sisters at moments like these. It made her excited for the ones to come.

“Hey” Nesta seemed to notice her tearful eyes, and urged her to sit next to her by the bed “Are you ok?”

She nodded and sighed. “I’m just… Happy. I’m nervous, but it feels good to know you girls have my back.”

“You know, Gwyn” Nesta grabbed her hand, her tone gentle. “I was going to say that you didn’t have to do this if you didn’t feel like it, that Azriel would understand…”

The thought of her declining his invitation made her heart ache. She didn’t once consider it; she was just glad to be spending time with him. That hewanted to spend time with her. Just as she opened her mouth to state that, her sister went on:

“But I can see that you want to do this. And I just wanted to let you know that I’m happy for you. And I can’t wait to know all about it when you get back.”

Gwyn squeezed her hand and gave her a cheeky grin:

“I’m excited, Nes.” Her words were barely a whisper as she confided.

“As you should. Now go” She nudged towards the door, smiling. “Go have some fun.”

[anxiouspotatorants]

heyy first off im obsessed w your account and the underdog quartet but also i feel like, with your new jess/paris playlist post, we need to acknowledge paris and jess’s first interaction when paris went into luke’s diner in “Richard goes to stars hollow” they had a very subtle interaction but he was clearly memorable enough to her to remember him and his name. I wonder if whenever paris when to stars hollow in the future she would look for jess what do you think

Thank you so much for this ask and the kind words!!! I’m obviously obsessed with UQ too, so finding more people who love that dynamic is just amazing!

Also yes we only had about two direct interactions between Paris and Jess but holy shit was the platonic chemistry there!! Paris bothering to remember him is something I would love to take as a sign that she was a Jess gal (especially since if you combine that with Keiko Agena saying she and Lane are team Jess, that means all my faves support my ship!)

Now for Jess and Paris specifically, I could honestly give you three different types of answers for this. First is that ASP and company didn’t feel like exploring that dynamic, so Paris probably doesn’t think about Jess or seek him out in the future, especially not after Rory’s break up. But that take is boring so let’s go for wild headcanons!

The second approach is on the more realistic side. I bet that Paris would avoid bringing up Jess every time he popped into her mind in front of Rory, but she would be too desperate to finally have that decent conversationalist to not bug Rory about him. She probably wouldn’t head over to Stars Hollow of her own accord considering how disappointed she was with the research results for that article, but she would ask about when Jess could come over to Hartford so she could rip his literary takes to shreds at a nearby cafe or at the elder Gilmores. Once Jess and Rory were a couple, Paris would double down on her requests but probably only have them met once or twice (Jess has work, Rory still has a tendency to compartmentalize parts of her life etc.). Post-breakup Paris would take Rory’s side, but secretly be sad to see a potential friend go. She probably felt like this guys really could be something, not just for Rory who seemed to finally get decent taste in boys, but for Paris who was finally starting to get more true friends. She carries a secret team Jess torch for the rest of the series but hides it in general criticism of any and all guys Rory is involved with.

On to approach three, aka balls to the walls whatever I want!! Hold on to your hat because this will be a long and windy ride:

After the diner-meet, Paris is intrigued by the guy who played along with her interrogation and eye-flirted with Rory. She doesn’t think she’ll see him again, but she would be lying if she said she didn’t want to.

After the dinner at Rory’s, Paris is honestly elated to finally have a great literary conversation with a guy her age. The only one to have come close is Rory, and that doesn’t say much for the «opposite sex» in Paris’ eyes. But she’s also furiously disagreeing with Jess’ «Austen loves Bukowski»-take, so she writes a whole several page argumentative essay and forces Rory to deliver it to Jess the next school day.

Jess responds not with a letter, but by having Rory hand Paris an annotated («blasphemy!») copy of a Bukowski work. There are no arguments from Jess notes, just underlines of quotes he thinks Austen would approve of, and excerpts from different Austen works put in the margins for comparison. Paris despises him for how much she is seeing his point.

At some point Rory get’s sick of being a carrier pigeon and drags Paris with her to ST after school so the two can fight in person. All three stay until Lorelai pops over for dinner, and Paris realizes she needs to haul herself over to the bus. She’s hungry and worried about the time she should have spent on homework, but ultimately really happy about the day.

She’s bummed to see Jess go after the car accident, but doesn’t have much time to think about it between school and… well, school. She does end up being one of the few Rory can talk to about Jess without getting the whole «bad bad boy»-speech she gets over in ST and at her grandparents’.

Rory doesn’t tell Paris Jess is back until the very end of their Washington trip when Paris finds the unfinished letter and Paris is boiling. She does cool quickly, but only to constantly bug Rory about when the three of them are going to meet up again for coffee and verbal war. Rory gets so stressed about it that at some point she gives Paris the number to Luke’s and tells her to go on her own for all Rory cares.

Paris does. Jess is surprised, but they get in the groove quick. What doesn’t go as smoothly is Paris asking what the hell is going on between him and Rory. His non-answers pretty much spell everything out, and in a rare moment of comradery, Paris decides to turn the conversation in to hating on Dean. Jess appreciates it. It doesn’t happen again, but Paris firmly puts herself in the team Jess camp from then on.

Paris is releived once Jess and Rory finally are together and it is great! More cafe talks! Study sessions! Movie nights! They even sneak both Paris and Lane out into concerts! Paris feels like for the first time in a very long time, she has real friends her own age. The kind who actually like you for you and want to spend time with you for you, not just to get better grades or a better reputation.

Paris sucks at being strong for Rory when Jess leaves. Like, she takes it really personal. This was supposed to be the one good guy, and he decided to be just like everyone else. But with time she learns to coach Rory into speaking her mind about the whole thing, and to support her in her own Paris-y way.

What she doesn’t tell Rory is that at some point after summer break (either because she gets hold of Jess for some scolding or because Lane does and spills to Paris or even if Jess gets in touch himself) Jess starts sending Paris beat up books he collects on the road around the country. None of them feature letters (at first), but annotations at the beginning declaring his safety and momentary location, as well as his general style annotations of the book inside the text. Paris starts responding with letters, and with time they start talking on phones and through email.

Paris helps Jess with his GED. They make it an equal study-buddy thing because Paris needs help taking certain writers seriously in her essays. Most of their sessions are over the phone, and a lot of it is just them daring each other to actually try. Paris gets actual stars on her improved essays, and Jess passes with flying colours.

Paris doesn’t know about Truncheon until Jess stands in front of her place ages later, dressed like a Kids Bop version of himself and holding a messengerbag with his debut novel. Paris tears through it in two hours (forcing Jess to sit on the couch next to her the whole time) and then spends another half hour furiously trying to tear it to shreds but actually praising it. She gives him their first hug ever, and hopes this afternoon is a sign they’ll slowly get back to being close friends in person.

Paris sucks at hiding how team Jess she is. So. Much. She does have genuine critiques of Logan and other guys, but her gut-defenses of Jess at random times in the day and weird reminiscing back to the «good old days» of diner talk after school gives her away immediately. Rory is uncomfortable, but Paris doesn’t even change her mind after Rory still picks Logan.

What she does do is invite Jess over for grown up evenings with Doyle. Whenever Rory is scheduled to be out and Jess needs to visit Luke anyway, Paris extends her invitation. They test wines based on price and taste, watch cult classics, eat takeout (in honour of Paris’ very first Mac and Cheese night) and talk for hours. One day wires cross and Jess gets in while Rory is there/Rory gets back while Jess is there and things get awkward.

Paris invites Jess to the graduation. Yes she has a limited amount of tickets and yes it’s weird to invite your friend who has barely been around ever but damn it she wants him there. He came to her when he was celebrating his accomplishments, she wants him to be there for hers.

They actually grow even closer as adults; emailing, texting and calling regularly. About 70% of it is general banter and picking on everything and everyone around them, but it’s a far more loving kind now — not that anyone who isn’t them would know, from the outside it looks like they want to kill each other. Regardless of outcome, Paris remains forever team Jess, and the two end up having each other’s backs for life.

So this went long and away from the point (and I only went through Paris’ pov!) but it was fun to write! I hope you like rant answers!

[sun-summoning]

sequel to this

sakura didn’t normally read kakashi’s books. she had no doubt that they were trashy and dumb. sasuke has copies that he thinks she doesn’t know about (complete with dogeared pages), but sakura has never given them the time of day. knowing their old sensei, they were nothing but angsty romance and gratuitous porn, so sakura didn’t think they were necessary to read. 

it was only when ino told her she had to read the most recent book by that oh so amazing author because of a particularly interesting sex scene that sakura deigned to borrow her husband’s copy.

and read it she did.

sakura knows the scene when she gets to it. she knows it intimately when she finishes it. and for that matter, when the characters finish too. utterly flushed, sakura goes to put the book back where sasuke thought he’d hidden it. 

in her rattled state, she doesn’t notice her husband until she walks into him, yelps, and drops the book.

sasuke blinks down at it, careful not to reveal anything. “is that--”

“yes.”

“the one with the monster--”

“mhmm.”

“ah.” sasuke clears his throat. “where did you get that?”

sakura raises an eyebrow. “you’re going to pretend it’s not yours?” she flips open to page 181. “you literally underlined some of the text.”

sasuke tries to stay serious, but in the face of sakura’s blush and the cheesy porn, he can’t help but smirk. “it was interesting.”

“sasuke-kun!” sakura shoves him lightly. “is this supposed to be us?!”

“you didn’t know he was basing his characters on us?” he takes out the other books she never actually read. “they weren’t always so smutty.” he shrugs. “they used to be decent.”

“oh, so not all of them include yuriko having sex with yusuke when he’s a crazed monster?”

“kakashi says he’s giving the people what they want.”

“just who wants this?”

sasuke comes closer to his wife, letting one hand fall onto her hip. he towers over, eyes positively smouldering. “you, perhaps?”

sakura gasps, indignant at the implication that she might be monster lover, but cannot manage a complete denial. “me?!” when it occurs to her that she hasn’t said no, she brings her hands to her face. “oh no,” she whispers. “me!”

he has the audacity to chuckle, so sakura pokes him in the chest.

“don’t look so smug. you liked it too. and you don’t have a cursed seal anymore.”

sasuke leans in closer. “maybe not, but i’d be willing to use a few techniques if only to satisfy my dear wife’s...curiosity.”

“don’t make this about me. you clearly want to do this too.”

he shrugs. “i can’t deny that i am intrigued.”

sakura shakes her head, coming to the fact that she and her husband both just discover a kink but at least they share it together.

“so is the bedroom okay?” she asks, starting to unzip her top. “or should we do it in the forest for accuracy?”

[daughterofluthien]

“decisions were respected” Sorry but didn’t Scott violently throw Isaac against a wall more than once just because Isaac liked his ex girlfriend in canon? That’s the literal opposite of healthy...

Hey, anon!

This is in reference to this post about Scallison for the shipping meme, where I said that one of my favorite things about Scallison is that the show lets them have a healthy breakup, and even date other people while still remaining friends. The scenes you are referring to are a pair of scenes in 3x13 Anchors.

So lets’s take a look.

(under a cut bc it turns out that when you try to be comprehensive, things get v long v quickly 😅)

The Scenes

I’m actually gonna copy/paste the dialogue of both scenes (along with minimal action/inflection notation for context) so that we can really make sure we know what we’re talking about here, so bear with me:

The first of these scenes occurs as Scott and Isaac are getting ready to head to school in the morning. After some initial ‘hey, what’re you doing, are you heading to school’ dialogue—during which both boys seem a bit awkward—we get the following:

ISAAC: [anxiously] Can I ask you a question? SCOTT: Okay... ISAAC: Are you angry with me? SCOTT: No! ISAAC: Are you sure? SCOTT: ...No. ISAAC: [awkwardly] What's that mean? SCOTT: I guess I'm not really sure how I'm feeling... ISAAC: [nodding] Okay. ...Do you hate me? SCOTT: [sighing] No, of course not. ISAAC: Do you want to hit me? SCOTT: [taken aback] No. ISAAC: I think you should hit me. SCOTT: I don't want to hit you. ISAAC: Are you sure? SCOTT: Why would I want to hit you? You didn't do anything, did you? ISAAC: [stammering] No. I mean, um... What do you mean? SCOTT: I mean, like, you didn't kiss her or anything, right? ISAAC: No! Absolutely not. No. SCOTT: ...Did you want to? ISAAC: Oh, yeah. Totally. [scene cuts to hallway outside the room. Isaac flies through the doorway and hits the wall] MELISSA: Hey! You two teenage boys? Don't test my entirely un-supernatural level of patience! ISAAC: ...Feel better?

The scene then ends, and we cut to subsequent scenes of Stiles and then Allison also getting ready for school.

The second scene is much shorter and happens later in the episode, after Isaac saves Lydia from an arrow that Allison fired while hallucinating. He and Scott are in Scott’s room again, and he’s telling him about the incident:

SCOTT: Right at her head? ISAAC: Almost right through it. And she keeps saying the same thing-- that she keeps seeing her aunt. Whatever's happening to you guys is getting worse. If I hadn't been there, then Lydia would be dead. SCOTT: ...What were you doing there? ISAAC: Uh... [scene cuts to hallway outside the room. Isaac flies through the doorway and hits the wall] MELISSA: [groaning] Oh, you guys, come on! This house does not have a supernatural ability to heal! So, stop it!

But of course just the text of the scene isn’t enough to accurately convey everything in even a tiny portion of a larger narrative, because nothing happens in a vacuum. With that in mind, let’s look at...

The Context 

The first of these scenes occurs immediately after the opening credits, and is the first time we see either Scott or Isaac this season. (Assuming you consider 3B a separate season, of course, which is a whole ‘nother can of worms. This tv show we all choose to enjoy sure is Something.)

Often, the opening of a season is used to reintroduce the audience to the main characters—letting us know where their characters arcs are starting, and what they’ll be struggling with this season. Teen Wolf did this previously (and did it well, imo) in 3x01 Tattoo. Act 2 of that episode begins with a series of four scenes showing our main characters getting ready for school in the morning, highlighting where everyone currently is, and setting up where their arcs are going to go.

Scene order taken by itself would seem to indicate that they were trying to do something similar in this episode. It starts off with the hook of Stiles’ extended nightmare sequence. He can’t tell dreams apart from reality anymore, and wakes up screaming. Cut to black, cue opening credit sequence.

Immediately after the first ad break, we get a sequence of three scenes. The first is the longer of the two Scott and Isaac scenes (which, as previously mentioned, occurs as they’re getting ready to head out to school). The second is of Stiles. He’s packing for school, and the audience learns that he’s been struggling to read when he’s awake as well. Finally, we see Allison leaving her and her dad’s apartment. She seems like she’s doing fine, if a little over-focused. But then she gets into the elevator, and has an extended hallucination/flashback of Kate.

We learn soon after this that all three of them (Scott, Stiles, and Allison) are suffering from the aftereffects of their sacrifice in the previous season. According to the explanations we get both from Kira and, later, from Deaton, they’re slipping into bardo, or the space between life and death, and there’s a door open in their minds. 

Okay, problem established.

It stands to reason, then, that all three of those opening scenes are supposed to serve to set up this problem. We’re shown, in three successive scenes, that all three of our sacrificees are, as the kids say, Not Doing So Hot.

(yes I know the kids don’t say that, let me be an increasingly out-of-touch millennial in peace)

This is all well and good, and honestly makes sense! Under this paradigm, the Scott and Isaac scene should be highlighting that Scott is Losing Control. Bardo is affecting him, and it’s causing him to be more aggressive. Giving in to violence in a way that he generally holds himself back from. Heck, the scene even starts with Scott flexing his fingers, and we (and Scott) see the shadow of a clawed hand against the door.

In the context of the narrative, it makes sense.

Except.

eXCEPT—

The Framing

The thing about the medium of television is that, when we’re talking about a scene, we can’t just look at the narrative structure. We also have to look at the scene itself: how it’s shot and directed, how it’s edited, even what music is paired with the scenes.

In the Stiles and Allison sequences, the scenes are very clearly shot for tension and horror. Long lingering shots on the things that Just Aren’t Right. Music that heightens the tension. Stiles gets some nice lil scare chords over the shot of the book that he can’t read, and there’s a very quiet droning in the background of the Allison nightmare sequence that slowly grows into some classic horror soundtrack music.

Okay. So far that tracks with the narrative thesis.

Now let’s take look at the Scott and Isaac scene.

We start out with some of those lingering shots I was talking about, as Scott is halted in his tracks when he notices the shadow of the clawed hand. We see his own hand is human and unshifted. There’s quiet, percussion heavy music over this portion of the scene that increases in tension at this point. Shaken, Scott closes his hand into a fist, and when he opens it, both the shadow and his own hand are smooth and human. The tense music fades out to silence, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

Scott opens the door to reveal Isaac, which startles him. There’s a short musical sting to underline this moment, and then the background music cuts out completely, leaving us (and them) in the awkwardness of this moment. 

And OH BOY. IS IT AWKWARD. 😬

You can kinda see the Awkwardness Inherent in the System in the dialogue that I pasted up at the top—it’s a lot of back-and-forth, short statements, trailing off... And both Posey and Sharman are playing up the awkwardness as well. Neither boy looks like they really want to be there, and that includes Isaac, who initiated this entire conversation.

But here’s the thing.

The thing that really frustrates me about this scene.

It’s not the sort of awkwardness that exists to increase the tension. The sort that builds and builds until it reaches a fever pitch and you know something just has to give. You know, the sort of tension that you would want to build if you were showing how the protagonist of your show is no longer fully in control, and is on a knife’s edge of lashing out at his friend and beta.

Instead, it’s played for comedy.

And once again, a lot of this is down to the music.

Before the dialogue that I quoted at the top even begins, the music starts back up, and this time the tense percussion has been replaced by light, pizzicato strings. (That may not be the exact right term, fyi, I only really know enough about music theory to be dangerous.) But you know, the playful, plucked strings that often accompanies comedic or otherwise not-serious scenes.

Background music tells the viewer how they’re supposed to feel about the events in a particular scene, and the music here is saying that we’re not supposed to find this whole confrontation that dramatic. In fact, we’re supposed to find it funny.

But it’s not just the music that that frames this scene as comedic. It’s also the fact that we don’t actually see Scott shoving Isaac. Instead, the scene cuts to the hallway, and all we see is Isaac flying through the doorway.

Now, obviously I don’t have a direct line to the director and editors’ minds here. But I would bet money that those particular shots were chosen 1). because it’s so much easier to do a wire pull stunt when you don’t have to show what it’s in reaction to, and 2). because it’s kinda difficult to show your main character directly doing a violence and make it funny.

But show someone yeeted into frame, and that’s funny. Right?

(Spoiler alert: not in this context, it isn’t)

Now, I know I’ve been focusing on the first scene a lot—partially because it’s longer and partially because it’s really the only reason that the second scene exists—but I do want to take a look at the second scene really quickly as well. It’s much shorter and generally adopts a more serious tone than the first one, mostly due to fact that we’re smack dab in the middle of the action at this point. The weird visions that the sacrificees have been having all episode have started endangering lives, and they can’t just wait for it to resolve on its own.

But then the focused, intent exposition is broken by Scott’s question of “why were you there.” Then smash cut to a near identical shot of the hallway,and Isaac yeeting into frame.

The thing is, this scene is entirely dependent on the previous one. It only “works”—and I use this term loosely—as a call back to the scene at the beginning of the ep. Heck, both even have the stinger of a frustrated Melissa at the end of both scenes, frustrated at all the boys-will-be-boys roughhousing going on in her house.

Much like the first scene, this one is also set up and framed for Comedy.

Which is um. A Choice. 

But What Does It All Mean

What frustrates me about these scenes, at the end of the day, is that the narrative intention and the directing/editing seem to be fundamentally at odds.

On the one hand, it makes narrative sense to say that the purpose of the scenes is to show that Scott is losing control. That he’s being affected by bardo and the open door in his mind, and it’s putting the people close to him in danger. But then on the other, the way the scenes are actually used are as comic relief. As a way to release tension between very tense, dramatic scenes. 

I don’t think it works, as I don’t personally find it funny at all. But that really does seem to be the intention.

Once again, absolutely wILD choices were made on the part of tptb, and I really wish anyone had thought for two seconds about the implications of all of this, but nO

Ahem.

So now (literally 2K words later I’m so sorry 😅) what does this tell us about the characters? Certainly no one here is arguing that shoving someone is a good or defensible choice, whether it’s due to forces outside the character’s control or not. But even taking the influence of bardo in mind, is it even in character for Scott in the first place?

Because canon can also be written inconsistently/out of character, especially when we’re talking about a long-running show like tw.

One’s an Incident, Two is Coincidence...

Well, we all know the end of that saying.

So let’s end by looking at a few patterns.

As I mentioned at the beginning of this, once again, eXCEEDINGLY long post, this is reference to a post I made about scallison. I said the following in that post:

And I also really like that they [Scott and Allison] didn’t get back together. That they were allowed to be friends. That even though sometimes it hurt to watch someone you love loved love become romantically close to another person, decisions were respected, and no friendships were broken over it.

The first pattern we need to look at, then, is this:

What’s Scott’s pattern of behavior toward Allison and Isaac’s relationship?

And does Scott’s behavior toward Isaac in these two scenes match the pattern, or is it an outlier?

3x11 Alpha Pact: Sacrifice Prep The revelation that Allison and Isaac have grown close enough for him to act as emotional tether for her is very visibly a blow to Scott. He looks like the rug has been pulled out from under him, but he doesn’t look angry or upset, just.... sad. In fact, it looks like he’s swallowing back tears. But he nods towards the two of them and just says, “It’s okay.”

3x12 Lunar Ellipse: “I look for my friends” This is the epilogue of the season. Scott walks into the hallway at all of his friends in turn. Satisfied. Happy. First at Lydia and Aiden, then at Danny and Ethan. Then he turns and watches as Isaac and Allison walk down the stairs, and they’re laughing, and so obviously happy, and Scott’s small smile grows. He isn’t jealous here—he’s happy for them. 

3x14 Illuminated: Mutual Recognition Scott and Allison are both at Danny’s halloween party, but they’re not here together. He sees her from across a crowded room, just like he did at the winter formal, so many months ago. But so much has happened, and they’re different people now. Allison’s with Isaac, and he’s starting to having feelings for Kira, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, and that he doesn’t miss the relationship he and Allison had. For a moment, his fingers slip away from Kira’s, and he and Allison share a sad smile. 

Believe it or not, these are actually the only other examples I could find of Scott reacting to Isaac and Allison’s relationship. And uniformly across them, he’s sad, yes—after all, he loved her, and that relationship is very definitively over now. But he never seems jealous, and he isn’t angry.

So, if the Scott and Isaac scenes in Anchors don’t fit the pattern of Scott’s behavior towards the new couple, what pattern do they fit?

“Hit me.”

The teen wolf writers have a... really upsetting habit, honestly, of “resolving” interpersonal conflict between two characters by having the “wronged” party hit the other. Afterwards, the tension is almost completely broken between them, as if letting the person act aggressively in a way consensual to both parties has somehow solved the problem.

2x11 Battlefield: Derek and Peter After Peter comes back from the dead, he confronts the now pack-less Derek and offers to help him. Derek, likely remembering that Peter killed Laura and was responsible for most of the events of S1, attacks him instead. After taking a beating, Peter says the following:

PETER: Okay, go ahead! Come on, do it! Hit me. Hit me. I can see that it's cathartic for you! You're letting go of all the anger, self-loathing, and hatred that comes with total and complete failure. I may be the one taking the beating, Derek, but you've already been beaten. So, go ahead. Hit me if that will make you feel better. After all, I did say that I wanted to help.

3x13 Anchors: Scott and Isaac We’ve already discussed this scene in uh. Detail. So I don’t think we need to go into the specifics again. But just a reminder that this dialogue exists:

ISAAC: Do you want to hit me? SCOTT: No. ISAAC: I think you should hit me.

5x15 Amplification: Scott and Liam During the previous supermoon, Liam—swayed by grief, the full moon, and Theo’s manipulations—tried to kill Scott and take his power. They’ve since rediscovered an equilibrium in their relationship, and Liam’s back in Scott’s pack, but they’re both still dealing with the implications of that event. In this episode, they’re attempting to break Lydia out of Eichen, but they’re not as strong as they should be, due to the mountain ash laced through the building, and are having difficulty breaking down a door. Then, the following exchange occurs:

LIAM: Hit me. SCOTT: What? LIAM: Hit me! I'll get angry, then I'll get stronger. STILES: Hit him. Hit him! LIAM: I tried to take your powers. I tried to kill you. Hit me! STILES: He also left you for dead. LIAM: I wanted you dead!

6x16 Triggers: Liam and Theo No one actually directly says “hit me” in  this one, due to the circumstances, but the sentiment’s there. In this sequence, Liam and Theo are trying to convince Gerard and the hunters that the whole pack is hiding out in the zoo, so Theo goads Liam into hitting him, in order to stage a very audible fight.

THEO: Okay... Then they have to believe us.[shouts] Isn't that right? LIAM: [whispers] Why are you yelling? THEO: [shouts] You got a problem? Oh, that's right, you always have a problem! LIAM: [whispers] What the hell are you doing? THEO: [shouts] Shut up! [punches Liam] Yeah, you see that, Scott? Your little Beta can't even take a punch. And what do you think, Malia?

While there’s a variety of primary textual reasons here, all of them deal with personal issues between the pair, and all of them involve some level of catharsis for the person doing the punching. Taken all together, it’s honestly a pretty troubling pattern, especially given the inclusion of an actual canonical abuse victim initiating and receiving the violence.

TL;DR

This is a writer issue, not a character issue. The serious narrative context conflicts with the comedic framing in a way that is honestly baffling to me, and it doesn’t fit the established pattern of Scott’s character and actions. Moreover, it’s an example of the writers’ apparent belief that interpersonal conflict can and should be solved through consensual violence.

The pattern we do see, is that the Scott is saddened by the knowledge that Allison has moved on, but he’s glad that she and Isaac are happy. Similarly, Allison is saddened that Scott is moving on as well, because she does still care for him deeply. Despite their conflicted feelings, neither tries to disrupt the other’s new relationship.

On other shows, that would be a season-long, drama-filled plotline. Here, nothing.

And I legitimately love that so much.

[beewolfwrites]

And When I am Formulated, Sprawling on a Pin - Chapter Fourteen: Half-Sick of Shadows

Hello again! This is instalment 14 of my Chishiya x OC/reader fic. You’ll also find it over here on AO3 too. 

Thanks for all the support so far, and all of the people who have gone through every chapter and liked them. It means so much to see that you’re enjoying this <3 

childlikeempress/mercipourleslivres - I have a feeling you’ll get this chapter title :D 

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

By the time we made it back to the Beach, Kuina and I were too tired and overwhelmed to bother with the everlasting party. The teenage boy clung to my side, thanking me repeatedly for saving his life. I tried to tell him that there was no need, that anyone would have done the same, but I had to force the words out. It wasn’t true.

In this world, you’re supposed to look out for yourself.

He promised me he’d repay the favour, but I just shook my head and smiled, telling him to survive instead.

I retreated into my room for the rest of the night, and immediately hopped into the shower. The water swirled, washing away the remains of the pinstripe tent, the red water, yellow eyes and leathery skin.

Don’t focus on it. Don’t think about it.

The stained red scrunchie bobbed on the surface of the water as it spun towards the drain.

My legs collapsed beneath me. Sinking to the to the bottom of the shower, I finally wept.

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

The next morning, I awoke with a splitting headache. My eyes were pink from the night before, and my hands stung, irritated from the metal pull of the wire and the weight of the teenage boy. It was tempting to stay in bed and dream away the blood and guts of the Borderlands. But there was something I needed to do.

‘Don’t you want to thank Chishiya?’

Back then, Kuina’s words had been a lifeline, cutting through the fear.

Sitting up in bed, I took the copy of Wuthering Heights out of the bedside drawer, flicking through the pages. It was all in Japanese, meaning it was illegible to me. But there was something else; one of the page corners was turned over. Flipping to it, I found that a line of the text had been underlined in pen.

Did Chishiya do this?

It seemed unlikely, although he could have done it with the intention that I would translate it. It was impossible to tell, since he was such a closed book. But seeing the words acted as a reminder that I still needed to find him anyway.

Kicking back the covers, I got up and dressed, and while I still felt half-dead after the game, I somehow felt more confident approaching Chishiya. When I finally left my room, it was nearly noon, and I had a pretty good idea as to where he would be.

The hotel was mostly quiet as I slipped through the halls, following the same path Kuina had led me just days before. Having memorised every turn, I eventually came to the doors that opened up to the roof. A cold gust of air sent goosebumps across my skin, and rubbing my arms, I spied the hunched figure sitting, one leg bent, near the edge. Just seeing him alive and well was a huge relief.

He didn’t turn or react as I sat beside him. ‘I didn’t see you yesterday. How did your game go?’

There was silence at first, before he spoke, half-teasing. ‘So you’re speaking to me again? I see.’ When he realised the words had no effect on me, he added, ‘Eight of Diamonds – it was nothing.’

For him, it was nothing. Personally, I would have struggled with an Eight of Diamonds. Knowing myself, I’d second-guess every move. Chishiya didn’t elaborate on the game, or even speak at all.

‘Aren’t you going to ask about my game?’

He was idly watching the pool-goers splashing around and having fun, but his expression was apathetic. ‘I already know. Kuina told me everything.’ He glanced briefly at my reddened hands ‘Apparently you saved a boy. It was a stupid move.’

To someone like you, it would be.

‘I disagree. He lived because of it.’

‘And if he dies in his next game, then it was a waste of time,’ Chishiya berated. ‘It’s pointless to risk your life for a stranger.’

I spun around to face him fully, crossing my legs beneath me. ‘Okay,’ I challenged him. ‘What about if it was you down there? You’d want someone to save you.’

The question was shut down immediately. ‘That’s different. I wouldn’t be stupid enough to end up in that situation.’

I pouted. He wasn’t technically wrong. It was hard to picture Chishiya scared and hanging upside down on a tightrope. If anything, he wouldn’t hesitate to cross it. But he did get nervous. That much was clear from the Two of Spades game, when I’d felt his heart thudding as his arms tightened, pulling me into the darkness.

And now, as my eyes traced over his deadened expression and the thin hair that stirred in the breeze like spider’s silk, I couldn’t stop the question from slipping out. ‘And what if it was Kuina?’ I paused, whispering, ‘or me?’

Now I had his attention, as his lips twisted in that cruel, cruel smile that used to make me shudder. ‘Do you really want me to answer that question?’

No.

The answer was already clear, and for some unknown reason, it hurt.

I don’t want you to say it out loud.

I swallowed, instantly regretting bringing the subject up. ‘You were wrong, by the way... about what you said before.’ This prompted him to lift his brows in mock surprise. ‘You did end up in a similar situation. Both in the Tag game… and in the Two of Spades. Your injury… how is it?’

During our argument, it hadn’t been the right time to ask, but better late than never. I unconsciously reached for him, as if trying to make sure he was okay. However, Chishiya’s hand darted out, catching my fingers in a tight squeeze.

‘Don’t.’ His tone was icy, and it was the first time I’d seen him grow so cold.  

It hurt, seeing him so reluctant to let me in. But to him it was a moment of weakness, a reminder that he had lost control of a situation, even if only for a second.

‘At least tell me you’re okay.’

‘I’ve already told you it’s nothing.’ He clasped my fingers harder. ‘It shouldn’t matter to you anyway.’

I pulled myself free, rubbing my fingertips where they’d turned white and red. ‘That’s not true. I care, and that makes it relevant to me.’

For just a second, I thought I heard him begin to call me an idiot. But then he stopped. ‘You care too much about things that have nothing to do with you. You should focus on what’s in front of you.’ It was fleeting, the way his eyes washed over the bruises on my ankle.

I see.

It felt nice, knowing that in his own abrasive way, he was telling me to watch out. ‘You know what’s strange? Niragi hasn’t bothered me again. I thought he’d have killed me by now.’

Chishiya sighed. ‘That’d be too easy, and not as much fun.’

So Niragi did have his eye on me, but he was biding his time before coming after me again. It was a wonder he seemed to think that by attacking me, he’d be getting to Chishiya. Their rivalry had nothing to do with me, and Chishiya had all but confirmed moments ago that he wouldn’t even risk his life to save me in a game. Coming after me was pointless.

But that’s not what Niragi thinks.

‘It’s only a matter of time before he tries something again. You should watch your back,’ Chishiya warned. Then his face stretched into that familiar, all-knowing smile. ‘But you didn’t come up here to talk to me about Niragi.’

He already knew. He must’ve been waiting for me to track him down.

Mixed feelings swirled within me; embarrassment that he’d so easily predicted my behaviour, annoyance over the fact that he’d been smugly waiting, and something else I couldn’t identify.

Warmth, perhaps?

No, that wasn’t the right word.

‘I’m sorry.’ The words came out in a whisper. Grimacing, I cleared my throat and spoke up. ‘I want to thank you for the books, but I also want to apologise. Everything you said back then was true.’ The words were hard to admit, even to myself. ‘I’ve been living in a hole all my life and I got too used to it. And now the world seems terrifying. But if I survive here and make it back, I know that nothing my dad does will be scarier than these games. I’ll try and make my own freedom from now on. So, thank you… but also, I’m sorry.’

I waited for a response, some kind of acknowledgement. Anything. Instead, there was a rustle of clothes as he stood and began walking to the door. My heart froze over, and I blinked at the empty space beside me.

Did I say something wrong?

‘Antiseptic ointment and gauze,’ I heard him say, before the roof door swung shut.

I was alone, with nothing but the breeze and the distant laughter from the patio below. Looking down at my reddened hands, I smiled, finally understanding.

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

It had been three days since our conversation on the rooftop, and I had been following Chishiya’s advice, using supplies I’d borrowed from the medical room to treat the irritated skin of my hands. The bruising around my cheek, neck and ankle had faded to a fainter yellowish brown. Kuina kept telling me that we’d find a way of getting back at Niragi for what he did, although I knew she wouldn’t want to do anything drastic without Chishiya’s input; she was just as nervous around Niragi as I was.

I spent all my time pouring over the Japanese language textbook and trying to translate the opening sections of The Metamorphosis. Twice, I’d picked up Wuthering Heights and attempted to make sense of the underlined words. But it was hopeless. There were complex kanji I didn’t know how to pronounce, meaning they were impossible to search in the dictionary I had, and Google was no-go in the Borderlands.

Closing the book yet again, I rubbed my temples, trying to ease the headache brewing after hours spent squinting at different characters.

I should just ask Chishiya.

I hadn’t seen him much since the rooftop, as he was always busy with executive work. And even now, with the late afternoon sun beating through the windows, there was no guarantee he’d be free to talk. But it was worth a shot.

That’s it, I’m going to go ask him.

Pulling on my hoodie, I picked up the copy of Wuthering Heights and left my room. The hallways were pretty quiet around this time, as people were either downstairs enjoying the party while they could, or tucked away in their rooms getting some last-minute sleep before the long evening ahead.

Heading down the hall, I tried to remember where Chishiya’s room was. I had only been there once, after Kuina had given me directions, but at the time I’d been nervous and distracted by the argument that ensued. The hotel was like a maze. No, not a maze – a labyrinth. And his room was hidden somewhere behind one of these identical doors.

I’ll know when I see it.

Rounding a corner… I immediately froze. At the end of the hall, Niragi and his thugs were dragging a man by his bloodied scruff. When the man thrashed wildly in their grip, they stopped to kick him in the ribs and jaw, sending speckles of blood up the wallpaper.

Niragi was a sight. The nail marks down his cheek had scabbed over, and beneath his right eye was a faint purple bruise from where I’d kicked him in the face.

My limbs stiffened in place. I couldn’t move.

And even when his eyes lifted, widening with fury as they locked onto me, I couldn’t move.

He began striding towards me, jaw clenched and hands readying his rifle.

Run, run, run…

As if struck by electricity, I bolted back the way I came, shoving past the occasional person I ran into. Niragi’s footfalls were close behind me. He was following fast, and I could hear his growls.

‘You fucking bitch, get back here!’

The words sounded faint and close at the same time. Everything was close but far away, and my legs had turned to rubber. I spied a familiar looking door and threw myself into it, panting hard as it closed behind me. Outside, Niragi’s footfalls grew closer and closer… then further and further away.

He was gone. At least for now. My relief was cut short when it became clear where I was.

Sitting on the bed with open first-aid kit, gauze held delicately in one hand, Chishiya was completely shirtless. His side was swathed in old bandages, spotted with red. And he was staring at me.  

‘Get out.’

[headcans-oneshots-and-stuff]

A thing of honour

Warning: This one got super angsty super fast and I had no idea how it happened but here we are Word count: ~3k (sis snapped) Summary: Keeping your alter ego a secret from Damian was all fun and games, especially since he seemed to hate your superhero persona while loving your "normal" you, but what happenes when he finds out about the whole thing in the worst way possible...

This was a request by a wonderous Anon:  Hiii, i’d like to request a damian x reader, where the reader also fights alongside damian and jon as their alter ego. Damian and the reader don’t get along as superheroes, but as their normal selves they do. The only one who doesn’t know of the other person’s identity is Damian, which makes it all even more amusing for jon and the reader. But when the reader is brought back to the batcave after being injured, he finds out. Ty 💕

You hadn't meant for it to go this far. Really, you didn't. You had wanted to tell him as soon as possible, but then Jon had told you about how he talked about you-well, about your alter-ego- behind your back. But to be fair, it didn't keep on being behind your back for long, even though Damian didn't know that. "Tt, she'd do us all a favour if she'd stay at home," Damian grumbled when the muted Tv in the corner of the small coffee shop that he, Jon and you visited frequently, showed a picture of Ace, or rather you in your vigilante outfit (kindly donated by your god-aunt Diana who supported you with everything you did and was the reason you were now best friends with Jon and Damian's girlfriend). You couldn't help but roll your eyes. "What's your problem with her anyways? Shouldn't you be thankful that she helped you?" you sighed while picking at your piece of pie with the fork. You could feel Jon's knowing look on you, but you paid it no mind. "I could have very well handled it without her, she was just a bother anyways," he huffed and you couldn't help but chuckle a bit. He'd eat his words sooner or later. "I was on a case with her earlier that month and I really thought she was great. She has fighting skills on the same level as Diana, don't you think so too Y/N?" Jon sent you a bright, great smile and you could've sworn he winked at you. "I'm not sure I'd go that far," you answered with a small smirk and shrugged your shoulders, "It's not like I've seen her in action yet anyways, only know her on Tv and from what you guys tell me." Damian looked between the two of you slightly confused and highly annoyed, but you were sure that he wouldn't be able to put two and two together. For him, you were his sweet, but otherwise defenceless girlfriend that couldn't knock a two-year-old out and, to be fair, for the first years of your relationship that was exactly what you were. A normal girl in love with the great detective's son and best friend with Superman's. But then Diana (after years upon years of begging) took you with her to Themyscira and there something changed. Obviously you wouldn't be able to learn to fight in the two weeks you'd stay there, but somehow, after watching Diana train with the other Amazons, you felt like your muscles were burning with energy and every fibre of your being was urging to fight. Diana almost lost her mind when you stormed onto the training field, afraid that you'd get hurt on her watch, but she froze in her tracks when she saw you defeating one of the amazons as if you've been fighting for all your life. That's how you found out that somehow you had the power to copy the fighting style of anyone you watched. When you came back from your trip you spend a good three months watching every piece of realistic fighting that you could get your hand on and soon you were, in terms of fighting without powers, even besting Diana. Even though you knew you would never seriously be able to defeat her it was still a good feeling to know you were pretty good. So you became Ace. At first, it was great and you liked being a hero more than you ever thought you did, but soon you started feeling bad for keeping such a big secret from your best friends, especially knowing that they had told you about their secret as soon as they completely trusted you. So you had been planning to tell them when Jon called you to whine about Damian annoying him about some new vigilante who he had seen fighting in "his area" earlier that week. The look on your face when you realized that it had to be you. That was when a wicked thought planted itself in your head. Not soon after you had told Jon- and Jon being Jon, soon his family new about you and your plan too and that somehow ended in Damian's family knowing about both too. That's how you ended up being in the situation you were right now. Jon sitting there, having to hold back laughter and Damian being as clueless as ever. Did you feel bad about basically lying to him? Yes, somewhat you did. Was it really funny? Yes, yes it really really was. "But anyways," you restarted the conversation, finally taking a bite out of your abused cake, "I read somewhere recently that she was working with Batman against the Riddler two weeks ago." You smiled at the memory of how petrified you had been when your boyfriend father caught you running through Gotham, hunting after the Riddler, and how amazing it was to fight alongside him after he told you that he trusted Diana's judgement and would welcome you to become an ally to his team(/family), especially considering your relationship to Damian, but he also respected your "prank" and that you'd keep your distance until you'd finally tell him. "Tt, he wouldn't have needed her anyways. Especially not if I'd been there, but just because I lightly stab Jason once, I have to stay at home for patrol," he pouted and, even though you couldn't help smiling at his cluelessness, you also couldn't help yourself from giving him a small peck on the corner of his still pouting lip, making a small blush crawl onto his face at your PDA. "Uhm," Jon, who was still always extremely awkward at seeing the two of you kiss or- god forbid- actually make out, even though he himself called himself your biggest shipper, stammered, "H-hey Damian if your father works with her, why don't you ask him who she is?" His eyes widened as soon as the words left his mouth and he had to actively look away from you because he thought that he'd maybe start to cry if he'd saw the fury filled glare you sent his way. "Don't you think I did?" Damian huffed but didn't notice your angry eyes. "A-and what'd he say?" "He said it wasn't 'his secret to share,'" he scoffed, underlining how ridiculous he thought it was by making air-quotes. "But anyway, what did you guys plan on doing this weekend? I've heard there a really cool new movie in theatres right now. Damian's treat?"

It was two weeks after the conversation in the coffee shop when your guilt about keeping such a big secret from your boyfriend slowly started eating you up from inside. The fact that the movie's side story was about the main character and his love interest almost losing each other forever because of a secret that stood between that didn't really help much, did it now? So you've been planning how to do it for hours when your phone vibrated and twitter notification showed you that Robin was seen on his way through Gotham, most likely on patrol. It was really a short circuit reaction to get into your suit and jump out your window into the direction of where you thought the picture might have been taken. You were almost put off by how quickly you found him. Maybe it was because of how well you knew him, but it still surprised you to no end. "I heard you had something you have a bone to pick with me," you said, having no real plan on how to handle this. Damian span around at an unbelievable pace and you would have certainly been cut by the Batarang that was thrown your way, had it not been Diana's extra training in the area of "people will definitely throw sharp objects your way when you least expect it". For a second your eyes stayed on the Batarang that you held in your hand until they wandered back up at your unknowing boyfriend who looked at you like you were evil as a person. "Listen, I don't want to fight you, we're on the same team, remember?" you tried to somewhat clear the water. "Tt, you're nowhere near my team. You're just a little girl who thinks she can play superhero." "Okay, isn't that a little sexist?" you couldn't help the snarky comment, "And nevertheless, I've defeated real criminals, I've helped the city. What's your damn problem with me anyway. What have I ever done to upset you?" Your voice was raising and you were slightly afraid that he could recognize your voice, now not being too sure if you actually wanted him to know who you were anymore. "You're just an imposter. Don't you think I've noticed that your fighting style, as multifaceted as it may be, is just an exact copy of other peoples, mainly Wonder Women? Does she know that she has a seemingly shameless copycat running around?" You took a small step back out of surprise. He had never talked with your persona before and he still figured you out like an open book. You were fascinated and at the same time extremely annoyed and angry at his lack of empathy and him not even trying to find out who you were. "So what? Do I have to have my own style just to fight crime? Is it wrong of me to try and help people?" "It's a thing of hono-" "Oh shut the hell up and get that giant stick out of your ass," you huffed and made a sweeping gesture, "This city needs all the help it can get. Hell, this world needs all the help it can get! So excuse me for trying to be part of this help." You saw that he wanted to say something, but you didn't let him. "And if you are so invested in my honour, I have you know that Wonder Women is well aware of my fighting style! She was the one who thought it too me after all." With that, you turned around and jumped off of the building onto the balcony below it, keeping on climbing down the building until you were on the ground. All the frustration inside you made you feel your bone ache with the tears that you held in, while you stormed through the allies of Gotham, only stopping when you stood in front of an abandoned warehouse that was a hotspot for crime, that you'd usually keep away from, but right now you needed a ventile to get the anger out of you. When you entered, it was completely empty. "Well, so much for that," you muttered to yourself. You turned around, ready to leave and look somewhere else when you felt something pierce simultaneously through your back and your stomach. Your breath hitched in pain and shock when you looked down to see the tip of a short sword or a long knife standing out of your abdomen. "What a shame, I had planned for that to enter someone else's body. Too bad," a male voice echoed through the large empty hall, followed by the sound of a closing door. For a moment you thought about trying to follow him, but when you slightly turned around and the pain shot through you, you decided against it. You had to get medical attention. And that as soon as possible.

You had no idea how, but somehow, as unlikely as it seemed, you had managed to end up at the manor, your suit drenched with your own blood and every step painfully. The world was spinning around you and there were more black points in your sight than the actual world. With the last energy you could manage to gather, you pushed the doorbell and managed to stand straight while waiting for it to open. "Miss Y/L/N, what a surprise to see you here, especially in this attire. It is not wise to come in this way when you're wearing this," he welcomed you with a scolding look, not noticing the silver blade that was still stuck in your stomach, in his eyes, your mask seemingly covering how pale, tired and lifeless you already looked. Even if you were still awake enough to think straight, you wouldn't exactly have been surprised by him knowing who you were. He was still looking at you expectedly when you suddenly dropped forward against Alfred, managing with the last of your lifeforce to keep your stomach back a bit as to not to stab him with the tip of the long knife. The Butler tried to steady you by draping his arm around you when he suddenly took in a sharp breath as he felt the warm liquid that was your blood cover his hand and forearm, and his hand touching the handle of the weapon that might cause your ultimate demise. As quick as possible he picked you up, careful to keep your stomach as straight as possible so that the knife wouldn't cause more damage than necessary, and brought you down into the Batcave, not paying any mind to Damian who was sitting in the seat in front of the Batcomputer, sharpening his Katanas. Alfred carefully laid you down onto one of the medical beds on your side, quickly pulled up your medical file and sorted through one of their emergency 'blood-banks' to give you a transfusion. By the time he had you connected to all the medical machines- he was extremely quick after years of training, Damian came rushing to his side. He had a worried look on his face until he caught sight of your suit. "What is she-" "We have no time for that. Call Dr. Thompkins! Now!" Damian didn't dare to oppose Alfred's command and quickly did as he told before he came back to Alfred who did his best to keep you alive, your heartbeat way too slow. "She's on her way, I told her it was urgent," Damian grumbled. He was, of course, somewhat worried about you- well, about Ace- but seeing his object of daily annoyment laying there in front of him, basically dead, he couldn't help but feel validated in his hate towards her. That was until Alfred took your mask off to check your reaction towards light to see if you were still responsive. Damian could hear his heart break and stop when he saw who he felt was maybe the love of his life lay there, hair dull and dishevelled around your head, skin almost wide and your face so lifeless. His brain couldn't comprehend what was going on and it was like time froze. He only started to realize anything was happening again when he felt his father's arm pull him away from where Dr. Thompkins, who he hadn't even notice coming in, and Alfred closed the makeshift medical curtain to start operating you. Damian looked up at Bruce, his tearstained cheeks still wet, no sign of his eyes stopping to cry anytime soon, and saw the look in his eyes. That look of sorriness. That look of hopelessness. That look like he was sure, that you wouldn't make it out of the cave alive.

The tension in the cave was so explosive that no one dared to say a word. Besides the members of the Batfamily that were gathered there, Diana was pacing through the room and Jon and Clark were silent beside their best friends- Clark with a hand on Bruce's shoulder and Jon holding Damian's hand, another thing no one dared to speak about, not budging at the strength of his grin that would break a normal humans hand. It was nothing against what he had to endure when he had first entered the cave. A completely livid and messy, tired-looking Damian came at him, pushing his chest while screaming at him, asking him if he knew. When Jon didn't answer, just a look of extreme guilt in his eyes, Damian snapped. It took Clark and Bruce together too rip him off of his best friend who just stood there and silently took every blow. When Damian had finally calmed down, his eyes slowly watering again, Jon dared too move closer to him, his worry over his best friend greater than the shame he felt for being- in his eyes- partly responsible for your state. Damian, who deep inside knew that it wasn't Jon's fault- that it wasn't anyone's fault but the persons who had thrown that knife- clutched onto his best friend and cried onto his shoulder, which was all it took for Jon to break and the tears to roll down his cheeks too. When it felt like they were both dry of tears they sat down, hand in hand. With Diana, it wasn't too different, just less violent. She came rushing in and demanded to see you. When Bruce made it clear that you were still operated on, she wanted to storm out of the cave and comb through the city for the person who was responsible for that. Bruce somehow managed to talk her out of it, but he knew that she wouldn't be the only one who'd started wreaking havoc when Dr. Thompkins came out of the medical area with the bad news he already expected. He just hoped he would manage to be a good father for Damian when it'd count most. Almost nine hours of nearly complete silence had passed before Alfred came to them, still in his scrubs. Everyone stopped what they were doing and you could've heard a pin drop. "She's through and will make it. No permanent damage, but she won't be able to do any physical straining activities for the next few months. It was a very close shot." A collective breath of relief went through the room and a lot of tense shoulders relaxed. "Can I- Can we see her?" Damian's voice, that was so much timider than anyone was used to, asked and Alfred could see the desperation on his face. "Yes, but she probably won't wake up very soon. Her body is thoroughly and utterly exhausted." Damian didn't care. He sat beside your bed for the next two days. The others would come in for a while, either to make sure Damian isn't completely alone or to be with you but left after a few hours, not being able to abandon their lives forever. It was around midnight, Jon and Clark had just left to get back to Smallville for a change of clothes and a goodnight sleep in their own beds a few hours ago when Damian shot up from being half-asleep at the sound of a groan echoing through the empty room. His eyes looked around frantically, searching for any sort of danger when a small cough turned his attention to you. Your eyes were still closed but your face was pinched together in pain. "Hey," Damian whispered and took hold of your hand, his demeanour easing a bit when you pressed it. "Dami?" you whispered back with a coarse voice and slowly your eyes fluttered open. When you saw into his face, worry and sorrow marked onto it, you couldn't help the tears from welling up, everything that had happened and the realization of almost losing everything came crashing down onto you. "Shhhh, it's okay, everything okay," Damian mumbled soothingly and quickly sat onto the side of your bed to take you into his arms. For the last 48 hours, he had imagined every sort of conversation about why you didn't tell him about your alter ego, about how you could've been so careless, about why you even became a vigilante when you knew how dangerous it was, but at that moment he realized that all that was unimportant. Of course, he'd have to talk about it with you sooner or later, but after almost losing you, the fact that you were still there in his arms was the most he could want.

[my-happy-little-bean]

The Bookkeeper – Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Nihilism and the Death of Art (I)

pairings: logan/patton (logicality), roman/virgil (prinxiety)  words: 3611 chapter warnings: mild swearing, nihilism, existential crisis, arguments, implied deaths/”ghosts” chapter summary: the reunion episode

[read on ao3] [masterlist]

< previous chapter

—

Fray and Far Fables dwelled in silence for a week. Logan kept himself busy with writing, but worked on everything except for his speech. Instead, he scrawled questions in the margins of his drafts, annotating his work in the hopes that it’d meet Virgil Aries’ careful eye. 

He knew he should have let it go ever since Roman’s breakdown—the deadline for his drafted speech was fast approaching, after all—but he couldn’t help it. Part of him truly believed that if Roman saw how much he wanted this, he’d change in his mind. 

Logan underlined a few words of his annotations, narrowing his eyes. Blue sparks trailed his writing. 

Roman had to change his mind. 

Logan sighed, looking over at Virgil Aries’ book sitting on his counter, closed. He used to think it was taunting him, but now it felt like it was begging him for anything, anything, anything. 

He hadn’t seen Roman much in the past few days, but he made sure that the book sat in Roman’s line of sight, just as much as it sat in his. But still, Roman hid in the shadows between each book. He didn’t even come out for Patton, who had only visited once or twice, as if he was a child walking into the middle of their parents’ feud. 

Logan crumbled a sticky note in his hand and flicked it off the counter, a trail of blue magic shooting it straight into the trash can. 

“Oh isn’t this quite the show.” 

Logan blinked. Sitting on Virgil Aries’ book was Roman, magically there with no trace of entrance. 

“I...how did you...” 

Roman snapped his fingers, and a spark of red fizzled out like a fading sparkler. Logan abandoned the current point of intrigue almost immediately, and settled for the next.

“Where have you been?” 

“I’ve been bookkeeping.” Roman shot him a glare. “That's all I do.” 

Logan winced.

“Roman, I want to talk to you, about what I said–” 

“Already forgotten, Specs.” 

“ Please just...just hear me out. Okay?” 

Roman opened his mouth to protest, but it eventually thinned into a tense line. Logan took a deep breath, closing his eyes and pushing up his glasses. 

“I’m sorry about what happened in the book nook,” Logan murmured. “I...I was being too eager.” 

“You were being unrealistic, Logan.” 

“I just don’t think it is unrealistic.” Logan sighed. “I...I know that it is a lot to ask for. And I discredited you a lot that day, and I just want you to know that what I said...it isn’t reflective of what I think about you, Roman. I think the world of you.” 

Roman softened, Logan could tell, but he did his best not to show it. 

“...Go on.” 

Logan let a small smile slip. 

“That’s why I think we can do this, Roman. I know you are apprehensive, but I want to work through that with you. And if we can perfect this, it opens up so many possible avenues for the state of research as we know it. We could contribute so much , Roman.”

A pause. Roman hopped off the closed copy of Virgil Aries’ book and floated off the counter, flying slowly along the shelves. He ran his hand across the spines of the books.

“Why do you want to meet Virgil?” Roman asked quietly. 

Logan found himself taken aback. 

“I...there’s so many reasons, Roman. You know I could go on for days about his work–”

“But why him? ” Roman stopped mid-air and turned around to stare at Logan. “Why do you want to hear it from him?” 

It was only then that Logan saw a glint of red in Roman's irises, buried beneath a mix of tiredness and hope. He had seen both before, but never together. 

Logan frowned, face scrunching up in thought. 

“There’s knowledge that needs to be explored, even just a little,” he finally said. “And I know Virgil Aries had more to say. I’m sincere in my intentions, Roman — I want to finish the thoughts he wanted to explore.” 

Roman looked at Logan, almost defeated. The red glow around him dimmed to the point where it dropped him slightly. Logan jolted forward, as if ready to catch him, but Roman lifted himself back up with a heavy sigh. 

“You used to do that a lot, you know.” Roman smiled, yet it felt hollow. “As a kid, you used to finish everyone’s sentences. You always seemed to know what to say; you always seemed to know every answer. So...seeing you like this puzzles me, I suppose.” 

“What are you saying, Roman?” 

Roman closed his eyes and floated back to the counter, sitting on Virgil Aries’ book once more. 

“They say that the desire to know– truly know– everything about anything runs deep in one’s veins. And like any sort of power, it can become...well, overpowering.”

Roman opened his eyes and looked up at Logan.

“What I’m saying is that this will change things, Logan. You deal with a greater power than what I am exerting. You deal with the past and you deal with knowledge: both the reaffirming kind and the new, hidden kind– the one that lays in unexplored realms.” 

“Roman, what are you–” 

“I’m scared, Logan,” Roman blurted out. The air grew thick and the shop became quiet. Roman rubbed the bridge of his nose, ducking his head, almost embarrassed. “I’m...I’m just scared.” 

Logan softened.

“Who wouldn’t be?” Logan held out his hand against the counter, palm open for Roman to land, as he always did. “But fear underlies every pursuit, yet the pursuit itself is worth it. It always is.”

Roman looked at Logan’s hand, looked down at the book, and took a deep breath. 

“You’re a nerd, you know that?” Roman floated off the book and towards Logan’s hand. “You are the biggest nerd, and I hate what you’re about to make me do because of your whole...nerd thing.” 

Logan’s smile only grew. And when Roman landed on his open palm, sparks of blue and red fizzled together, leaving a second-long burst of purple; then the blue grew like small tides of smoke and washed over the red. 

(As it was always meant to do.)

—

Logan stood at the front counter, flipping through his drafts in his hand. Patton, who Logan had called for moral support, stood alongside Logan. He tapped his foot quietly as Roman scanned the pages of Virgil Aries’ book.

“Okay, listen up,” Roman said, not breaking his stare from the pages beneath him. “Before we do this, I gotta lay down some ground rules.” 

“Oh, wonderful,” Logan said dryly. “I feel like a child on a field trip.” 

Roman looked up and narrowed his eyes at him. Logan gulped. 

“I mean...go on. I quite thoroughly enjoy rules.” 

“Me too!” Patton spoke up. “Rules rule! ”

Roman smiled wryly and nodded, continuing on with his reading.

“So first off, do not touch anything. Not only am I going to be putting a lot of energy into creating a physical manifestation of Virgil Aries’ soul, but also my magic has been a bit rusty as of late. So this book nook is going to be extremely fragile. Think of it like a house of cards: one wrong move and the whole thing is going to fall apart.” 

“Got it.” 

“Also, you can’t touch Virgil Aries, you can’t tell him that he’s in a book nook or make any reference to the fact that he’s dead, and you can’t give him anything. On top of the whole ‘fragile book nook’ thing, the entirety of his soul isn’t really in the book. Remember, there are many parts of a soul, and since Virgil’s life is a single fragment of that soul, it is still not fully him; you wouldn’t want to confuse the poor guy, the whole thing will fall apart. Plus, most of his soul is in the astral plane, so anything you’d try to give him would probably wind up there too — and there’s no ‘lost and found’ box in the astral plane.

Patton blinked and slowly, but hesitantly, nodded. Logan smiled and shook his head, patting Patton’s shoulder.

“And finally–” Roman stared at the papers in Logan’s hand– “you can’t stay for too long.”

Logan’s eyes darted up to meet Roman’s.

“What do you mean? You and Patton stay in the other book nooks for hours on end–” 

“You’re different,” Roman snapped. A pause. Logan tilted his head. Roman cleared his throat. 

“I– I mean... it’s different. It’s different...for you.” He crossed his arms and huffed. “Look, I don’t have to explain myself to you.” 

“...You do have to explain it to me.” Logan waved the papers at Roman. “I have so many questions for him, it’s going to at least take an hour to walk through my first draft– I even devised my own interview with him with several questions and–” 

“No, Logan. It’s– It’s my job to protect you, and I– I swore to your grandfather which means this is already a huge violation of that promise and– and you…”

Roman sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You just can’t, okay?” 

A beat of silence. Logan stared at Roman and couldn’t help but think about how far back the two of them went; how much Roman knew about him that he didn’t yet know about himself. And even if the rules of magic would allow it, would Roman tell him any of it? 

Logan closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before setting some papers aside. All he kept in his right hand was one paper: the cover of his speech, with his research question sprawled on it; the only part that wasn’t completely drowned in red ink. Patton held his other hand and squeezed it softly. Roman nodded. 

“Okay, so if everything is understood, we can get started.” Roman pressed his hands on the page and closed his eyes. A soft, red glow...

And nothing happened. 

“Uhh, Roman?” Patton spoke up after a few seconds. “Do you, um…” 

“I– I’m fine.” Roman gritted his teeth. “Just need to get everything together. In– in place.” 

“How can we assist you?”

Roman looked up at Logan, then back down at the book. He took a deep breath. 

“Grab the book, Lo. I need you to read an excerpt. Kinda move things along.” 

“Are you not able to read it like last ti–” 

“ Time’s ticking, Logan.” 

“Right, got it.” Logan grabbed the book, being careful not to drop Roman. 

“Now hold it out in front of you and hold on tight.” 

Patton moved his hold on Logan to his arm, bringing himself closer to his side. Logan took a deep breath. 

“ ‘ Nihilism is defined by nothingness, the belief that life is meaningless. In this true nothingness, artists hence pursue their work in the hopes of creation within said void. However, the newfound rigidity of their work is more prevalent than ever. The artist has become a mass-produced object, producing in turn. Any optimism in the practice has turned to neutrality and helpless routine, if not a nightmare. The loss of identity and purpose is welcomed and–’ ”

Logan felt himself jerk forward, a blinding void of darkness– no, not darkness, nothing–  filling his vision and blurring the words. 

He snuck a glance at Patton, who held him even tighter. Then, he looked at Roman, who had his eyes closed with tears of exertion beading his face. 

“K-Keep–  going.” 

He clenched his jaw as the nothing swirled up his legs and crawled through his skin.

“ ‘– And art has become a defense mechanism — an emotionally-neutral act of creation. If there is no spark behind the canvas, is there anything truly meant by its existence, or is it just – is it just dark– is it– ’ ”

And before the darkness swallowed him whole, Logan looked up and saw two steely, purple eyes, staring right at him.

...

(But he can’t go back, he just can’t .)

—

Logan blinked, trying to gain sight of his surroundings. He stood in what seemed like an ink-filled void, the air thick and hollow. All he could see was a wooden, barely-together chair and a single, dimmed lightbulb strung up from nowhere. 

And on the chair, shrouded with a cloak of matching darkness, was Virgil Aries. 

Virgil was leaned forward in the chair, his tattered cloak falling at his sides. Peeking out from under his hood was strands of silver hair, yet Logan noticed that Virgil looked younger than he expected, at least mid-20s. 

But that wasn’t what Logan was looking at. Logan couldn’t break his stare away from Virgil’s eyes: purple and pulsing with a light that was almost blinding. 

Logan dropped the book with a deafening thud , and Roman fell with it. 

Virgil stared at him for a moment, then looked at the book. Logan watched Virgil make eye contact with Roman before he buried his stare into Logan’s skull. 

“...Um, ow. ” 

Logan frowned, then looked at the book on the floor. Roman frantically motioned for him to pick him up. Logan’s mouth dropped to a small ‘o’ and he scrambled to pick the book up. 

“Oh– I apologize, I don’t know what I was thinking I–” 

“Don’t sweat it. It was...a joke. Yeah.” Virgil rubbed the back of his neck. “Just a joke.”

“Is this where you live?” Patton blurted out. Virgil tilted his head. Everything he seemed to do was so sluggish.

“I live in London.” Virgil slowly looked around them. “And this isn’t...this…” 

Roman hopped off the book and onto Patton’s shoulder. He loudly cleared his throat. 

“Nah, this is all me, Pat. I took us here, remember? I would’ve made– er, brought you guys to a better place, but this is sorta all I could, um...get to on time, heh.”

Patton patted Roman’s head with his index finger. Virgil glared at Roman once more and narrowed his eyes. 

“And who exactly are you?”

Logan turned to Roman, waiting for him to introduce himself, but he instead stayed quiet. Logan decidedly stepped forward. 

“I am Logan Fray. Professor Aries, it is an honour to meet you.”

Patton whispered to Roman, “Professor?” 

Roman said nothing.

“Alright, cool, so first rule — let’s not call me that. Pretty sure you aged me, like, seventy years. And you’re reminding me of my crippling student debt and the corruption within academia. So Virgil is just fine.” Virgil leaned back in his chair. “And I asked who you are — what the hell am I supposed to do with a name?” 

Logan felt his cheeks burning red. 

“Um– of course!” He loosened his tie and broke into a shaky smile. “I own a bookshop named Fray and Far Fables, but more notably, I am currently conducting research on the practicality and implications of nihilism in regards to...well, the death of art, for lack of better phrasing.” 

“ Oh.” Virgil’s smug smile dropped. “You’re here to talk about…” 

“Your book.” Logan held up a piece of paper with a bright smile. “I have a few questions for you in regards to your writing. Since we’re on a bit of a figurative time crunch at the moment, I am just going to go ahead and start. On page 34, when you stated that art’s foundation has been encased in an hopeless paradox, do you mind clarifying what tha–” 

“Now I’m going to stop you right there,” Virgil cut in, waving his hand dismissively. “Are you seriously asking me to explain my book to you?” 

Logan blinked. 

“Not explain it, per se. I just assumed you had more to say. The book was published before you– well, it was published early. And it more or less ended with a question that I now pose today: what is, then, the point of art in a meaningless life? I am seeking these answers too, and I think we can answer them together.” 

Logan took a brave step forward. “We have the most precious thing before us: knowledge and time. ”

A beat of silence. Virgil looked over at Patton and Roman. 

“Is he always like this?” 

“Yeahhh.” Patton gave him a small smile. “It’s cute.”

“If ‘cute’ means hopelessly pretentious, then sure.” 

Logan’s jaw dropped. 

“I– what?” 

Patton stifled a laugh. Virgil, however, laughed openly. Logan felt himself stumble back. He turned to Roman.

“Is– is this some sort of joke? Am I being punished, and this is not actually Virgil Aries?” 

“I’m right here–” 

“I’m not punishing you, Logan.” Roman’s voice was barely above a murmur. “This...this is Virgil Aries.”

Virgil shrugged, leaning back in his chair. Logan stared at him, trying to imagine what he used to think Virgil looked like: straight-postured, wisps of brown hair, wise, passionate. He attempted to place the illusion on top of what he saw right now: a small, tired man. 

“Your...your book is brilliant,” Logan murmured, his heart sinking. “There has to be something you can tell me.” 

For a split second, Virgil’s smile fell. 

“It’s all in there,” Virgil replied quietly. “There is nothing left for me to say. Who cares about knowing whether art means or does not mean something when...when everything means nothing?” 

Logan blinked. To himself, he quietly murmured, “I care.”

(Buildings crashing, everything crashing– ) 

“Besides,” Virgil continued. “I have never really met someone who was this passionate about my book — that includes me.” 

“But– but it is your life’s work,” Logan stammered. He felt the air around him grow heavier.  “Y-You– you wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”

Virgil blinked at him. “This ... was my life’s work?” 

Shit. He forgot about that rule. Logan looked over at Roman, who stayed still.

Logan turned back to Virgil. 

“Okay, okay. Even if you didn’t have anything left to say about your work, you have to at least have any insight about my question. T-There...there has to be something. ”

“Logan,” he heard Roman finally whisper behind him, “I– I think we have to go.” 

“No!” Logan stormed up to Virgil, despite feeling Patton attempt to grab him back. “No, we– we can’t go, there– there has to be an answer, there has to be–” 

“There isn’t anything, Logan.” Virgil’s voice suddenly became buried in overlapping echoes. He turned his head away from Logan. “There is no answer– the point of nihilism is that there is nothing. There is nothing to live for, there is nothing to write — there is no answer, Logan, because the answer is that there is none.” 

“L-Logan, we have to go. ” For the first time in a long time, Roman’s voice trembled with the force of an unsteady storm. “We– we have to leave, please– ” 

“Lo, I– I think you should listen to Roman, just–” 

“How could you be telling me this?!” Logan felt himself gasp for air with each word. “You– you can’t understand art’s meaning without understanding the implied lack thereof, and if you already know the lack thereof, you– you have to know the– the thereof! ”

“What are you even– Logan, when will you understand?” Virgil stood up slowly. Logan felt as if the air around him was starting to suffocate him. Virgil’s voice was shaking with dark echoes that sent chills down Logan’s spine. 

“I’ve been waiting for someone to prove me wrong. And no one has. ” 

Logan paled. In front of him was the answer– this had to have been the answer– Virgil had to have the answer, even if he didn’t know and– and if this wasn’t the answer– if there was no answer, then– 

In the blink of an eye, Logan lunged at Virgil with a frustrated roar, hearing the shouts of Roman and Patton drown out behind him. But before he could grab onto Virgil, he stopped dead in his tracks. 

His hand...was grey. 

And climbing up his arm was grey, something in his chest went grey, and he could feel it in his neck, in his skull–

“W-What is…” His voice was barely above a whisper. “What is happening to me?”

Virgil looked down at Logan’s darkened hand and sighed. Everything around him and Logan froze for a brief moment in what felt like a never-ending tunnel of time.

“You know what pessimistic nihilism is, right?”

“Y-Yes. It’s– it’s usually reserved for people mid-crisis before recovering into some sort of belief system”

“Then find it.” Virgil shakily grabbed the collar of Logan’s shirt. Time slowly returned in dredging slumps. Virgil's purple eyes haunted Logan in a way that he knew could not ever be reversed. “Find what you believe in because it’s not here– there’s nothing else here–” 

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Roman screamed.

Before Logan could say anything else, he felt himself fall down, down, down; past the darkness, past Patton’s screams and tears, past Virgil and Roman and the answers, just out of his reach–

And when Logan returned to the shop, panting for air, he looked up at his hand. Patches of the inky void that carved into his skin crawled down his fingertips and disappeared into the air in front of him. . 

In his other hand, he saw his tight grasp on the paper with his question. Strings of words burned into his retinas. 

“If life has no inherent meaning….”

“Why are humans so eager to escape …” 

“What’s the point in creating something out of nothing ?” 

“What’s the point of anything at all if there’s—”

And with a strangled cry, Logan ripped the paper in half, and then again, and then again; until it was all gone, and there was nothing, nothing, nothing.

—

next chapter > 

[herondaleholly31]

The Book Swap  Chris Evans X Reader

Overview: You and Chris read your favourite books to each other 

A/N.....It’s been 84 years. No seriously it has been a LONG time since I’ve put something on here, but I’ve been taking a break writing imagines and I am beginning to love writing bigger projects. I’ve had lots of inspiration during lockdown however so those should start to come on here at some point. Thank you for continuing to show love to the rest of my imagines and I hope you like this one. If there’s any requests for both scenarios and people keep sending them to me and I’ll make sure to keep wokring through them :) 

Like and Reblog! 

Word Count: 2400

“Can we eat this in bed?” You jiggle the bowl of steaming pasta as you deliberately shuffle towards the bedroom. Chris looked up through his eyelashes and raised an eyebrow. 

“You want our bed to smell like meatballs?”

“But it will just make all of this perfect.” You pointed to the large windows which were dark and splattered with rain just as a flash of lightning lit up the skyline. Dodger whimpered nervously from his bed and gnawed further into the neck of his lion toy. “Dodger can hang out with us, and we can watch TV in bed and be nice and warm. You’d like that, wouldn’t you Dodger?” You cooed and bent down to rub behind the dog’s ears, holding your food high so he couldn’t eat any of it. Dodger stretched and padded to Chris’ feet. Chris looked at you both and smiled with fake reluctance. “Okay, fine. Come on Bubba,” he picked up his bowl and slowly walked towards the door, making sure not to trip over Dodger’s bounding in delight. 

“Let’s just both promise we’re not going to spill anything,” Chris said jokingly, widening his eyes in a telling expression. 

You rolled your eyes. “It was one hot chocolate.” 

“And now there’s a stain that looks like someone pooed on one of the sheets.” Chris took your bowl and motioned his head for you the get into bed first. You turned on the fairy lights and lamps and dived underneath the puffy white duvet, wrapping it around your legs and hips while shifting it, so it was easy for him to get in too. Dodger sat at the end, his tail thwacking the air out of the duvet, eyes wide and staring at the food with longing. “No Bubba,” Chris warned as he gave you back your meal, “this isn’t for you. I’ve saved you some already.” 

“You made extra meatballs for the dog?” You shook your head in disbelief. Chris shrugged as if to to say of course I would and then gently pushed Dodgers sniffling nose away. You ate in silence watching the TV, the storm growing louder outside. As stomach full, you sank into the pillows, feeling so comfortable you never wanted to leave. Chris left only once to take the bowls away and bring in cups of coffee, but apart from that, he seemed to sink beside you.

“Is it alright If we turn off the TV?” You asked a little while later, “I’m in the mood to read.” 

“Yea, ‘course.” The TV went off, and you leaned over to your bedside table, shuffling further into the pillows as you got yourself comfortable to read. You had only read a few lines when Chris asked what you were reading. 

“A room with a view,” you showed him the cover. 

“Didn’t you read that at Christmas?” 

“Yea, but I was in the mood to reread it. Is that okay?” You jokingly confronted him, leaning closer to him feign intimidation. Chris copied you and gently pushed you on the forehead, so your head moved back. “I never understood the fun about classics.”

“Because they’re amazing stories.” 

“You can’t even understand them.” 

“Only smart people can.” 

“Oh, so are you saying I’m not smart?” 

“I don’t see your degree,” you pointed at your framed degree hung proudly by the bookshelf. 

“You mean the degree that’s next to my THREE shelves of awards?” Chris smiled cheekily as he pointed at the collection of statues glimmering in the soft light. “I don’t see your shelves there?” He laughed when you smacked him playfully with the book, leaning down to kiss you on the shoulder a couple of times. “We know you’re smarter than me.” 

“Thank you.” You moved closer to him, so he stayed propped up near you, breathing steadily as you went back to the story. He kept his head by your shoulder, sighing deliberately, so a gush of breath tickled the loose hairs around your neck. After a few minutes, you instinctively crumpled your ear into your shoulder, whinging at him to stop. 

“Sorry, sorry,” but his tone was edged with mirth. You tried to immerse yourself again, although this time Chris was starting to read lines out, intentionally dotting around the page, so your head began to swim. 

“…Was she was wrong in this, she asked herself, reviewing her conduct for the past week or two…” 

“Chris.”

“…she reflected, feeling rather sinister again, making Minta marry Paul…” 

“Please stop.” 

“….There was always a woman dying of cancer.” He frowned and shook his head. “This sounds so depressing.” You clapped a hand over his mouth, gritting your teeth as you smiled but muttering threats into his ear as he widened his eyes in phantom shock. “I swear you better shut up I’m trying to read.”

 “I love it when you talk dirty,” Chris mumbled behind your hand. 

“Are you going to stop?” You frowned. Chris nodded. Slowly, you pulled your hand away. Chris opened his mouth as if he was going to speak, but with a quick “NO,” he closed it again. He halted for a moment, then spoke again. 

“What is it about this book that makes you love it so much?” 

“The writing is beautiful,” you sighed with content, “you don’t have to fully understand what E.M Forster’s saying because you FEEL what he’s saying through his words. He can perfectly describe a feeling which I’ve never been able to put into words. Like here,” you rapidly thumbed through the pages, stopping and jabbing at a line underlined in smudged pencil. “For that reason, knowing what was before them – love and ambition and being wretched alone on dreary places – she often had the feeling, why must they grow up and lose it all?” You shook the book in delight, expecting Chris to be just as excited. When he didn’t, your jaw slacked. “Isn’t that wonderful?” 

‘If you think it’s wonderful, then it must be,’ Chris shrugged. He pointed at the multitude of lines underlined in silver, gently moving underneath your hands to peer at the next few pages. “Why do you underline so much?” 

You bit the side of your cheek in an attempt to not sound embarrassed. “It depends. Sometimes it’s lines that are written really well or things that made me laugh; mostly it’s moments which make me love the book in particular. Like first kisses or when two people are reunited. Like here.’ Flipping the page, you read “‘this is not what we want; there is nothing more tedious, puerile, and inhumane than love; yet it is also beautiful and necessary.’ Forster could’ve just said love is excellent, but this means so much more.”

“Uh, huh.” Chris was pretending to doze off on you, but when you retaliated by starting to shuffle away, he held you back. “Stop moving! you know I like how you pick up on those things.” He held his hand out as an invitation for the book, and when you handed it over, he flipped through the pages, reading the lines you’d memorised for so many years. “Is this how you feel? The way he writes?”

“Maybe not exactly. But I knew exactly what Forster meant by that last line because it made me think of you.” You enjoyed the way Chris’ face softened, the usually prominent bone structure hiding as his cheeks filled with a smile. 

“Maybe I should read it sometime if it means this much to you,” he mused, nodding slowly. “Even if it is all about ladies dying with cancer.” 

“Please do.” You half rolled over, your eyes drying out as you tried to look pleadingly at him. “I would die if you did that for me. I’ll read your favourite book if that persuades you.” You frowned. “I don’t even know what your favourite book is.” 

“Easy,” Chris said “Ferdinand the Bull.” 

“That’s a children’s book.” 

“So?”

“Well, it’s not exactly emotionally challenging.” 

“Hey, I cried at Ferdinand when I was a kid. Mom used to read it to us all the time. Didn’t you have Ferdinand in England?” 

“Probably, but my parents didn’t read loads to me.” 

“Aw man, you gotta read Ferdinand.” Chris swung out of bed, and half walked half skidded out of the room, Dodger tearing after him in excitement. You heard doors opening, lights being flicked on and bound books being dragged against wooden shelves, and then Chris came back down the corridor, turning to pick up the leg of Dodger’s stuffed lion and pulling both toy and dog back through the door. Dodger easily winning the tug of war sat underneath your vanity, chewing on his prize and Chris climbed back into bed, holding a battered picture book in triumph. It was obviously ancient. The red front cover had faded at the spine and at the edges due to sun exposure and a faint green stain which looked like paint coated the bottom. Chris still held it like it was a photo album and as he opened to the first page, he emitted a small gasp in wonder. 

“Oh my God, I haven’t read this in so long! Look, there’s my name.” He pointed at a scribble in the corner of the page, barely eligible. You smiled and nodded, not having the heart to tell him that he could’ve written a swear word and you wouldn’t have been able to tell. “It’s exactly how I remembered it,” Chris spoke fondly, and he adjusted the lamp by his head, so it shone brighter on the pages. “I’ve got to read this to Stella next time I see her,” at the mention of his niece he softened even more, and his expression went slightly gooey. 

“You can read it to me if you want,” you offered.

“You sure you don’t wanna keep reading your book?”

“Nah, I want to see what all the hype is about.” You gently closed A Room With A View and tapped on Chris’s arm, to which he lifted it up so you could lie between the pillow and his side. He shifted himself up so he could read and pushed your head to rest on his collarbone. “Can you see the pictures?” He spoke in a mocking baby voice but didn’t start until you’d stop shuffling and were comfy. Then he began to read, soft and slow at first but a couple of pages in he seemed to forget you were there. His voice started to rise and fall and get more expressive as he told the story of the bull who loved to smell flowers, and he laughed at the spindly drawings. You felt your eyes becoming droopy, and you shook your head to stay awake as he started to stroke your arm with the back of his hand, propping the book upon his knee so he could keep turning the pages. 

“…And for all, I know he is sitting there still, under his favourite cork tree, smelling the flowers just quietly.” Chris nodded once in satisfaction, and the story was over. Putting the book on the floor, Chris shifted you slightly to rest back into him, smiling. “Did you like it?” 

“I loved it,” you nodded, my head bobbling slightly as it bumped over his collarbone, “I especially loved your animated voice halfway through.”

“Stella insists on giving each person a different voice, even if none of them actually speak. Apparently, it helps her ‘become friends with them.’”

“That’s going to be fun when you start reading her Harry Potter.” 

“Eh, it’s good to practise.” 

“For what?”

“When I get to read it to my own kids.” He laughed at your widened eyes and lips which had now pouted out in surprised, “are you getting a little emotional thinking about me with children?”

“No,” you lied. 

“Sorry, not my kids, OUR kids,” Chris’ eyes twinkled mischievously. You had to turn away then as a wave of motherly instinct you didn’t know was there filled your stomach, and your breath caught momentarily. “With their little curly hair and Boston accents.” 

“I’m going to have to sleep after this.”

“And we can read to them loads and eat spaghetti with them…”

 “you’re really mean, you know that,” you scowled, but you couldn’t help but see these children, running around in your mind in that teetering away all toddlers do on their chubby legs. 

“You know what will be great too?” 

“I swear if what you’re about to say is going to taunt me in my dreams-“

“Disney-world trips.” 

“For God’s sake, Chris!”

“They’ll be so cute though!” 

“Yeah well, now I’m going to dream about that.” You rolled over as if to try and sleep, but Chris rolled with you so now you were spooning, his knuckles continuing to stroke your skin in half soothing, half taunting way. “Our kids will be adorable,” you mumbled as you smiled into your pillow, “and they’ll love Ferdinand.”

 “And I hope they see the world like you do,” Chris peppered a couple of kisses behind your ear and down your neck and then turned off the last light, so the room plunged into darkness. Dodger was finally settled and asleep, and there was a moment of creaking as Chris settled back into the spot he was lying in. For a moment, there were only the sounds of breathing, but you were now wide awake. You felt your mind whirring away, and you didn’t know if you wanted to punch the man next to you or kiss him. 

“Okay so technically,” you spoke into the dark “we don’t want to have kids for a while.” 

“Right.” Chris agreed. 

“But there’s nothing wrong with practising.” You felt the arm around you tense suddenly, and his shadow popped up like an excited dog.

“No!” He cleared his throat. “No, there isn’t at all.”

“You said the Disney comment on purpose didn’t you?” You held a finger out as he leaned forward. Chris shrugged unapologetically and grabbed your arm to pull you on top of him, his chest already rising and falling quickly with anticipation.

“I might have done.” 

“Ooo, maybe I should go sleep in the spare room then,” you teased and started to wriggle off him, but with a low laugh, Chris’ hand moved from your arm to the back of your legs.

 “You’re not going anywhere,” his voice was gravelly as you became lost in each other. 

[jojo-reader-hell]

hi could i please get a rohan x sibling reader during the events of DIU?? and if u dont mind, could the reader be around 15ish and a stand user?? sorry if this is too vague

No worries! I had to do a bit of research for this one, so I hope you enjoy it regardless! I didn’t know his character too well, let me know if I did Rohan justice!

Rohan Kishibe and Sister!Reader: Tales from Moominvalley

“Are you reading that pathetic excuse of chicken scratch again?”

You looked up from your Moomin anthology, a scowl on your face when your eyes met with Rohan’s. You never understood why you got the short end of the stick with this piss poor excuse of a brother. He mocked everything you did, most brothers would protect their baby sisters from any harm in the world. A normal big brother would sacrifice life and limb, climb any mountain, face any foe, stop his own heart to pull his baby sister free from a centuries long curse. Rohan called you a basement dweller because you held weekly sessions of Dungeons and Dragons at the cyber cafe in town (it used to be held at your home, until Rohan started coming in and making fun of the plot you’d created). He would demean you as a person for getting less than perfect marks at school. Put on a good enough show for the adults that worshiped him and for the fans of his works, but treated you like a disease.

“It’s called literature, Rowboat. As in, the artist is also an accomplished writer who understands world building and human emotion. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? Go back to your cartoons.”

You had to be harsh, to protect yourself from him.

“What did you say, you little basement dweller?!” He growled.

“I said you’re nowhere near the accomplishments of Tove Jansson, artistically or in terms of writing. Now shut up and leave me alone. I’m reading about REAL emotions.”

You both continued like this back and forth, until Rohan refused to cook you dinner and you stormed out of the house in a huff, not letting him see the tears that fell down your cheeks as you slammed the door. He knew you didn’t have much money, but the way you insulted him, he couldn’t take the abuse lying down.

Not even if he had to be the responsible one, because your parents didn’t want to take care of a child anymore. Not even if he’d been the one to come and claim you, never alluding to how much he’d cried when he was told that the courts approved his request to become your legal guardian, or how excited he’d been to have the privilege of raising such a fine baby sister such as you were.

Pride got in the way. Useless pride, and perhaps even a bit of envy when he first heard you telling stories to your Stand. Defying Gravity always sat perfectly still when he saw her through the crack in your door, her head cocked as you went on and on about the worlds inside your head and the characters you thought of. Some of them seemed so familiar, and it was when he’d taken you on some outings in the city for school supplies that he noticed you were very quiet and contemplative, always watching everyone else around you live their lives as though you were watching fish swimming in an aquarium. It was always pride, because no matter how many times Rohan used his Stand on others he couldn’t seem to connect the dots like you could. Understanding people and emotions, it came so naturally to you, and yet it never seemed as though you were able to read your own brother accurately.

He noticed as he trekked to the kitchen to make some coffee that you’d left your Moomin book on the table. Strange... you never put the stupid thing down, and he never had a chance to see what it was about even though he could have easily gone to the store and picked up a copy himself. He noticed heathen that you were, you marked pages and smiled to yourself when no one was looking.

When he picked up the book, perusing random pages, he noticed you had starred some very important text bubbles, and sinking into the chair, he decided to thumb through the pages and read every bit of text that you deemed important.

“But one needs a change sometimes. We take everything too much for granted, including each other.”

“I only want to live in peace, plant potatoes and dream!”

“All things are so very uncertain, and that's exactly what makes me feel reassured.”

“It’s funny about paths and rivers, you see them go by, and suddenly you feel upset and want to be somewhere else – wherever the path or the river is going, perhaps.”

"Oh! I should like to live in that shell. I want to go inside and see who is whispering in there."

"It's only the sea. Every wave that dies on the beach sings a little song to a shell. But you mustn't go inside because it's a labyrinth and you may never come out."

“I used to stand before the mirror and look deep in my unhappy eyes and heave sighs such as: ‘Oh cruel fate!’ ‘Oh terrible lot’ ‘Nevermore.’ And in a few minutes I felt a little bit better.”

Such beauty in words, he could hardly put the book down and continued to thumb through it, gaining a little bit more insight into the cunning and beautiful thoughts you must have had every single day. He teased you because he envied you. Manga was all practicality. Never any freedom because his editor always breathed heavily down his neck at any original thought that would not sell and make Rohan an instant success. This was the fault in his craft, and he envied you because you were a dreamer. You lived your life skipping barefoot in the clouds of your imagination, but only crashing down to earth again when he jarred you with his mean spirit. To read about the words that inspired you from your favorite book, and to know you as he never could if you were standing in front of him, it felt so raw and open that his heart ached in such a way that it never had before.

And then he was shot in the chest again, because the very last passage you had underlined made him choke up with guilt.

“I put my trivial surroundings aside and mused more and more about myself, and I found this to be a bewitching occupation. I stopped asking and longed instead to speak of my thoughts and feelings. Alas, there was no one besides myself who found me interesting.”

Didn’t he have a hand in that? You used to want to tell him stories. You used to be so excited and blooming with life that no matter how many times he tried to recreate that pure enthusiasm he always failed. It was something so uniquely belonging to his baby sister that was like a daughter to him. Your sparkle, is what he called it. Your sparkle used to shine so brightly when you tried to explain the world within you, only to be shot down cruelly because he had a deadline to meet. He had a manuscript to complete because the bills were due and he had to get you a new uniform and new shoes, had to struggle and pull the strength out of himself to keep you happy and healthy, only to push you away and make you angry at him.

He was unreadable to you, Rohan realized, because you couldn’t comprehend why someone you loved and trusted with your true self rejected you so harshly.

Guilt ate at him as he put the book down where it came from, instinct pulling him into the kitchen where he began to chop vegetables and cook rice for a simple meal to be waiting for you when you returned. Rohan knew you didn’t have enough money, maybe for some chips from the convenience store, but not enough for any kind of a meal that he could take the time to cook. He had four days off, he could make you something that gave you substantial leftovers and even get to work on a lunch for you to take to school tomorrow, he could start off new. Show you how much he loved you and cared for you, his only baby in the whole wide world that he ran himself ragged for.