#Is this platonic? romantic? both? neither? whatever else? *shrugs*

[greyskyflowers]

I really like the idea that Ichigo has always done some strange stuff, even before any of them had any idea about soul society.

Chad, Orihime, and Uryu (as well as Tatsuki, Keigo and Mizuiro) very much take the approach of don't say a fucking thing, leave him alone to anyone who looks like they may say something about it.

Ichigo makes a strange noise? They've figured out which noises are good ones and which ones are bad ones.

He's a little colder, distant, and sometimes a little cruel? Give him a little bit and he'll be fine again.

He gets a little too bright eyed during fights? Licks blood off his lips and sometimes off a wound? His nails look a little sharp and his teeth a little meaner? All good. He'll beat the shit out of someone, pace around a bit and be fine again.

Eats an unbelievable amount of food and still stays on the lean side of skinny? It's a metabolism thing.

Runs a little colder? He's great to sit by in the hot summer!

Gets a little distracted, looks at things and listen to noises that aren't there? That's normal, he's been able to see weird stuff his whole life!

Even after they all gain the ability see ghosts and that's obviously not what Ichigo is doing, they just tell people he's listening to and seeing ghosts.

Everyone else is a little confused by that but it's clear they're not going to get a real answer and tbh they're not sure they want one.

It's also important that they don't call too much attention to it. Ichigo doesn't seem to realize he does some of those things.

Like when someone pointed out the blood thing and he spent 20 minutes gagging and throwing up, tongue still stained rusty from the blood.

Or when someone mentioned the noises and he doesn't speak for days, quiet and withdrawn. And even now he cuts the noises off, biting them back and swallowing them down.

Or when people called him cruel, a thug, someone who wants to see others hurt, because he got into fight. He didn't fight back the next few times he got jumped, letting the hits land and taking it because the fear that he was all those things people said was stronger than any pain.

All the times he kept his mouth shut because someone joked about wolf teeth.

Or when he ripped his nails down until they bled so they weren't sharp enough to hurt anyone on accident.

Or when he kept his eyes down so no one could say he wore colored contacts to go with his "dyed" hair.

Orihime being so upset after the cookies she had given to someone, who made fun of a noise Ichigo made, had ended up bad! Oh no, oh gosh, how terrible that they got food poisoning! She's so sorry about that but there's a gleam to her eyes that has everyone backing off.

Chad disappearing and coming back with busted knuckles that go unnoticed, Ichigo focused on keeping his fingers curled into his palms and his mouth firmly shut.

Uryu ripping into some of the people who started rumors about Ichigo, channeling every cold and cruel part of him until several people are crying and no one dares say Ichigo's name for awhile.

Tatsuki throwing punches and Keigo attempting too, Mizuiro making things happen that no one can directly link back to him but everyone knows it's him.

Ichigo doesn't ask for a lot, but he gives a lot. Too much.

So, they can give him this. They will give him this. Let him do his odd, little quirks and they'll deal with anyone who tries to say anything.

💀

Shinigami are strange, strange enough that Ichigo blends in with them well, even though he's still sometimes a little strange for a shinigami.

Chad, Orihime, and Uryu are pleased that Ichigo fits in so well with all these new people, especially as they get to know them more.

Renji and Ikkaku are animalistic with too sharp teeth and a wild air to them.

Kenpachi is a monster wearing human skin.

Rukia, and her brother, have moments of cruelty and distance.

Unohana is something old and dangerous.

Kisuke is... unsettling, raises the hair on the back of their necks a little bit but Ichigo likes him. And as unnerving as he is, he's been very helpful.

Yoruichi has a mean streak in her that is very much like a cat batting around a dying mouse.

The visored are even worse.

The humans don't meet them until Ichigo after has already firmly included them in his ever growing group of important people.

The visored are unsettling in a way similar to Kisuke, but heavier. Something about them makes the little animal part of their brains sit up and take notice, the hairs on the backs of their necks standing up and they have to fight the urge to run.

But the visored are strange in the same way Ichigo is strange.

And they'll gives some bonus points to Kisuke and his, because they've never so much as batted an eyelash at Ichigo's more bizarre quirks.

The visored show off too sharp teeth in proud smiles and angry snarls.

They make odd noises between themselves and understand them.

They force people to look them in the eyes, black and gold occasionally making an appearance.

They lick at their wounds absent-mindedly and on purpose.

They make no apologies for who they are or how uncomfortable they make anyone.

More than anything though, they let Ichigo do those things. There a fondness to all of them when Ichigo does something strange front of them. Something that's normal to them.

💀

Ichigo doesn't seem to realize that everyone is actually charmed by his little quirks.

He's saved most of them enough times that there isn't much he could do that would make them anything less then incredibly fond.

It's fun and interesting to see all the things Ichigo does when he's happy and comfortable.

He does a little head tilt, exposed throat move to certain people. The humans don't even think he notices it, it took them awhile to notice it.

He does it to most of the captains, excluding a few like Mayuri and Soi Fon. Particularly to Unohana, Kenpachi, Byakuya and Toshiro for the captains. He does it to Kisuke and the visored.

They notice it and they just roll with it. Kisuke and Shinji (and most of the visored to be completely honest) touch his neck and shoulders a lot.

Unohana makes the smallest nod to him and never acknowledges it again.

It took Ichigo a long time to be comfortable enough with them to touch as much as he wants to. After they saved Rukia and returned home, he was constantly touching them. Grabbing at hands, throwing arms around them, sitting close enough to touch, etc. He even includes Tatsuki, Keigo and Mizuiro in the new, open affection.

He's comfortable enough to be that way with a lot of people now.

Shinigami, and the visored, are actually a pretty tactile and intimate bunch. Living as long as they do and having such dangerous and traumatic lives, makes touch and comfort very important.

So it's not uncommon for Ichigo to disappear, finding someone to nap with or someone finding him. People are already drawn to Ichigo, getting to know him and all his quirks just makes them love him more.

---------💀--------------💀‐----------------

*holds up photo of Ichigo*

Karin, Yuzu, Chad, Orihime, Uryu, Tasuki, Keigo, Mazuri: he is baby

*hold up photo of Ichigo after fighting Aizen*

His sisters, the humans, Kisuke, Yoruichi, Kukaku, Ganju, most of soul society, all the visored, Nel: baby

*holds up photo of Ichigo fighting yhwach*

His sisters, the humans, Kisuke, Yoruichi, Kukaku, Ganju, all of soul society, all the visored, Nel, Grimmjow, Dondochakka, Pesche, Bawabawa : ba~by

[artandshid]

*found this in my drafts and i was prob heartbroken when I read this lmaooo*

Eddie Munson didn’t do girlfriends, he didn’t do love outside of the platonic kind for that matter. Eddie loved girls, he loved sex, but the romantic bullshit just wasn’t for him. He didn’t have the money to pay for expensive dates, he didn’t have the maturity for a real relationship, and he didn’t even have anyone to bring a significant other home to. He had no family, I mean sure he had Uncle Wayne and Wayne was a great guy. But Wayne worked a lot and he was often grumpy when he came back from work, not the friendliest guy to meet. As a matter of fact, the only person in Eddie’s life who met Wayne was Y/n.

Y/n was someone very dear to Eddie. Y/n was Eddie’s fuck buddy, the girl that maybe he loved a little more than platonically, but most of all, Y/n was Eddie’s best friend.

The whole fuck buddy thing started after a horrible hookup on her end, and Eddie was certain that he could be better than whatever scumbag she went out with that night, and he was. He would never admit how proud he was of that, though.

Eddie is slightly aware of his feelings for his best friend, he’d never tell her, but he would be lying if he said her presence doesn’t make him feel better. That the sight of her doesn’t just have him turned on, but brings him a sense of inner peace. He knows what these feelings are, but he also knows that they’re wrong. People like Eddie don’t deserve to feel those feelings, especially towards someone as great as Y/n. So he’s just letting them be for now, because he knows that she’ll find better eventually and he’s going to be okay with that, because having her as his best friend is good enough.

“Oh fuck Eddie.” Y/n moans from underneath him, her eyes rolling to the back of her head.

Eddie rocks above her, panting and moaning the entire time. “Fuck babe I’m close, so fucking close. Oh shit, here I come babe.” He says as his eyes squeeze shut and he fucks his orgasm into her, her climax quickly approaching.

He pulls out and rolls next to her, both of them panting. They make eye contact and smile, both of their stomachs doing flips, neither one knowing about the other.

“We did good, huh?” Eddie says jokingly and pulls a cigarette out, offering her one, which she happily takes.

Y/n laughs out loud and lightly hits his chest, “Shut up.”

“No I’m serious, that was one of our best rounds yet.”

She laughs again, but slowly goes into a trance.

Eddie lightly shakes her shoulder, “What’s wrong y/n/n?”

You look him in the eyes and Eddie gulps, “Eds, I think I’m in love with you.”

Eddie freezes, even though he’s in love with you, he also knows that your feelings aren’t real. Maybe you guys have slept with each other too many times that you’re just getting confused. But you can’t love him and you can’t be in love with him. You’re far too good for him.

“Eddie please say something. Please tell me you feel the same way.”She now has tears in her eyes knowing that she’s going to lose him.

“Y/n, baby, you know I can’t. I’m sorry, but you’ve known me for how long, I’m not a relationship guy.” He says and he shrugs you off.

You look at him incredulously. To not reciprocate feelings is one thing, but to completely blow you off by saying ‘i’m not a relationship” guy after all of your history together, is what makes you mad. And the tone he said it in, too, like an arrogant prick.

“So that’s that? You can’t say anything else.” She says with tears now streaming down her face.

Eddie is feeling a lot of things right now and that’s never good. When he feels too much he gets overwhelmed and deals with it by being angry. He’s never been angry at her before, though, but seeing her cry, mixed with her “confession” and he’s still dealing with his feelings for her, Eddie is feeling more than overwhelmed.

“What else do you want me to fucking say? You’ve known me for how many fucking years? Never once have I done relationships, and you’re no fucking different. What did you think just because we have a bit of history it would make any difference.” He yells at her, taking another puff of his cigarette trying to calm his nerves.

“‘A bit of history’ is that what your chalking up our years of friendship to now? You never act like this with me, and I try to be honest with you and you just lash out on me? I’m your best friend, not some asshole at school, try treating me with a little respect.” She says, finally putting her clothes back on while he stay naked under the covers. Even with the clothes covering her, she’s never felt more exposed in her life.

“Respect?!” Eddie laughs out loud. “I just had you a moaning mess underneath me and you’re demanding respect?” He instantly regrets saying this at the pain on her face, but again, he won’t let her see that.

“You are such a selfish dick, I’m leaving.” She says and starts walking out with tears and mascara streaking her face.

“I may be selfish, but at least I didn’t sleep with my best friend and catch feelings, ruining years of friendship!” He yelled back even though she’s already almost out the front door. Now he’s not only selfish, but a selfish liar.

[1legitconnor]

Tag Game: Oc Ship Songs

Thank you to @valentinerose529 for the tag!

rules: write about two to five songs from them that represent your a ship between your ocs (it can be platonic or romantic or a secret third thing). then add a quote from said wip (if possible!) underneath it.

This is a tough one. I have a few different pairings to choose from, but some of them are slow burns and don't have a lot of strong ship moments in the first book, which is the one I'm currently on.

But I'm going to go with a pairing that is, on multiple levels, very much a secret third thing: Piper and Talia. They were not in the first book very much in the early drafts and then I realized that the story needed a lot more of them, which is part of what I'm doing in my current round of editing.

I'll tag @saintedseraph, @athenswrites, and @innocenthedgehog. Anyway, here we go:

Why Do I Feel Like This by Su Lee

Like I said, most of my ships are slow burns and will develop more over the course of the series, but these two start the first book in a place where at least one of them realizes that something might be between them that they weren't expecting and they have no idea what to do about that.

“I’m probably going to be late getting back anyway,” Talia shrugs. “Is there something you need, Your Highness?” “I’ve told you that you can just call me Piper,” the woman says. “At least when we aren’t in polite company. Or when we’re around people who don’t know of my claim to the throne.” “So, everybody?” “A lot of people, yes,” Piper admits. “I wouldn’t exactly call it everybody.” “You make the twins call you Your Highness all the time,” Talia says, her brows furrowing. “They aren’t…I know what I ask them to call me,” Piper says. “But I’ve known you for much longer than I’ve known them. I’d say we’re close enough that you don’t necessarily have to keep to formality.”

2. How Dare You by MALINDA

I think this song applies in that whatever is between Piper and Talia is unspoken and not allowed to the extent that neither of them thinks that it should be. To be clear, nobody else would have a problem with it. But they, individually, assume that it shouldn't happen, while also really hoping that something changes so that it can.

Talia takes a drink from her canteen. “The way I see it, no matter how you get there, you’re going to make a great ruler,” Talia says. “But you have to get there first.” “That’s true,” Piper sighs. “I just wonder if-” “If you have to fight them, then you need to kill them,” Talia says. “Your focus has to be on killing them because they’ll be focused on killing you. The middle of combat is a bad time to wonder if they might be good people or not.” “And if you’re wrong? If I’m wrong?” “Then that sucks,” Talia sighs. “But my job is to keep you alive. And this is the best way that I know how. You need a killer instinct or none of the rest of this matters, Your Highness.” “I’ve asked you to call me Piper.” “Sorry.”

3. Wild Heart by Mumford & Sons

I'm not able to share any more book clips at this point without getting into bigger spoilers, but I did want to include at least one more song that I think speaks for the kind of path I intend for this particular slow burn to take. Just the realization that, for both of them, there really isn't anybody else that would work with them. It's Piper and Talia and it's never been anybody else.

[inadaydream99]

Safe

A/N - Hey! This is just something I’ve been slowly working on for a while now. I thought I’d post this while I’m working on requests and also because I think I’m finally happy enough with how it’s turned out ☺️

It’s amazing how something you usually find so causal and comforting now suddenly puts you on edge. Never before had you felt so uncomfortable being so close in proximity to your best friend Juyeon. The way his arm is linked through yours, his fingers drawing delicate swirls along your forearm as you sit closely together in the dark room, the only light coming from the tv.

Subtle skin-ship is something that Juyeon has done since you’ve know him, a mindless habit he has that, although you’ve never bought up with him, makes you feel safe.

Except for right now. And it’s all Younghoon and Chanhee’s fault.

If they hadn’t teased you about your feelings for Juyeon, or so they adamantly believe, you never would have thought so deeply about every little ounce of contact or interaction between you and your best friend. To put it plainly, you’re insecure because of their opinions.

It’s evident you feel tense, the hairs on your arms raised as goosebumps appear in the wake of the patterns he draws. You’re hyperaware of Juyeon’s fingers as they softly trail along your skin but you’re sure he’s none the wiser to your reaction. From your peripheral vision you can see his wide eyes focused onto the movie playing out on the tv in front of you. You, however, couldn’t care less what was going on, the characters so dull and one dimensional and the plot was so confusing that you didn’t want to even try to keep up with it.

You gasp when out of the blue the scene takes a turn for the more romantic, shifting awkwardly and clearing your throat as you shuffle away from Juyeon a little. You were definitely not expecting for the two main characters to suddenly begin ripping each others clothes off in the animalistic fashion they are; growls and gritted teeth chewing away at the other in an attempt to have an interesting twist on the classic passionate love scene.

You shyly gaze to look at Juyeon, his hands now calmly placed in his lap, having drawn away from you when you’d moved. He’s still fixated on the screen, his expression unreadable and his lips etched in a firm line. You can tell he’s suppressing the awkwardness he feels, judging from the way he gulps. Not that that provides you with any more comfort as you flicker your gaze briefly back to the tv to see that it’s only getting more and more intense.

“I-” you begin, your face growing hot as the moans from the tv begin at the exact same time you decide to speak. “I’m going to get another drink.” You squeak, head bowed low as you hurriedly stand from the sofa and rush away into the safety of the kitchen.

For the first time Juyeon’s focus isn’t on the tv, instead his gaze follows you as you get away. He had no idea the movie he’d chosen to watch had a scene of such nature and the fact that it had so clearly made you uncomfortable worried him.

Closing the fridge and frantically opening the can of soda, you quickly chug as much as you can to calm your nerves. You know you’ve made it too obvious now, Juyeon’s bound to have realised how affected you are and yet, you are really hoping he hasn’t.

Why did you have to let Younghoon and Chanhee get into your head like this! It’s not like they know how you or Juyeon feel about each other. You can think of plenty of friends that have loads of skin-ship, theirs being one of them. And you refuse to admit that Juyeon could feel anything for you that isn’t platonic, so where’s the issue with being close?

“Are you ok (Y/N)?” You jump out of your dizzying thoughts, standing bolt upright as your shocked eyes land on Juyeon’s concerned gaze.

“I’m fine, really.” You meekly smile, “That scene just caught me off guard.” You let out an awkward chuckle afterwards. Neither of you are sure where to look, a silence settling between you that leaves you unsure of what to say next.

You’re not sure how you would describe the feeling you have towards Juyeon in this moment; alien-like possibly? Whatever it is, you know something is off between you. You can tell from the way he’s hardly able to look at you, his eyes constantly flickering back and forth between you and the floor.

Just as you notice Juyeon is about to speak up a sudden burst of noise interrupts. It makes you jump as you hear voices echo around you and the sound of the front door slamming shut a second afterwards.

“If I was trying you never would have won.” Eric rolls his eyes, his comment falling on Jaehyun’s deaf ears as he laughs the youngers jealous comment off. It’s apparent that they’ve gotten into some lighthearted dispute between them on their way back home, not that you can keep your mind focused onto their sassy comments.

You do notice, however, that you find yourself unable to wipe the dazed-like look from your face as you watch them both causally stroll into the kitchen where you and Juyeon are stood and begin opening cupboards, retrieving drinks and snacks without batting an eyelid at you both.

It’s not until their talking simmers down that Jaehyun notices you, his brows instantly furrowing in confusion as he eyes your tense posture.

“What’s going on here?” He tilts his head, gaining Eric’s attention from his phone screen as he leans up on the counter next to him.

“We were just watching a movie.” Juyeon responds quickly and it comes out sounding like an excuse when reality is it’s true.

“In the kitchen?” A devilishly cheeky smirk appears on Jaehyun’s face. “Where there’s no tv?” He adds, an amused laugh escaping him.

“No, in there.” Juyeon points to the living room behind him, his expression the complete opposite of his friend’s.

“Why’s it so awkward between you then?” Your attention flickers to Eric as he narrows his eyes in suspicion. You can sense that he’s sussing things out, and knowing that he is usually quite quick to catch onto these sorts of things, it’s only a matter of time before he blurts something you don’t want to hear.

You cast an unsure gaze to Juyeon, hoping he gets the message from you to quickly turn the conversation away from yourselves.

“We were just having an argument.” Your eyes almost pop out of your head with how wide they go at his sudden excuse. That was definitely not what you were thinking he’d come up with, but really you should have known better than to put Juyeon under pressure like that. It’s never turned out well previously. The only response you can give is a forced laugh, hoping you’ll simply come across as flustered.

You watch Jaehyun and Eric exchange glances before the former speaks up.

“Okayyyy, we’ll leave you to it then.” Jaehyun pushes himself off from leaning back against the counter, making his way out of the kitchen. Eric instantly follows without a word; quite unusual for him, but you do notice the sly wink he sends in Juyeon’s direction as he walks past.

You’re officially dumbfounded. As is Juyeon, judging by the way he creases his brows at Eric in response.

“They definitely think there’s something else going on between us, don’t they.” Juyeon rocks back and forth on his feet, hands stuffed into his jean pockets as you notice him trying to suppress the deep blush that begins to creep up his face.

“Probably.” You shrug. “But there’s not, right?” You shoot your friend a questioning gaze, silence once again settling between you. You instantly regret asking that, your hands becoming more and more clammy as the silent seconds pass.

“It feels like everyone thinks we’re secretly dating though. Just yesterday I had Sangyeon asking me about us.” Ah Sangyeon and his love of love, it always brings a smile to your face whenever you see him get excited by the prospect of it.

It’s incredibly endearing how much of a hopeless romantic he is. You even remember when he “accidentally” made Changmin and Eric kiss as forfeit at the last game night just because he finds it so amusing. And you love that about him. Except when it concerns you and Juyeon.

Instead, it makes you feel somewhat queasy… not in the repulsive way that most people associate the feeling with. But, rather, in a stomach twisting, heartbeat racing, head spinning, euphoric way.

“Pft, that’s ridiculous!” You awkwardly chuckle. Now you’re just as flushed as each other. “I had the same thing with Younghoon and Chanhee too.” You add, hoping that if you keep the conversation going then you won’t focus so much on how hot the room has become.

What you don’t notice, while you begin to ramble away about how persistently annoying that had been, is how Juyeon’s whole demeanour changes. He’s no longer feeling timid about sharing how he truly feels about you because now he can see that you feel the same.

“Is it though?” You freeze upon hearing Juyeon’s question, forced smile falling off your face. “Is it ridiculous?” He repeats for clarity.

You notice how his tone, despite being soft, is serious. His expression matching and his eyes now intently staring into yours.

It’s like being in a trance. You can see him moving closer to you and his arm reaching out to touch yours. But you can’t seem to break away from his stare.

“N-no.” You breath. “It’s not.”

You mimic the warm smile that slowly stretches across Juyeon’s face at your confession, simultaneously noticing the little patterns that he draws on your arm with the pad of this thumb. You instantly relax. Just knowing that he’s not scared is all you need.

“Ew! What were they watching!” You hear Eric shout in disgust, Jaehyun’s laughter following after. They must have seen the scene paused on the tv.

“Maybe we should get out of here before they tease us.” Juyeon suggests, grabbing your hand in his with an elated grin when you nod in agreement.

It’s safe to say that from then on neither of you had to worry about any more accusations from your friends. Although, the incessant teasing and pestering might not go way anytime soon.

[thefanficmonster]

Just Another One

Sequel to: ‘A Little Bit Of Honesty’

Corpse Husband x Actress!Reader (Female)

Warnings: Angst, Heartbreak, Mention of bad past relationships, Swearing

Genre: Angst, Romance, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: They keep proving each other right in the most wrong ways possible. They each want to be guarded even if that means the other will be hurt. Maybe that’s what they want - to hurt one another because they’ve already hurt each other once before.

Requested by the lovely readers who enjoyed the previous fic ‘A Little Bit Of Honesty’. Sorry for the large time gap between the posting of the two fics but I still hope you guys will take the time to read it and if so I hope you enjoy it! Love you all with all my heart, Vy ❤

When you go out of your way to avoid leaving the house your options of entertainment are severely limited and you can’t blame anyone or anything but yourself for it. Today, I wouldn’t have gone out of my apartment even if I was one of those people who frequent the outdoors seeing as how the sky is trying to flood the Earth with all this nonstop rain. It does set a mood for a perfect night in but when you spend all your nights in doing the same thing over and over again, the atmosphere is practically meaningless. And so I ‘ve decided to resort to channel surfing as though I’ll find something interesting on TV that I haven’t yet seen on one of my social media timelines.

I pass several cooking channels on my journey, making a mental note of their individual numbers in case I don’t stumble across anything capable of better distracting me from my boredom and loneliness that’s slowly starting to creep in. I pass by a few movie channels showing teenage romcoms as if to celebrate the start of summer so you can imagine how quickly I moved on from those. Then come the celebrity channels which can often get a laugh out of me because of how pathetic and unbelievably ridiculous they are. And so, I stick around one where there’s a broadcast on a movie showing that’s happening tonight in LA. Oddly enough, despite my anxiety, going to a movie showing has always been on my list of things I’d want to do. This can be considered living vicariously or rubbing salt into the wound that I’ll probably never go because my anxiety and fear of being recognized is too severe. Either way I stick around to watch it.

And man do I regret it now looking at several different angels of a couple of actors entering the venue where they are to be photographed and asked questions by the mob of paparazzi that’s gathered due to the massive event. That in and of itself doesn’t sound - and really isn’t - so bad. However, it’s important to note that the actress in this duo is Y/N. Y/N L/N. My Y/N....shit, sorry, I mean my FRIEND Y/N, her arm linked with whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is who is holding an umbrella above the both of them, shielding them from the downpour of rain that is also taking place in LA apparently.

“The two were seen entering the venue earlier this evening, looking particularly cozy in each other’s presence if I do say so myself. The rain probably worked nicely in their favor.“ The first reporter says, her teasing tone of voice sending chills of anger down my spine as I glare at the screen, hands balled in fists, jaw clenched - all my body’s instinctive reactions to what is being shown to me. I know I technically have no right to behave or feel this way, in fact I should be fucking happy for Y/N and her successful career and the progress in her love life. But damn it how can I?! I was so damn close to kissing this girl! I was so fucking close to falling in another trap, tripping and landing in the embrace of another liar and user, another girl who switches partners more often than shoes. How could I’ve been so reckless to get so close to her even platonically? How did we become close enough for me to 1) show her my face; 2) start inviting her over to my apartment regularly; and how didn’t I notice the kind of messed up person she was all that time.

She was all sweet and flirting and shit a week or so ago and now she’s doing the exact same thing with him! The cameras are capturing them perfectly: every laugh, every exchange of a knowing look or nod, ever smack to his arm when he tells a joke. But what bothers me most is the many times he’s wrapped his arm around her to pull her closer. Not just for pictures, but just because the fucker felt like it! And Y/N doesn’t seem to mind it at all. 

“They have been the talk of the town recently, so while they could just be adding fuel to the fire, they could also have been caught by the flame and ‘caught feelings’ as they say. Regardless these two are a view we’d like to see more often.“ The other reporter says and that’s the final straw.

In one swift motion I turn the TV off and throw the remote across the room. It hits the wall and falls to the ground in several pieces, broken by the force of the impact. Just like I am broken by the force of the impact of these news. I don’t know which is worse: the fact that I fell for her and almost let her know it; the fact that she’s just another member of the club I don’t want anywhere near my life; or the fact that I can’t believe it.

Yeah that’s right - one foolish part of me refuses to believe that’s she’d do such a thing. I think that’s the same part which is still in awe of her so you can bet I ignore that part the majority of the time.

She is just another one. Not the one. Having been hurt before doesn’t mean she won’t hurt me or anyone else she’s gonna be with. Hurt people hurt people.

And damn has she hurt me, probably without knowing a damn thing. How selfish can you be, Y/N? How selfish can you really get? And how much am I going to allow you to hurt me?

                                                             *  *  *

“Thank you so much, Andrew. I would’ve died on the spot of anxiety if I was on my own.“ I say to my best friend who is currently sitting next to me on a park bench, in a tux, eating a cheeseburger. I too am still in my gown and am also gorging on a cheeseburger of my own.

“Don’t mention it. Us anxious people need to stick together.“ He bumps his shoulder against mine, stealing a small genuine smile from me, “Plus I couldn’t not come with you. You know how much I like a good rumor.“

I scoff, “Of course you do, but then again there was no need to add to what the media has already made a whole-ass ship out of.” I roll my eyes and take another bite. My appetite hasn’t been in its best condition so I’m only eating this under Andrew’s orders. I have no idea how people can ship us romantically, he’s the definition of an older - and very bossy - brother to me. I wish I could tell each and every single one of those girls who hate me because I’ve ‘stolen their man’ that I’d most likely be their sister in law rather than man snatcher, seeing as how my relationship with Andrew is so sibling-like.

That’s because we’re too alike, no one gets that. People play the ‘opposites attract’ car more often than I consider rational. But  then again when they see a couple like Andrew and I - who are basically the same person in different bodies - they suddenly think we’re super compatible. Trust me, we’re not. And everyone who’s been on set with us will tell you the same.

“What can I say...“ he shrugs, smirking at me, “I like the fun. I bet Becca doesn’t though.“

I can’t help but huff. Andrew is the only one I’ve ever openly expressed my frustrations with Rebecca to. He was super helpful on the subject, seeing as how he can relate - many partners of his have tried to use him, some of which even succeeded. He’s more than qualified to school me on the topic but it turned more into sharing bad experiences. One of which was that instance back at Corpse’s apartment.

“And neither does Corpse I suppose.“ As though he’s read my mind, he pokes the hurt spot, pouring salt in the wound causing me to visibly cringe as though the pain was physical - because it was, I felt it in my chest and in my gut, a sharp stab of guilt and regret. 

Why did I let it come to that? Why did I let us get so close? How did I not think of the consequences?

“I don’t care if he does or doesn’t.“ My hand automatically reaches for the pocket of the jeans I’m not even wearing in search of a cigarette. Not that I’d be able to light one even if I had them on me - Andrew would smack it out of my hand before I could even take a single puff.

He has the audacity to laugh, “You’re such a bad liar, Y/N.”

That’s all he needs to say really - that’s enough to make me feel seen and understood. Though that’s not always a good thing. I often times wish he couldn’t read me so well. Better said: I wish I didn’t let myself be so readable, you know. I’m just glad he’s the one who sees me because if it were anyone else they’d use this vulnerability of mine against me. I’m well aware that it’s a weakness, a really inconvenient one, but damn it I can’t get rid of it. I feel like I’ll be less human if I lose it. Everyone’s allowed to be vulnerable, some just are lucky enough to choose who they’ll be vulnerable around. I’m lucky enough to to have a choice, not so lucky in the people I choose to trust. Guess that’s not a luck thing, it’s just my inability to decipher whether a person is worth all the pain and torture of coming clean to them or not. So far many people have burnt me but two stick out in particular - Becca and Corpse. Corpse especially, which is the odd thing considering he hasn’t even wronged me in any way. At least not yet.

“Your phone’s vibrating.“ Andrew says, pulling me out of my overflowing head when he hands me my phone which I handed to him because of my dress’ lack of pockets.

“Thanks.“ I mutter through a sigh as I take it from him, checking the notification I’ve gotten.

My stomach drops: it’s a message from Corpse.

“Hey I saw you are in LA but we have a stream tomorrow, will you still be participating?“

Before I can reply, he sends me another message.

“I know you’re probably very busy but we get the most viewership on the streams when you’re in them so....“

I’ve probably been staring at my phone screen for longer than I thought since Andrew felt the need to make sure I was still breathing: “Hey, you ok? You look terribly pale.” I can barely hear him let alone reply. I can’t hear my own thoughts to know what to reply to him. “Y/N, you’re scaring me.”

I’m scaring myself too, Andrew. I’m scared too. I’m scared of how broken my picker has become. I almost kissed this guy! I almost entrusted all my thoughts, hopes, wishes and goals to him! What the fuck was I thinking?! Well, at least I know what he was thinking about - viewership. Likes, subs, views, publicity. The more eyes on the stream the better for him and everyone else. I genuinely want to applaud him, no one has been so direct about using me before. I was in a relationship with Becca for almost a year before I accidentally found out what she had been doing the whole time. No one’s ever smacked me in the face with this much honesty. It’s bittersweet really.

I want to laugh, I want to cry, slap myself across the face, slap him...I want to do so much, but all I can do now is sit in silence and think of how I could be so stupid.

He’s just another one, how did I not see that? How do I never see it until it’s too late? Why is one part of me still screaming: ‘He didn’t mean it like that!’

AND WHY THE FUCK DO I WANT TO BELIEVE IT?

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[drowsy-writer]

I Can't Stop— regulus black x reader

Summary: An unmovable object vs. an unstoppable force (aka Reader tries to get Regulus to bed) 

Warning:  cursing, angst, bittersweet fluff, crying

Notes: Reader has she/her pronouns and is a Hufflepuff; this can also be read as either romantic or platonic also yes I sometimes face claim regulus as Benjamin Wadsworth pls don’t @ me i’m new here lol

Hogwarts 1975

Every Hufflepuff knows that when 10:00 hits, the kitchen goes silent. No pots boil, no ovens switch on―without the house elves, the place is as silent as the library on a good day. The alluring scents of the day’s meals would linger in the air, hitting the face of every Hufflepuff who entered eager to make it to their common room and call it a night.

Tonight the smells of roasted chicken and creamy beef stew were replaced with the stingy aroma of coffee as two students sat at the end of the kitchen’s massive table, books spread out amongst themselves. Two gigantic porcelain mugs were placed within arms reach and a fresh pot of coffee sat between them.

“Find anything yet?” the Hufflepuff asked. Her [h/c] curls bounced slightly as she looked up from her piece of parchment, observing the pale Slytherin boy across from her scrunch his brows.

“No,” Regulus shut another book and tossed it on top of the stack next to him. He reached over to his mug, which embarrassingly had an orange flat-faced kitten painted on it, and downed its remaining contents. He then slammed the mug on the table and ran both of his fingers through his short ebony locks,” nothing. Yet.”

“House elves are bound to wake up soon,” [Y/N] mused. She cocked her head towards the tiny door sitting next to the fireplace,” maybe we should call it a night.”

Regulus groaned as he reached for the pot of coffee and poured himself another cup. The pot shook a bit as Regulus poured it, the bags underneath his eyes growing darker. [Y/N] looked at her friend and sighed.

“We’ve gone through almost the whole library, Reggie,” [Y/N] said. Regulus took a quick swig of his refilled cup of coffee and cracked open another book,” look! That’s even the same book you opened last night. Cover and all!”

“Nope,” Regulus held up the book and tapped his pale finger on the cover where it read Volume 2. It was [Y/N]’s time to groan as she took her own mug, this one with a silly looking dog on it, and sipped at the now cold contents. Her face scrunched up as she placed the mug down,” Zatara might’ve been a loon, but he was Bullock’s assistant. He probably hid something in here so Dumbledore or anyone else couldn’t find and burn it..” 

“What makes you think that Volume 2 is gonna have something when the first one didn’t?” [Y/N] had got up from her chair, cold cup of coffee in hand, and dumped it down the drain of the sink behind her. She turned the faucet on, rinsing out the mug and gently putting it back on the drying rack. When [Y/N] spun around, she was met by Regulus’s signature scowl,” don’t get your knickers in a twist. You know I’m right. I’m always right with these sorts of things.”

“I know,” Regulus hissed. He looked back down at the book,” but right now, I’m hoping you’re wrong.”

[Y/N] huffed as she sat back down on her chair again. A small yawn escaped her lips but she knew it’d be a while until Regulus decided to pack his stuff and leave. This was the case every night since 2nd year where Regulus and [Y/N] would stay up right before the elves came back in to prep for breakfast, reading and discussing topics both school related and pure nonsense. Neither knew how this little tradition started and, quite frankly, neither cared. It was a breath of fresh air for [Y/N] and a sense of normalcy Regulus craved for within his ever turbulent life. 

As of recently, however, their midnight meetings were overwhelmed with a sense of dread. It had been months since Regulus had properly been exposed to the world of the Death Eaters and of Lord Voldemort, courtesy of his mother. From then on, he had been put into an almost inescapable hole, one that he was intent of crawling out of. Regulus might've not had the luxury of running away like his brother, but he sure as hell wasn't going to give in without a fight.

“So if I am wrong, what’s gonna happen next?” [Y/N] asked.

Regulus quirked a brow as he stopped reading the passage he was on. Not even bothering to look up, Regulus clicked his tongue in thought. He then, to [Y/N]’s annoyance, shrugged his shoulders and continued to read.

“I don’t know. Haven’t thought that far yet.”

“What do you mean you haven’t thought that far yet? We’ve been looking into Horcruxes for the past three months and you haven’t the clue as to what you’ll do next?!”

“Something like that.”

“You're so—,” [Y/N] let out a muffled scream as she buried her head in her hands,” you're insufferable, you know that? Why am I even friends with you?”

“Haven't thought that far yet either,” Regulus smirked. 

“Very funny, Reggie. Now c’mon,” [Y/N] motioned towards the stack of books,” let’s stash these away. We’ve got a Potions exam tomorrow morning, remember?”

“Yes, I remember.”

Regulus didn’t make an effort to get up and continued to read through the book. As Regulus flipped through another page, [Y/N] muttered underneath her breath as she jumped down from her seat and walked over to the Slytherin’s side.

“Alright. That’s it.”

Before Regulus could make sense as to what was happening, [Y/N] wrapped her hands around his waist and hoisted him up from the seat.

“[Y/N]?!” Regulus sputtered, dropping the book from his hands,” let me go!”

“Oh shut it, Black! You need to get some sleep!”

Still in her arms, Regulus tensed as their bodies pressed against one another. He cursed himself underneath his breath as his face flushed red.

“Just put me down. Now.”

“No.”

“[Y/N]—!”

[Y/N] tightened her grip as Regulus squirmed within her hold. She dragged him from his chair to the middle of the kitchen where he finally pushed himself off.

“What the hell was that for?”

“You need to sleep, Regulus! You can’t keep burning the candle at both ends. You’ll fall back if you keep doing this.”

“Well what else am I supposed to do, then? Run away from my problems like my brother? Ignore them? I can’t just turn away from my family and pretend nothing ever happened!” Regulus shouted. His breathing turned ragged, as if he just finished yet another Quidditch match, “what would you expect for me to do?”

“I—I don’t know! I don’t have the answers for everything!” [Y/N] retorted. Regulus groaned as he turned around, intent on picking up where he left off in his book,” but I do know that when the time comes, whatever remnants of a plan you do have, you’ll be too exhausted to do anything about it!”

Regulus stopped in his step as he stared at the rack of spices before him, afraid of meeting his friend’s eyes. He took a deep breath, composed himself, and turned around. His eyes had yet to meet [Y/N]’s as they shifted throughout the room.

“Why are you—ugh,” Regulus sighed as he ran his hands through his hair,” I just—this is how I work, [Y/N]. You’ve known it since 2nd year. Even when I stop, I can’t stop. When I go to sleep at night, my mind is still racing with all this bullshit about purebloods and Muggles and—.”

“But you can’t just—.”

“—And the fucking potions test you won’t stop telling me about! There’s so many things in my mind that I think Bellatrix’s head looks healthy compared to mine! I can’t stop thinking about my family, my house, even Sirius for Godric’s sake! I can’t stop worrying that if I were to put a pause for even a sliver of a second, everything I’ll ever love will cease to exist. I can’t risk that [Y/N]. Not for a second. Not when I have so much on the line.”

[Y/N] looked down at the floor as her friend’s words ran rapid through her head. She touched her forehead with the palm of her hand, dragging them down until they met the bridge of her nose. 

“Fucking—I know that, Regulus. I just—,” [Y/N] gave a pained expression as she pinched the bridge of her nose,”—fuck! I just want you to be okay, ok? You’re my friend. My best friend, actually. It hurts like hell because there’s nothing I can do about it. I can get you as many books as you want, sneak out around the castle as much as you want, lie to as many people as you want , but I can’t—no. I won’t stand here and watch you whittle away. Not when I can do something to prevent it.”

Regulus swallowed hard as his eyes met [Y/N]’s and the pit that had been growing inside his chest began to increase, pushing painfully against his rips. He felt his lungs constrict and if Regulus didn’t know any better, he’d say someone casted a Crucio curse on him and it was slowly ripping his body from the inside out.

“I just can’t let him win, [Y/N],” Regulus mumbled. He leaned back on the table and pressed both hands to his face, rubbing at his eyes as tears began to build up in the corners,” I can’t let that thing win, no matter what.”

Shielding his face from [Y/N], Regulus quietly sobbed as his friend stood in front of him, tears threatening to pour out from her eyes as well. Taking a deep, shaky breath, [Y/N] slowly walked towards her friend and gently wrapped her arms around him. Despite the slight size difference, [Y/N] was able to situate her friend so that his face was buried in the crook of her neck. She combed a hand through his inky, black locks.

“I know won’t,” [Y/N] said,” but I highly doubt snake face over there is going to wait for you to take a quick power nap. We’ll beat him, but not like this.”

Regulus’s grip tightened around [Y/N] and she felt his lips pull into a smile as a low chuckle emitted from him. 

“It’s amazing how you’re not a Ravenclaw with how much wisdom you spout out.”

“Well I’m far more interested in my friends then a bloody book,” [Y/N] stepped back, hands still wrapped around Regulus, and smiled,” now let’s clean up and head to bed. You deserve at least one good night’s rest.”

[vodkassassin]

Ok let me set the scene: SQQ had grown used to his multiple layers of clothes, and it was never a problem untill the day he and (your closen love interest) decided it was time for papapa, que the twenty minutes of SQQ instructing how to carefully take off his each and every layer. The steamy vibes slowly disapear. The curtains close.

I know you wanted this to be steamy, cousin, but I slapped platonic cucumberplane onto it instead and it turned into a big Mess of Feelings instead of romantic comedy 😅 my bad! @overlordmoth

—

The first time Shen Yuan is forced to attend a inter-sect banquet is memorable, if nothing else. It doesn’t even have anything to do with the event itself, but what happened afterwards.

The food was alright. He’s been spoiled, he thinks, by his adorable disciple’s god-tier cooking, because though the organization committee had gone all out and hired the fanciest of catering staff, the food itself was… he wouldn't go so far as to call it disappointing, per say, but it had been a bit bland when he’d tried it. He finished off his meager plate of appetizers and resolved not to touch any other dish thereafter. He’ll just eat a meal when he gets back to his peak.

Luckily, inter-sect conferences aren’t a constant occurrence. They only happened once every few years, as a way for the many sects of xianxialand to share information and gossip. Shen Yuan has had two years now, to get used to being Peak Lord Shen Qingqiu, and he’s grateful for the extra time he was given to learn his character before he was forced to debut into such a public setting, where Shen Jiu has long-since created himself a reputation.

Much like the reputation amongst his own sect, everyone in the cultivation world seems to know how Shen Jiu had been. Tonight is the first time since his fever (and Shen Yuan’s transmigration) that Peak Lord Shen steps into the limelight and shows exactly how drastically he has changed in character.

It doesn’t go as terribly as he expected it to, honestly.

When he’d first entered the hall, the amount of stares that had immediately zeroed in on him and began dissecting his every movement was… overwhelming, in a way. Shen Yuan is used to stares. He has to be, just to walk around his own peak. His disciples are nosy, gossipy young masters and maidens. For all that they seem to admire and respect him, there is never a single moment when Shen Qingqiu does not feel their eyes following him as he walks from one classroom hall to the next.

The banquet is much the same. Instead of his disciples, however, these are matured (in a manner of speaking) cultivators of sects not his own. Which means Shen Qingqiu has to be on the lookout and watch his own back.

Or he would have had to, had his fellow transmigrator not been in attendance as well.

He supposed he’s lucky, that all the peak lords were required to attend this ridiculous party.

He spends the first ten minutes or so proving to these cultivators that, though Shen Qingqiu has obviously changed, his tongue is still just as acerbic and barbed as it had been before, perhaps even more creatively so now that he’s changed. It puts strained, polite smiles onto the faces of men and women who had approached him in attempts to size him up and find a hand hold for themselves.

Joke’s on them.

As pleased as he is to discover them just as easily taken down a peg or two as his own sect members, Shen Qingqiu grows exhausted of this game rather quickly. Once he sends the last cultivator away with their tail between their legs, he snaps his fan closed with a flick of his wrist and turns on his heel before the next can even think to approach him.

It’s out of character, apparently, for Shen Qingqiu to throw the towel in when the first hour hasn’t even passed. Raised eyebrows and confused eyes follow him as he steps off to the side and sidles up to where the only other millennial in this world is leaning against the far wall of the hall, cradling a cup of tea in his hands and staring at the floor likely in the hope that no one will come speak to him.

As much as he whines that he never gets as much attention as the other peak lords, Shang Qinghua always prefers the sidelines. All the better to remain unnoticed, that he may more efficiently observe their guests without them realizing that the An Ding peak lord’s eyes see far more than any of them could ever think.

When Shen Qingqiu leans his back against the wall beside him, Shang Qinghua gives a startled jolt. His tea sloshes in its cup, thankfully not spilling over, and he raises wide eyes to meet Shen Qingqiu’s look of ridicule.

“Ah….” For once, his friend seems lost for words, and Shen Qingqiu resists the urge to frown at him. “What’s up?”

“If I’m going to make it even a single hour in this party, much less the full ten it’s scheduled for, then I’m going to need someone to listen to me complain.” Shen Qingqiu begins succinctly. “As my bro, that’s your job.”

Strangely, Shang Qinghua seems to perk up at this. He swirls his tea around — and from the sharp scent that wafts upward to Shen Qingqiu’s nose, tea isn’t the only thing in that cup — and casts Shen Qingqiu a cheerful smile.

“A party isn’t a party until you’ve made fun of every single partygoer behind their back at least twice,” his fellow peak lord agrees.

Shen Qingqiu smirks at him.

He snaps open his fan to cover it when he hears a few murmurs of shock from the people who are still watching him like hawks for any sign of difference between him and Shen Jiu. It’s so fucking tiring.

Shang Qinghua huffs a quiet laugh and shoots him a look of sympathy.

“How many bodies do you think you can help me hide before someone notices that guests are beginning to disappear?” He asks nonchalantly, and his mouth curls into a more genuine smile behind the safety of his fan when Shang Qinghua’s shoulders start to shake with laughter.

“Don’t ask me that,” the slightly shorter man breathes out in mirth, eyes bright. “Between the two of us, we can absolutely make it happen. It’s best not to even tempt it.”

“As you say,” Shen Qingqiu sighs despondently, fluttering his fan before his face. It’s beginning to grow a little too warm even in the huge, cavernous banquet hall. That’s what happens when you shove an entire crowd of people into the same room together. It gets stuffy.

The banquet passes a little quicker than it would have otherwise, with Shang Qinghua by his side to exchange quite jokes and banter with. A particular, good-natured target for them both is Liu Qingge, who’s squirelled himself into a different corner of the hall with three jars of alcohol and whose grave glare is enough to chase off anyone who’d wish to speak with him. The poor man just isn’t built for socializing. At least it’s clear that there’s someone who’s having a worse time here than Shen Qingqiu is. It might be mean, but it makes him feel better nonetheless.

It’s nice to have someone who actually understands every meme and pop culture reference Shen Qingqiu slips into his mockery of the banquet guests. The only issue is having to smother his real, genuine laughter when Shang Qinghua comes back at him with something actually hilarious. It would surely rock the cultivation world to its very foundation if Peak Lord Shen Qingqiu burst into laughter in the middle of an inter-sect banquet for all to see.

Even with the allowances he’s slowly acquired for himself in the time since he disabled the OOC lock, his martial siblings would certainly send for Mu Qingfang to check him over.

Still, the comfortable atmosphere of mockery aside, several hours is still several hours, and by the time Shang Qinghua is down to the dregs of his seventh cup of tea (plus the obvious pick-me-up he adds to it), Shen Qingqiu is incredibly fucking done with this entire farce.

Opening his fan to conceal his face, he leans over slightly into his friend's space and quietly says, “You wanna blow this popsicle stand?”

The clear effort it takes Shang Qinghua not to wheeze is gratifying. “Are we even allowed to do that?”

“We’re peak lords,” Shen Qingqiu says, shrugging his shoulders lightly. “We can do whatever the fuck we want. And, speaking as a millennial — who’s going to stop us, really?”

Good thing they’d dissolved into speaking English three hours ago. If someone heard the cold, and graceful Lord Shen verbally curse then he’d probably be forced to undergo another test for possession with Wei Qingwei when they all got home. Annoying as hell, those things. They took hours and he wasn’t even allowed to read to pass the time!

“Point,” Shang Qinghua admits.

“Plus,” Shen Qingqiu raises his fan up a bit higher to hide his entire expression and makes a face. “I, uh…. need a favor, from you.”

Shang Qinghua blinks over the rim of his teacup at him. He stares at him for a long, wordless moment, and then his eyebrows shoot up.

“The peerless peak lord Shen,” he says lightly, mouth quirking, “needs help—?”

“Airplane.”

“—from little ol’ me?”

“Imma gut you,” Shen Yuan mutters, fan fluttering.

Shang Qinghua beams at him. He pushes up off the wall and steps over to the nearest table to set his now-empty cup on its surface.

“Yeah, okay,” the man says.

Appeased, yet miffed, Shen Qingqiu raises his chin up and snaps his fan closed sharply enough to make a noise. “Good.”

They leave. There’s a multitude of stares that follow in their wake, from both strangers and their own martial siblings across the hall, but neither of them pay them any mind, aside from the way Shang Qinghua’s shoulders raise defensively almost on instinct. A nervous habit that the man will probably never rid himself of.

Three minutes later, they’ve closed themselves away in Shen Qingqiu’s guest quarters of the venue — the conferences are to last for at least three days, minimum, so each sect has their own pavilion for the overnight stay — and Shen Qingqiu stands grumpily in the middle of the room while Shang Qinghua collapses against the bed and laughs himself silly.

“Y-You need me to—?” The man wheezes, one hand pressed over his mouth as tears prick the corners of his eyes, his other arm holding his side. “To—?”

“Yes, it’s very amusing,” Shen Qingqiu deadpans, eyebrow twitching. “And what a friend you are, to laugh in the face of my plight. What, do you expect me to ask anyone else? Who would you suggest? Yue Qingyuan? As if! Of course I need your help, idiot!”

“I’m sure Sect Leader would be very obliging if you were to ask,” Shang Qinghua giggles from where he’s curled up on top of the blankets. He waggles his eyebrows. “Very obliging.”

“You disgust me,” Shen Qingqiu sniffs. He tugs at the front of his robes, and casts his friend a helpless look. “Seriously, how am I suppose to get out of this — this death trap?!”

Because, for such a fancy and important occasion as an inter-sect conference opening banquet, the guests are of course expected to wear their most formal robes. And, in xianxialand, formal robes mean layers. Layer upon layer upon layer. And extra baubles on top of that, like multiple-section headpieces and jewelry and gauzy, sheer, bedazzled over robes.

Truly, the opulence and over-the-topness of the cultivation world never ceases to make Shen Qingqiu raise his brow.

“I get what you mean,” Shang Qinghua chortles. “Stop your bitching, bro, I know how to escape these things, no problem.”

He hops up from the bed and makes his way over, reaching for the outside clasps of the over robe without even asking first. Shen Qingqiu does mind, holding his arms out to give his friend better access. Honestly, there is never any dignity lost between the two of them, what with their modern sensibilities. Not that Shen Yuan ever had much dignity to begin with, being a lifetime recurring hospital patient in his last life. As Shen Qingqiu, peer immortal master that he is, however, he at least has to pretend he does.

With everyone other than Airplane, that is.

“Thanks,” he says, grumbling but grateful, as Shang Qinghua carefully but without ceremony shucks off his outer robe and the one underneath it.

The man steps closer after laying those out on the bed, and tugs at the ties of the belt that hold the next robe closed. After a series of finger gymnastics that Shen Qingqiu can’t really make head nor tails of, his friend reaches up and pulls the silk down from his shoulders and reaches a hand inside to pull at the smaller ties hidden within. Which is absolutely ridiculous. Shen Qingqiu had seriously felt like he was putting together a piece of IKEA furniture when he’d originally gotten dressed. Overly complicated, the instructions were all in Swedish, and it was nearly impossible to accomplish on one’s own. But, he‘d done it!

Dismantling it all, however, was another thing entirely, and he thanks whatever higher power there is, that Airplane is here to lend him that hand without any of the awkwardness that someone with ancient Chinese sensibilities would bring.

“Thank god these things are only like, twice a decade,” he groans, leaning back so his fellow transmigrator has easier access to free him of the next stifling layer. “If this body didn’t have that handy cultivation temperature regulation magic bullshit you came up with for that scene in chapter one-hundred twenty, I’d be sweating buckets right now. Next time I get an invitation to a banquet, I’m refusing, no matter how much Yue Qingyuan puppy-dog eyes at me”

Shang Qinghua directs an odd, slanting smile down at the belt he’s working free, nimble fingers pulling and tugging gently at the ties so they don’t accidentally tighten instead of loosen.

“Yeah,” he says, quiet. “... I’ve never been a fan of banquets either.”

Shen Qingqiu holds back a scoff. And then lets it free, because there’s nobody here but Shang Qinghua, who knows him and won’t ever begrudge him for showing actual emotion. “I can’t imagine anyone being wrapped up in thirty layers and expected to socialize with sharks for ten fucking hours and actually enjoying it.”

Shang Qinghua ducks his head down, smile disappearing. He tugs the ties free and reaches up to slip another layer off of Shen Qingqiu’s shoulders, but he keeps his eyes lowered. Shen Qingqiu pauses, frowning at him. Something’s off.

“...Airplane?”

“It’s not that,” Shang Qinghua shrugs helplessly, tugging at the ties of the next robe without much effort to pull them loose. There’s a slightly uncomfortable expression on his face that makes Shen Qingqiu frown deepen. “I actually don’t mind all the layers. My parents dressed me in hanfu all the time when I was a kid in my past life, so I was already used to it before I even transmigrated. The food at banquets is really good, too, and the socialization isn’t so bad once you look at it as just a political pissing contest. Banquets could be fun, really.”

“But they’re not,” Shen Qingqiu guesses, and reaches out to clasp his friends hands in his, pulling them away from his belt. They twitch in his hold, like Shang Qinghua wants to fidget, a nervous tick.

He’s only half dressed at this point, but right now he’s more concerned with the shuttering expression on Shang Qinghua’s face than anything else. “Not for you, at least. Why?”

Shang Qinghua glances nervously up at him from beneath his lashes, only to look back down again and grimace. “They’d be a lot of fun, if I wasn’t… me, I guess? Today is the first time I’ve actually enjoyed a banquet since I first started attending them as a head disciple.”

Shen Qingqiu presses his lips together as his friend lets out a mirthless, unamused laugh. He squeezes the hands he’s holding, and Shang Qinghua‘s shoulders droop.

“It was also the first time anyone’s actually stuck by me and actually talked to me, though, so,” the other finally glances up, an odd and fragile smile on his face as he chuckles weakly. His eyes are shining a bit damply, and Shen Qingqiu locks his teeth together when he sees it. “I guess it makes sense? Banquets are a lot more fun when you’re not, um… totally alone the entire time! Haha…. who knew, right…?”

Shen Qinghua shakes his head slowly. He ignores his state of undress and reaches out to draw his friend into his arms.

Sometimes, Shen Yuan wishes he’d transmigrated into Shen Jiu’s life earlier than he had. Sure, the cons far outweigh the pros, in such a situation, but at least his friend would have had someone in his corner for all the times that their martial family had snubbed him. Airplane may have brought the anxieties and insecurities of his past life along with him into this one, but Shen Yuan doesn’t doubt for a single second that in the decades that Airplane has been Shang Qinghua, they have been made much stronger (and oftentimes crippling) by the actions of the people who are suppose to stand by him and have his back.

It’s infuriating, when he lets himself think about it for too long, so usually he doesn’t. And then it smacks him right in the face, like now, and Shen Yuan feels nothing but bitter resentment toward those people who are supposedly his friend’s martial family.

Shang Qinghua makes a quietly surprised sound, but doesn’t protest. In fact, the other melts against him, hands coming up to grasp at the front of his robes, and he tucks his face into the junction between Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder and neck. He sucks in a slow, stuttering breath that makes him tremble, and Shen Qingqiu reaches up one hand to bury into the back of his friend’s hair, curling his fingers into the strands.

“It must’ve been extra rough when the original goods was still around,” he comments quietly.

Shang Qinghua shudders, and then nods his head against his shoulder. “H-He was a real jerk, but usually he was too busy verbally flaying all the guests from the other sects alive, to pay me much mind. Thankfully.” The An Ding lord lets out a wet chuckle.

Shen Qingqiu allows another frown to cinch at his brow as he pets his hand through his friend’s hair. “And none of the others ever…?”

“Why would they? I’m just — I’m just… An Ding.”

Shen Qingqiu tightens the arm that he has wound around Shang Qinghua’s waist, and his scowl depends when he feels his friend shake.

The door opens then, because of course it does. Someone peaks their head in, and who else is it going to be but Yue Qingyuan, looking for his precious Xiao Jiu, who apparently isn’t one to leave a banquet early when there are still guests left to verbally knock down several pegs and cripple the self esteem of?

The sect leader opens his mouth, and closes it. Shen Qingqiu watches impassively the journey of emotions the man’s face undergoes as he takes in the scene of a half dressed Xiao Jiu holding a trembling Shang Qinghua in his arms. Yue Qingyuan’s face is pale and there’s two splotches of bright red on both his cheeks. He looks both mortified and horrified in equal measure.

Shen Qingqiu wraps his arms tightly around the other transmigrator, holding the still-trembling Shang Qinghua to his chest, and narrows his eyes at the sect leader viciously.

“Leave,” he snaps. His best friend doesn’t deserve having anyone spying on this moment of real vulnerability.

Yue Qingyuan beats a hasty retreat. The door closes softly behind him.

Shang Qinghua gives one last shudder, before going lax in his arms, letting Shen Qingqiu hold him up with his strength alone. The An Ding peak lord reaches out his arms to wrap them around Shen Qingqiu and return the hug, clutching tightly at him.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” the man says, voice slightly choked, and Shen Qingqiu swallows thickly. It’s clear that Shang Qinghua is talking about more than just tonight’s banquet.

“Me too,” he says, and finds that he actually means it.

[illfoandillfie]

Don’t Talk To Me About Love

Day number 4 of the Platonically themed event! This is another idea thats sort of been bouncing around my head since I posted Platonically. In the months since then I’ve started and stopped this blurb about 60 times - at one point I intended it as a sequel but then ended up absorbing part of the plot into PNDDAOF. But here we are. It is somewhat complete and I’m much happier with it now then I was before. 

Yet again, this blurb is inspired by a song - Don’t Talk To Me About Love by Altered Images (less the lyrics and more just the title but it’s a bop so like check it out anyway lmao) 

Words: 2,150

Warnings: It’s about the Communication. There’s talk of an argument but nothing specific and honestly this is mostly just about the two of them Dealing with something out of the ordinary. 

Every morning with Ben follows the same pattern. No matter who wakes first, no matter how long it takes you to get out of bed, Ben will greet you with a kiss on the cheek. It’s a litmus test of your disposition and a lesson hard learnt. Most days you’ll lean into him, wrap your arms around him, press your lips to his, snuggle back into his embrace, and he knows that it means you’ll be okay with the actions that convince others you’re boyfriend and girlfriend. But every so often it’s different. Those days, what he has come to call your no romo days, his cheek kiss will be returned but you’ll pull back before he can sweep you into something deeper, a sign that you don’t have the patience or energy or whatever it usually takes, to deal with romance. Those days are few and far between, mostly occurring months apart, seemingly at random. But because of that it took quite some time before you got the hang of dealing with them as partners. On your own it had been easier to avoid romantic expressions, but with Ben it was harder to manage.  

The first time it happened after you’d started the QPR, you tried to push through, tried to ignore the tension you felt as he unexpectedly kissed you, his hands pulling you into him. There was a sudden urge to run away, your blood running cold, and Ben must have sensed that something was off. He was always observant where you were concerned. When he asked if something was wrong you pretended there wasn’t but he kept badgering you until you told him what was up. Unfortunately you sort of bit his head off, frustrated by the constant questions. You immediately regretted your tone and choice of words but the damage was done, Ben’s expression one of hurt and confusion. Before you could try to explain better he’d left the room. He gave you space for the rest of the day, barely crossing your path at all, but it was too much space, an overcorrection. And that made you mad more than anything else. After all you’d warned him that this happened sometimes, that you had days where you were repulsed by the thought of anything romantic, completely turned off by actions that could be read as such. How dare he be hurt by it, as if you were an inconvenience he had to endure. He was the one who suggested you do the QPR thing in the first place, why did he suddenly think it only included the times you were acting closest to a regular girlfriend. At that point you hadn’t yet moved into his house so you left and slept in your own bed that night, sick with worry that you’d ruined everything with Ben, that you’d wake up in the morning to find not only your QPR broken but that your best friend wouldn’t want anything more to do with you at all. You felt stupid to have thought that a QPR could work, that you could ever fit anywhere. Clearly you were meant to be alone.  

But the next morning brought rational thought and rational conversation as well as a higher tolerance for romance. Ben called to make sure you were okay, confessing to a fairly sleepless night spent worrying if you'd got home safe and feeling bad about how you’d left. But you could hear his smile when you invited him over to talk about it, could practically see it in your mind’s eye. And then you saw it for real, a proper grin, when you’d opened the door and dove into his arms, burying your face in his shirt. He’d squeezed you tight, relieved that things between you were still good. It took a serious conversation to sort out what had gone wrong. You tried to better explain what it was you felt - the queasy feeling at the idea of being involved in any sort of romantic act and the discomfort when confronted with romantic imagery or depictions of romance and romantic couples – reassuring Ben that it wasn’t anything he’d done, and he apologised for giving you the cold shoulder, admitting his distance had been because he wasn’t sure how to act around you. Talking it out helped and when you were done, both feeling like you better understood what would help the situation, you curled up in bed together to catch up on the sleep you’d missed.  

The next time, nearly six months later, you’d been better prepared and, though it was still a little rocky, it had gone smoother. Ben didn’t try to avoid you, so you didn’t feel as abandoned as you had the last time, but you made sure to maintain some distance from him, knowing his feelings were different to yours and not wanting to put him in any awkward situations. There were moments when neither of you knew what to do or say, moments when it felt like you were both treading on eggshells to try and avoid a repeat of the last time. But when you asked to take a break from the TV series you were halfway through because the romance plotline didn’t hold the same enjoyment it usually did, he seemed to understand and agreed to what you needed. The time after that had been barely a month later, far sooner than you were expecting. You supposed that your relationship with Ben was having an impact. After all it had been a while since you’d last been in a romantic relationship and though what you and Ben had wasn’t that, it did cross some of the same lines. Surely it was natural that your mind would try to balance things out by making you feel unequipped to deal with romantic subplots and sentimental love songs more often than before. Or at least that’s how to tried to explain it to Ben when he made a huffy comment about the increasing frequency of your romance repulsed days. If it hadn’t been for an interrupting phone call from his mum, you might have fallen into another fight. Instead, you spent the time he was on the phone thinking about why things felt so hard, trying to come up with possible solutions. You went over some activities in your head, comparing how you usually felt about them and what you felt when you were romance repulsed. Cheek kisses still felt okay because they were generally a way you showed affection to everyone you knew, but being kissed on the lips seemed to cross a line, no matter how it was done. Cuddling too could be okay depending on the context but you’d probably prefer not to just to be safe. Sex on the other hand was a big question mark You’d never tried having sex on a no romo day before, but you assumed if emphasis was put on the physical pleasure it could work, though maybe positions that didn’t force eye contact would be more enjoyable. But perhaps that was better left to be explored when you were both more comfortable with the situation. Even dinners out together and datey things like that could be doable if you didn’t have to deal with candlelight and intimate seating.  

As soon as Ben was finished on the phone you tried to explain your thought process to him.   “The way I think about it is like...regularly I have a mental picture of what actions I feel are platonic and what actions cross into romance. Sometimes those lines aren’t super clear like with kissing, but I know which it is when I see it or experience it.” “Right, like how you don’t mind spooning in bed and getting really close but on the couch you prefer to rest your head on my lap or whatever.” “Yes, exactly. It might all be considered variations on cuddling but to me there's a big difference in how they feel. Well a no romo day is like if you took all of those distinct lines and moved them over a little. The lines are still there but the image is distorted and not quite what I’m used to seeing.” “Okay,” he stretched the word out thoughtfully, “so...it’s not that everything feels romantic it’s just that your tolerance levels have changed?” “Yeah, I think so. It’s not easy for me to understand either. Especially since sometimes things change more than others. But yeah, that’s pretty much it. But my big question is what do you need? I don’t want this to become a big problem or cause fights every time it happens so, what’s going to help make it feel more normal for you?” Ben thought for a moment, “Physical contact. I don’t mean that in a sexual way either, just physical contact. I mean you know how touchy I can be. It grounds me. Even just a hug or, y’know, rubbing my back as you walk past me, things like that. A high five even. If we’re out with the others it’s not so bad cause they all know what I’m like too and none of them will mind if I lean on their shoulder or sit on their lap or whatever. But when it’s just us...I need that physical contact to feel settled and I guess it’s been harder to feel okay about it when you flinch away from me. Makes me feel wrong just because I want to be close to you.” You were a little stunned by the honest and carefully considered way he responded to your question, and felt a little bad about trying to force space between you, “I knew you liked that sort of thing but I guess I didn’t realise how important it is for you.” Ben shrugged, “Normally it’s something I don’t even think about. But with you lately it’s like I just haven’t known what to do.”He paused, biting the corner of his thumb nail as he thought, “I don’t think the way I love you is entirely platonic anymore. I mean it hasn’t been entirely platonic for a while now but those feelings aren’t going away. And I’m not saying that to make you feel bad or anything, it’s just how it is, and I think it’s part of why I’ve been so weird or whatever about this whole romance repulsion thing.” “Yeah it must be kinda hard to understand what I mean,” “I’m trying to understand it and I’m trying to be respectful. But you gotta give me a little more. And you have to be more understanding of where I’m coming from too.”

After that, you both made adjustments to accommodate the other and talked through what solutions worked and what didn’t. Ben spent some time consulting google for ideas and found you a playlist of songs that had aromantic vibes or at least could be reinterpreted so the romantic meaning was more relatable for you. And you made more of an effort to keep up a physical closeness with him – sitting shoulder to shoulder as you watched TV and shared a bag of microwave popcorn, rubbing your hand over his back as you stepped behind him in the kitchen, surprising him by placing a cold hand to his face or stomach when he wasn’t expecting it – even on regular days when you didn’t hate the way it felt to be held by him. You figured that emphasising those sorts of small physical gestures would help both of you in the long run. Every so often something would arise that needed a little extra discussion but you both took them in your stride and did your best to be accommodating and patient.  

And by the next time a no romo day occurred, things were as close to perfect as you could hope for. You wriggled out from under Ben’s arm when you woke, better able to recognise the sick feeling  creeping up on you. Stepping out of bed you switched Ben’s oversized sweatshirt for one of your own and tiptoed down to the kitchen putting your anti-romantic playlist on softly as you made coffee and toast. When Ben eventually surfaced he pressed his lips to your cheek but he already felt you wouldn’t want anything more than that, putting together the pieces and proved right as you gave a small shake of your head. He gave your waist a brief squeeze in acknowledgement before turning toward the fridge to begin his own morning routine. And just like that you knew things would be okay. You couldn’t say you knew what he felt or that you entirely understood it but, yet again, Ben had shown that his love for you was less about Love and more about you. And you hoped he could see that you cared for him just as strongly, even if you felt it differently.

[unholyobsessions]

Oblivious Memories

Pairing: Julie x Luke

Description: The Universe is in charge of soulmates and making sure they meet. They have never met anyone as oblivious as Julie and Luke. 

Read on ao3

Warnings: none 

Word Count: 2.3k 

Masterlist

For my jatp secret valentine @vividblues262 I hope you enjoy this and you have a as good of a time reading it as I had writing it. thank you to @screwunsaidemily for organizing this! @jatpsecretvalentine​

The Universe is a powerful being. They create many great and beautiful things but the one they are revered most for, is soulmates. Each person is assigned someone who they are meant to be with. One just isn’t complete without their other half. 

According to everyone, you just know who your soulmate is. There is no specific experience. Some claim to see a string connect their wrists, others say it’s like seeing color for the first time, and others say it feels like your heart stops beating only for it to start again with the same beat as their person. 

Each soulmate meeting is unique, and the Universe admits, each pair is different. Some more stubborn than others to meet their person. So getting some people together is harder than others. 

But the Universe has never had a harder, more oblivious pair than Julie Molina and Luke Patterson. 

. . .

Julie Molina hasn’t met her soulmate but she doesn’t worry, she knows it will happen when the time is right. She traces the tattoo on her forearm, the black music notes that stand out against her white t-shirt, as she lets her mind drift on the topic.  

Julie doesn’t know what she’ll experience but she hopes it will be memorable. 

Lost in thought, she doesn’t hear the footsteps echoing down the hall and toward her room until the door slams open. 

Flynn stomps in, fingers plugging her ears and Carrie follows behind her, clearly annoyed at her girlfriend’s antics. 

“Damn it Flynn just listen to me!” Carrie exclaims. “Julie tell her to listen to me!” 

Julie simply stares at her two best friends, rolling her eyes and shrugging her shoulders. Flynn won’t listen to her and whatever Carrie did to get her to act childish is not her problem. 

“La la la la la,” Flynn chants, getting louder with each word. And Julie had promised herself a long time ago that she would not get involved in their fights. They’re soulmates and should know how to figure it out themselves, but Flynn hasn’t been in her room for two minutes and she’s already getting on her nerves. 

Julie stands with a sigh, walking over to Flynn and yanking her arms apart. “Flynn! Stop yelling,” she commands. Flynn immediately pouts and starts mumbling about Julie being unfair and taking sides. 

Julie ignores her best friend and turns to Carrie, who has already made herself comfortable on the beanbag next to her desk. “What’s going on?” Carrie starts explaining what happened between her and Flynn but Julie shakes her head to stop her. “No not that. I mean why are you here? I thought you guys were busy today.” 

Flynn pulls her arms from Julie’s grip and goes to sit next to Carrie, seemingly forgetting that they were arguing not five minutes ago. “We were busy, but then the museum got boring so we decided to come here to drag you out of your room. We’re getting coffee.” Flynn isn’t asking, and Julie has learned to recognize when she won’t win. So, she pushes her feet into a pair of sneakers, too lazy to untie and retie the shoe laces, and slips on a cardigan over her dress. 

Julie shouts a goodbye to her dad and linking her arms with her friends’, they all make their way to their favorite coffee shop a few streets away. It’s crowded, as it usually is on Saturday afternoons. The tables are filled with students typing away at their computers, attempting to finish essays at the last minute. The booths are filled with friends, gossiping and laughing together. Julie is dragged to the counter, where she orders her usual vanilla iced latte, smiling politely at the barista. 

Leaning against Carrie’s side, Julie looks around the shop as she waits for her drink. She finds herself looking at the corner booth, crowded with four boys discussing something she couldn’t quite hear. One of them is hunched over a notebook, lip between his teeth and pencil tight in his hands. Julie stares, intrigued by the brunette. He lifts his head, eyes closed and mumbles something under his breath. When he opens his eyes, they stare right at Julie and she feels her stomach twist with embarrassment. Before she can turn away and try to forget the interaction ever happened, he smiles at her and goes back to writing in his notebook. 

Julie’s stomach twists again, but with a completely different feeling. Flynn snaps her out of her daze by placing her iced latte in her hands. Julie thanks her and allows herself to be dragged outside, rolling her eyes when Flynn says that she wants a new jean jacket. Conversation distracts her as she walks away, not allowing her to dwell on the foreign feeling. 

The Universe frowns down at them. What just happened? They’ve been putting both of them in the same rooms for years and they never even acknowledged each other’s presence. And when they do, they ignore each other? Did they not feel it? The pull toward their soulmate? 

The Universe sighs, frustrated. They will have to work a little harder on this pair. 

. . .

A week later, Julie is at the mall with Flynn, helping her find a pair of sneakers to match the jacket she bought the week before. The store they’re in is small, with white walls and red accents. It’s inviting, so it’s no wonder this is the first one they visit. Julie makes a beeline for the benches, and tells Flynn where to find her when she is ready to model the shoes she’s chosen, if she finds any that ‘call to her.’ 

She scrolls through her phone, mindlessly liking posts on instagram, leaving a comment here and there and entering a couple of giveaways. A loud laugh makes her head snap up and her heart flutter. She doesn’t recognize the voice but there is a yearning within her that she doesn’t recognize. Twisting her head, trying to find the source of the beautiful noise she sees the guy from the coffee shop with an arm slung over his leather jacket clad friend.

His smile is blinding and Julie doesn’t want to look away, no matter how much she knows she should. He says something back to his friend that causes the dark haired male to push the brunette away. The push lands him in Julie’s way as he stumbles into the bench. 

On instinct, Julie grasps his arm in order to stop him from hitting the floor. Their eyes meet and Julie’s heart screams, but neither attempt to make a move, or even speak to each other. 

The Universe smiles. Finally. Nothing can get in between them now. They’re in front of each other. They’re touching. They have to know. But then. 

Flynn’s voice reverberates across the store as she says that nothing spoke to her. Willing herself to stand up, Julie averts her gaze and walks away, not understanding why her chest feels like it will burst open with every step she takes.

The Universe could scream. Just how hard will they have to try to get these two idiots together. They didn’t make a mistake. There is no such thing as soulmates who aren’t meant to be, whether they be platonic or romantic. No, these two are just too dense and oblivious for their own good. 

Time for plan C, the Universe decides.  

. . .

The club is packed. Sweaty bodies push against her and Julie crinkles her nose. She doesn’t normally frequent clubs, especially places as packed as this one, but Flynn and Carrie dragged her out tonight (as they do every weekend) because apparently this up and coming band is playing tonight and they are sure that she will love them. 

Julie doesn’t doubt that she will, there is hardly a genre of music that she doesn’t enjoy, but she much prefers to listen to them from the comfort of her room, or anywhere else that doesn’t require her to interact with drunk people who keep pushing her. 

She is not really listening to Flynn and Carrie’s conversation, only nodding whenever it seems appropriate. It isn’t long till the lights dim even more than before and a spotlight lights up the stage. Four guys jog up the steps and the crowd screams joyfully. 

They all get ready and as soon as the drummer counts them in, the song starts. The lead singer looks up and Julie stops breathing. He starts singing and her sight goes black. Suddenly, memories that she is sure aren’t hers start flashing before her. 

A young boy getting his first guitar. 

Him meeting his friends and making a pact with them.

The same boy, older now, writing his first song. 

The boy laying on his bed, fingers brushing against the tattoo on his forearm, identical to hers.

Starting a band with his best friends, his brothers. 

She sees him fight with his mom, loose a relationship so important to him.

She sees him breakdown as he pedals down the street.

He’s there at the mall, the record store, the ice cream parlor, the bowling alley. 

He’s always there. Moments she’s shared with the people in her life, he’s always there. So close but just out of reach. 

Then it’s him meeting her eyes at the coffee shop. Their moment at the shoe store. 

The pictures start flashing faster now and it’s harder for Julie to make out what they are but what is clear to her is that it’s her, growing old with the brunette. With Luke. 

His name is Luke, and he is her soulmate. 

And even though she has never heard their music before, she starts singing. The lyrics of the song written by Luke coming naturally to her. It’s the first time she’s sang in over a year and it feels like a breath of fresh air. 

Luke suddenly can’t hear anything. His bandmate’s instruments fade out and all he seems to be able to hear is an angel-like voice, coming from somewhere in the crowd. 

His eyes search for the source and once he locks eyes with the girl his vision goes black. 

He sees a girl, sitting next to her mother on a piano bench as she makes an attempt to play. 

Then he sees her again, sitting with another girl on the playground, and as all the other kids are playing, they’re performing a song. 

The girl is older now, playing the piano keys in a perfect melody. Her mom is still sitting next to her and she’s smiling down at her. 

She’s in the hospital, carrying her little brother for the first time.

The girl is sitting on the piano again, this time alone and there are tears streaming down her face. 

He sees her loose her mom and therefore her music. He sees her not even hum for over a year. 

Then he sees himself, walking past her, not noticing her. She’s everywhere. That time at the beach with Reggie, she was there, playing with her family. 

His walks down sunset boulevard with her only a few feet away. How could he not notice her? How could he possibly miss her when she shines brighter than anything in the world?

But he notices her now, and he will keep noticing her in the future, as images of her growing old with him and making music together flash before him. 

He comes back to reality to see her still looking at him, singing, and he realizes that he missed his cue, but he doesn’t care, because nothing matters more than the beautiful girl, Julie, who has taken his breath away. 

Julie, his soulmate. 

His tattoo stings and he winces, finally breaking eye contact with Julie to look down. The music notes are glowing and when he looks back up he notices Julie’s are too. 

The music continues and he wonders if everyone is witnessing the moment or if only him and Julie can see. His next verse is coming up and he knows he can’t miss another one so he leans forward to his mic and starts singing, not taking his eyes off of Julie. 

She stares right back, singing the lyrics loudly and passionately. The show continues much the same and if he were to ask anyone, they would say it is the damn best he has ever played. Once it’s over he runs off stage and out the back door, planning to make his way to the front of the bar. He runs down the alleyway and crashes hard into another body. 

Lifting his arms to steady the person, his heart stops. She’s there, standing in front of him, looking up through her lashes and he does the most drastic and impulsive thing he has ever done. 

He kisses her. He kisses her because he is so sure that he would die on the spot if he didn’t. And Julie kisses him back.

Luke cups the back of her neck as she tangles her fingers in his hair. After a couple of seconds, or maybe years, they pull away. 

“Hi,” he whispers. 

“Hi,” Julie responds. 

“I’m Luke,” his voice is much too breathy, and he is still attempting to get his lungs to work properly. 

“Julie,” she doesn’t sound much better. 

They both smile and then burst out laughing. 

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” Luke admits once he has calmed down. 

Julie shakes her head. “I would say that we should get to know each other but I just saw your whole life played out, which by the way I have never heard of it happening.” 

Luke’s smile widens. “Well I have also never heard of soulmates meeting and not realizing they are soulmates so I think we’re just special.” 

“Yeah,” Julie says resting her head against his chest and listening to the beat of his heart matching hers. “I think we’re special too.” 

The Universe leans back, smiling down at the pair. They were a hard one, possibly the hardest they’ve ever had to do. But as they study them, already falling in love with each other without having to even say much, they know that it was worth it. The Universe wasn’t ready for Julie Molina and Luke Patterson, but they are now and the whole world better get ready. 

[chaoticsuki]

I had the optimal amount of caffeine today and nothing better to do so, naturally, that ended in an extremely messy Hakoda finds out about Sokka/Suki/Zuko drabble? Inspired by this post made by @salytierra​ :) 

--

Hakoda prided himself on being the kind of father his children could share anything with. Before Kya’s death forced him to the front lines of war and the children into early pseudo-adulthood, this meant listening to hours of Sokka describing some outlandish invention or Katara telling increasingly creepy ghost stories. After the war, he was prepared for more of the same, plus the usual awkward questions about growing up that teenagers rarely asked directly. He didn’t expect the angst, the whining about being stir crazy after a year traveling the world, or the obsessing over their romantic lives. Already.

Sokka caught his father off guard for the first time on a routine fishing trip. The two of them sat in their boat, surrounded by the vast expanse of still waters dotted with iceberg shards. Sokka was quieter than usual, hugging his knees close to his chest.

“What’s the matter over there?”

“Nothing.”

“Want to try that again?”

Sokka glared over his shoulder but gave in. “What happens if I like boys?”

“Aren’t you with that Oshinama Fighter girl?”

“The Kyoshi Warrior girl’s name is Suki. And yes.”

Hakoda shrugged, “Then I suppose you like girls and boys.”

“Is that okay?” Sokka’s voice was heartbreakingly hopeful.

Hakoda turned and offered a smile, “It’s more than okay. I love you, Sokka. Nothing will ever change that.”

In the years that followed, Hakoda didn’t think much about that conversation. The Southern Water Tribe was rebuilding, Sokka was always running off around the world to help people, and Suki was a regular fixture at holidays and other celebrations. He forgot Sokka’s confession entirely until he announced Firelord Zuko was coming to visit. Hakoda wracked his brain for some special occasion he could have forgotten until his son admitted he planned the visit as a rare opportunity for the two of them to spend time together. Alone. Hakoda still didn’t realize exactly what he meant until he observed how Sokka and Zuko were constantly touching, and not in the casual brotherly way common among the men in the tribe. They acted more like they would actually die if they couldn’t hold hands. Then, at dinner, everyone in the tribe whispered conspiratorially about spotting the two of them sneaking off and kissing at the edge of the village.

Hakoda raised an eyebrow at the gossip but said nothing. Sokka hadn’t mentioned ending things with Suki. Unless that was one of the conversations Hakoda forgot. Spirits, he was getting so old.

To his surprise, Suki arrived a few days later in her usual cheery disposition and bolted into Sokka’s arms. What was that? Force of habit? Even more alarming, Zuko stood by and smiled at them twirling around like nothing had changed. Hakoda didn’t want to get in the middle of whatever explosion that would spark, and left them to their devices.

Later in the afternoon he came across Suki and Zuko, by themselves, perched on one of the ice cliffs and talking a mile a minute. What little of their words Hakoda could make out sounded like an argument, but they were both smiling and laughing.

Hakoda watched as Suki abruptly launched herself at Zuko, tackled him onto his back, and shouted, “You take that back!”

He shook his head profusely and tried to wrestle her away. In the end, Suki had the advantage. She pinned his hands down with hers and straddled his waist. “Now what do you say?” She taunted.

He answered in a high-pitched, sarcastic voice. “Suki, you’re always right about everything and I will do exactly what you say, now and forever.”

“That’s my good hotman.” She pitched forward and kissed the tip of his nose.

A shock went up Hakoda’s spine and his spear dropped to the snowy ground, drawing the attention of the other two.

“Hi Chief!” Suki exclaimed. Her face fell at the sight of Hakoda’s steely glare.

Zuko’s eyes went wide. “Um, sir?”

Hakoda folded his arms. “Dinner will be ready soon. You two might want to stop fooling around and go find Sokka before anyone gets the wrong idea.” He didn’t give them a chance to respond before he stormed off.

Sokka was as animated as always that evening, recounting the story of that day’s hunt, complete with wild gesticulations and funny voices. Hakoda made a point not to speak to either Suki or Zuko directly, but they were both too absorbed in Sokka to notice. The hearty meal calmed Hakoda enough to consider his next move carefully. Clearly, somebody was playing games, and he was betting on Zuko. This was probably some kind of Firelord thing, having a “companion” in every port. Well, he’d made a grave mistake in choosing to mess with Sokka, and Hakoda was going to make sure he knew that.

He sought them out after dinner, and found them in the swirling snow near the center of the village, hands clasped together at shoulder height, breathing heavily.

“I’m telling you, it’s left, then spin, then right,” Zuko scolded.

“This is a stupid dance,” Suki rolled her eyes. “One more try.”

To Hakoda, their movements looked more like a fight than a dance. He lost himself in the sharp but elegant motions right up until the end. When they stopped, Zuko had Suki by the waist, holding her body flush against his, their faces only inches apart.

“Very smooth,” Suki teased.

“Shut up,” Zuko said. Neither showed any intention of pulling away.

That was enough, Hakoda resolved, and he set off to find Sokka. He found him and Bato sitting cross-legged by the fire in Bato’s tent, studying a map.

“Son, we need to have a talk, man to man.”

“Okay?” Sokka shot Bato a panicked glance, to which he shrugged.

“I saw Suki and Zuko together earlier today, and again just now. They looked a little too cozy for my taste. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, son, but there’s something going on with the two of them.”

Sokka blinked. “I know.”

“I won’t stand for it. They both have to leave tomorrow. I won’t host anyone who thinks they can cheat on my son in my home.”

“What are you talking about? Nobody’s cheating on me, they’re boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“I thought Zuko was your boyfriend,” Hakoda said blandly.

“He is! And Suki’s my girlfriend, and she’s Zuko’s girlfriend too. I told you all of this ages ago, Dad.”

Hakoda crossed his arms. “No, you told me the three of you were going on a trip.”

“What couple takes one completely platonic friend and nobody else on a week-long trip?!” Sokka’s voice was incredulous. “We only brought one tent!”

“Your mother, Bato, and I used to do it all the time!”

Sokka’s horrified look sent Bato into a fit of hysterical laughter. “You and Mom and Bato were all together?”

”What? No! We just went camping every month. We were all friends before I married your mother and we wanted it to stay that way.” Hakoda pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe this. This whole time…”

“Did you ever think our trips with Kya were…” Hakoda paused, searching for the words, “Something more?”

“Don’t worry about that now, Koda,” Bato smiled sadly.

Sokka jumped to his feet and regarded his father with one last warped smile. “Thanks for looking out for me, Dad. You were way off this time, but still.”

Hakoda waved him away and gave in to Bato’s silent invitation to sit at his side. Bato wrapped his arm around his best friend’s shoulders and enjoyed one last laugh at his expense.

[sidespart]

A Secret

Characters: Kid!Janus and Kid!Remus, references to the other sides, Thomas and ‘King Creativity’. Could be pre romantic Demus if you want but its totally platonic within the fic

Summary: Deception has a new role to fill - keep Thomas’ darker thoughts hidden away. Now if only his darker thoughts weren't so noisy.

Warnings: Remus!Angst, Kid Remus is locked up in a cage, Jan being manipulative, bit of lightish body horror, ask if you think there should be others

Other notes: ( This was in response to a drawing prompt, but I spent ages trying to get this idea to work as a drawing or mini comic and it just wasn’t working so I decided to just write it out instead, hope that’s okay!) Reuploading because responding to ask directly was making the formatting weird. 

“Why do I have to say here?”  The kid moans.

His eyes are still suspiciously watery but at least he’s stopped crying. For the first few – hours, days months?- he’d screamed and slammed himself against the walls of his new cage without stopping. Howled until his voice turned hoarse and clawed at the bars until his nails splintered and his palms bled.

Creativity’s – but he’s not the REAL Creativity is he? Neither of the little impostors are- cage sits in the centre of a circular room.  One with high ceilings and slit windows and dust that plumes in the air every time he manages to slam a tiny fist down beyond the bars.  The view through the windows Is muddled and dull, but it’s clear that they’re up high. They could be a prince in a tower with a dragon for a guard-

-except that they’re not.

The room is small enough that Deception has to coil himself three times to fit his bulk around the edges but in fairness: he is a rather large snake. One that is more shadow than flesh right now, but he’s planning on changing that.

“I have ideas t- too” the kid continues. His voice is reedy, more nasal then Thomas’ or the real Creativity’s ever was. It grates on Deceptions ears. “I want to talk to Thomas”. He shuffles around until he’s facing Deception, the low height of his cage keeping him on his knees. “I want to go outside. Why can’t I – why won’t you let me?”

Because so far your ideas have included ‘use the magnifying glass to burn the ants to crisp.’ ‘Use to it burn your brothers leg whilst he sleeps.’’ Open the car door whilst we’re on the freeway to see how fast you fly.’ ‘Smear snot and spit and worse into your mothers fanciest dress so she can’t go out for the evening and leave you’.

Deception opens one lazy eye to find the little Creativity staring directly at his face. He flicks his tongue (if he had a human face he would be pouting) because he is meant to be hidden dammit, an enigma in the shadows. Did this kid not get the memo?

Slowly, carefully, he begins to move. A great rope of shadow and muscle slithering away from the wall until he is coiled in a tight circle around the cage and his head is poised mere inches from the kids own, with only the thin black bars separating them.

He smiles to show his fangs. The little Creativity fails to look impressed.

Because your ideas are bad. Because your ideas would hurt Thomas. Because you are a rotten little worm and if I let you, you will poison the whole apple.

Because  if I don’t hide you from him you will make him disgusting.

Because I was made to hide you from him.  

The kid pouts at him. His cheeks are still red from his last crying jag and his bottom lip is starting to wobble.

Deception sighs, as much as a snake can, reaches inside himself and tugs.

“Because… you’re really cool Remus. I want to keep you to myself”

Remus – because why not? Morality is going around calling himself Patton, he already gifted the other little Creativity with a name. Why shouldn’t Deception get in on the fun? – gasps, distress momentarily forgotten as he practically shouts: “You can shapeshift!”

Deception shrugs his human shoulders modestly. It is rather impressive. He isn’t like Patton, who took human form earlier than any of them and is so entrenched in Thomas’s whole being that some days he almost looks real, but its still better than Logic or Anxiety can do.

Remus and Roman both sprung to life with human shapes, no  doubt helped along by whatever was left of the real Creativity.

After Anxiety was done with him.

Deception’s human form is not very stable yet, his left side in particular keeps fading and billowing, desperate to get back in his snake shape, but now at least he and Remus look alike. Two children, not quite mirrors of Thomas, on either side of the cage bars.

“Can you transform into anything else? What kind of snake are you? Are you poisonous? Can you spit venom? What’s wrong with your hands? Could you make little snake heads on your fingers? That would be so coo- Oh!” Remus sucks in a deep breath and looks at him almost…shyly. “You think I’m cool?”

He talks so fast. And asks so many questions. Deception decides to focus on the last one and nods his head (slowly, so as not to accidentally shake it back into a snake head).

“Yes. I really like you Remus.” He lowers his voice makes a show of glancing around conspiratorially before whispering “But if you go outside the others will take you again and lock you up somewhere else with a new guard. That’s why I want you to stay here. That way we can be friends in secret and I can listen to your ideas every day”.

Remus chews his bottom lip, eyes darting from Deception to the windows to the chains on his feat and back again. Deception waits patiently. No version of Creativity wants to be stifled. He clearly hates the cage and the chain and the tower. But no version of Creativity wants to be ignored either and Deception is offering him his greatest craving – attention.

“…you’ll listen to all my stories?” Remus asks eventually.

Deception grins widely.

“Yes.”

“…and you won’t leave?”

Deception makes his smile a little softer.

“I promise.”

(He can always break the promise later if he wants to.)

“Then…you’ve got a deal Janus!”

Remus springs to his feet, cracks his head against the roof of the cage and yowls, before sticking his hand through the bars to seal the deal.

Deception gapes at him, momentarily struck dumb because that’s not fair! He had wanted to name himself, like Patton did! But it’s too late, he can feel the name Janus settling on his skinny, unstable shoulders and clinging like cape.

Janus sighs. He’s not very good at hands but he sticks out his best approximation and shakes Remus’ hand, once, twice, before settling on the floor across from his new friend, suddenly exhausted.

“Tell me a story” he commands, his body already slipping back into his snake form. Remus grins at him with far too many teeth and begins to talk.

It proves very difficult to get him to stop.

Janus finds he doesn’t mind.

[hopelesshawks]

Official Accounts Part 29 (Bakugo Route)- Heavy

Summary: (y/n) was perfectly happy remaining anonymous, even if her best friends were all pro heroes and she worked under THE Hawks. Handling the technical aspects of hero work from the background suited her just fine, thank you very much. That goes out the window when suddenly her twitter blows up thanks Denki and the famed no. 2 hero is asking her to run his own official twitter as a result

If you don’t want to see Official Accounts content blacklist #hopelessoa

Masterlist

You walk into your apartment somewhat exhausted. You’d spent the whole day doing hardware fixes and tinkering with some of the new equipment the commission had sent over. You greatly preferred software so days you are primarily doing hardware work are always harder. For a moment you forget you aren’t occupying your home alone, and then suddenly you hear the sound of your kettle whistling. You wander into the kitchen to find Keigo grabbing out two mugs. His wings are finally starting to grow back in earnest although they’re still too small to fly with. Seeing them reminds you of small cherub wings almost and every so often you’ll catch him fluttering them just a little bit as if to confirm they’re really there. You notice a few of his feathers rifling through your tea cabinet to find your favorite before dropping a bag in each mug. The sight makes you smile.

“Isn’t your spot typically on the counter little techie?” Keigo asks, interrupting your thoughts as he pours the hot water. You hop up on the counter and take the mug he offers you. “That it is Kei,” you smile. “You sent your friends to check on me,” he replies casually as he moves to lean against the counter just like that first time the two of you had tea together. “I did,” you confirm. “Thank you. I hated it but I needed it. So thank you.”

The two of you lapse back into silence for awhile. It’s different this time. Not uncomfortable per say, but there’s a weight to the silence. You can tell Keigo wants to say something but can’t quite get himself to. Perhaps he’s searching for the perfect wording to express his thoughts. Perhaps he isn’t sure he’s truly ready to share them at all. Regardless, you wait patiently. You wait patiently even as your tea cools. You wait patiently even as you start to drink it. You’re still waiting patiently as you finish off your tea and Keigo’s grip tightens around his still full mug in apparent frustration. You put your own mug down before carefully prying Keigo’s away from him. He waits for the moment you ask what’s wrong, a sense of failure already sinking in because even with how much he’s let his guard down around you he still can’t completely let go. He dreads the moment you ask because he just knows he won’t be able to tell you and it will break your heart again. He braces himself. And then you ask your question: “Wanna get high for the first time?”

He blinks at you, surprised, and wonders how you do it. How did you know he wouldn’t be able to handle disappointing you again? “Sure,” he finally replies. “I’ll meet you on the balcony,” you tell him with a small smile before hopping off the counter and heading to your bedroom, where Denki had left the remaining weed from the party the other night. By the time you head to the balcony, the door is open and Keigo is sitting on the floor outside, staring up at the sky. You close the door behind you as you step out to join him before taking a seat next to him. He watches as you somewhat clumsily roll a joint for the two of you. “Denki has always been better at this than I am,” you chuckle sheepishly. “I think you’re doing great,” Keigo responds. “Of course you would. You have no idea what great rolling looks like,” you tease before procuring a lighter from your pocket. “Ok, so here’s how this goes,” you start, “if you don’t want to cough here’s the trick. First bring the smoke into your mouth, hold it there for a second, and then inhale more and bring it into your lungs. Got it?” “Got it.” “Good.”

You put the joint to your lips and carefully light it. You take your time drawing it in and Keigo can’t help but think there’s something strangely beautiful about the way you do it. When you’ve finished you pass it to him and watch as he carefully follows your directions. You resist the urge to giggle at how serious he looks. “Relax Keigo, that’s kind of the point,” you tease. He rolls his eyes but does his best to not think quite so much on his second hit. After you’ve each taken a few hits, you give him a considering look and then decide to address what had made you invite him to smoke with you in the first place. “Look I’m not saying you should make weed the answer every time you’re struggling to open up. I refuse to be the reason the number two hero picks up a drug addiction. But you also looked like you were going to give yourself an aneurysm trying to say whatever it is you wanted to say. So we’re going to sit here and smoke and it will mellow you out and if you decide you can and want to say whatever it is that was on your mind in the kitchen that’s great. If not, well, that’s fine too,” you assure him. The thank you Keigo gives you is quiet but genuine, and you cherish it all the more for it.

After an hour, Keigo finally speaks. “I owe you an explanation,” he confesses, but he won’t look you in the eyes. Instead he stares straight ahead, looking frustrated. “What do you mean?” you ask. “I owe you an explanation for why I did what I did but I can’t,” he pauses gritting his teeth and your heart breaks a little when you notice his eyes are watering, “I can’t make myself say it.” “It’s ok Keigo.” “No it’s not! Don’t you think you deserve to fucking know why I broke your heart?” “Of course I do!” “Then why are you saying it’s ok?” “Because you’re my friend!” “What if I want to be more than that.” “Romantic relationships aren’t more than platonic ones Kei. They’re just different.”

The two of you lapse back into a heavy silence. “I shouldn’t have yelled,” Keigo finally sighs once the silence becomes too much. “Lay down,” you tell him and he gives you a confused look but does as told anyway, you shift so his head is in your lap and then begin stroking through his hair. “You keep having to comfort me,” he notes with a certain amount of frustration. “That’s what friends are for,” you shrug. “I’m starting to think I’m a bad friend.” “You’re just still learning.” “That’s a nice way of putting it.” “Let’s talk about something else. No more heavy stuff,” you decide. “We could talk about how aggressively Endeavor doesn’t understand twitter and internet culture,” Hawks suggests half-jokingly. “I am way too high to talk about that asshole right now,” you reply rolling your eyes and then immediately realize your mistake. You freeze a little in place, your hand stilling in Keigo’s hair as he asks “What do you mean by that?” “Don’t worry about it Kei, neither of us are in the headspace to talk about it. I said no more heavy stuff.” “So whatever it is is heavy?” he presses as he sits back up. “I’m serious Kei. You’re not gonna like what I have to say, let’s just drop it for the night and we can talk about it later,” you sigh. “Or we can talk about it now.” “Drop it.” “Tell me.” “No.” “Tell me!” “No!” “(Y/n) I swear to god-“ “Endeavor was fucking abusive alright!?” you finally blurt out.

Keigo reels back as if you’ve struck him and it hurts to see. “No. No you’re lying,” he insists. “I’m not,” you sigh. “You have to be!” “Why would I lie about this?” “You’ve never liked Endeavor.” “Yea because I was in class with one of his sons who, by the way, can still barely stand him.” “That doesn’t mean he was abusive.” “No it doesn’t.” “Then what makes you so sure!”

You know he’s not going to like your answer but it’s too late to back out now. It hurts to fight with him and it hurts to see him looking so desperate for you to be wrong but you’re in too deep now, you have to finish the conversation. “Dabi told me,” you finally confess. “Oh well, if Dabi told you,” Hawks rolls his eyes. “Oh fuck you, don’t make it seem like I’m so gullible,” you fire back, getting angry now. “Maybe you are! Of course Dabi would say some shit like that. Anything to take down Endeavor.” “And why exactly do you propose he hates his father so much? If not because he was abusive.” “I don’t know! But you’re wrong about Endeavor, I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for him! If he hadn’t saved me and-“ “Just because he saved you doesn’t mean he’s incapable of hurting someone else!” “I thought you were smarter than this!” “Yea well I thought you trusted me more than this so I guess we’re both disappointed!” you fire back.

The frustrated tears you’d been holding back finally start to fall and you hate it. You hate that you’re so angry, you hate that Hawks won’t see sense, and you hate that you’re crying. Regardless your tears are what finally make him realize how ugly the conversation is getting. “Shit, (y/n), I’m sorry I-“ “Don’t,” you cut him off before he can finish. You stand up without another word and go back inside, heading straight to your room and slamming the door behind you. The guilt crawling up Keigo’s throat is immediate. You had tried to warn him that now wasn’t the time for the conversation and instead he had pushed and insisted and now everything was fucked.

Mirko is going to kill him.

He pulls out his phone with every intention of calling her for advice on how to fix the mess he’s made but he stops as his eyes fall on Endeavor’s name instead. It’s a horrible idea. He still feels raw from his argument with you and Endeavor is probably asleep anyway. He should wait until tomorrow.

He doesn’t wait.

His heart starts racing in his chest as he selects Endeavor’s number and holds his phone up to his ear to wait. The line rings and rings and for a minute Keigo is convinced that Endeavor really won’t answer but then there’s a click and suddenly Endeavor’s rough voice is answering “Hello?” Keigo could swear his heart stopped beating altogether. This was a mistake. He should hang up and just call Mirko like his original plan was. But at the same time he needs to know. He needs to know he didn’t just blow up at you for no reason. “Hawks are you there? Are you in danger?” Endeavor tries again. “Is it true?” Keigo finally manages to ask and it’s so quiet he’s a little surprised Endeavor heard him. “Is what true?” Endeavor replies cautiously. Hawks feels his grip tighten on the phone as his stomach starts to sink. “Is it true what you did to Shoto and Dabi?” Hawks tries again. The line stays silent for a long time. Too long. “I’m trying to atone,” is all Endeavor says.

Hawks immediately hangs up the phone.

He can feel his world view crumbling around him as the pieces fall into place. It explains a lot. It explains why the HPSC has been so tight lipped about Dabi being Endeavor’s son, it explains why the son of a top hero would grow up to become a ruthless villain, it explains why Shoto so rarely interacts with his father. He should’ve just listened to you. Why didn’t he listen to you? He should apologize.

Hawks stands and goes back inside, closing the balcony door behind him. He has every intention of going to apologize and talk to you but instead he watches the front door close behind you as you leave the apartment without so much as a goodbye.

Author’s Note: OOF this hurt to write but I’m very excited to get started on the Bakugo route! If you read the main route there will be some similarities between the two (as you could tell from the first few paragraphs of this part) but obviously we’re gonna see some major deviations that lead to (y/n) ending up with Bakugo instead. I hope y’all enjoy!

Taglist [open]: @maltese-sparrow @someweirdshitman

[theweasleyslytherin]

i knew you (ron weasley x reader) part 13

part 1/masterlist

summary: Ron inexplicably broke up with Cassiah Black of Slytherin house just days before their final year at Hogwarts, leaving them both with broken hearts and no future plans, but too stubborn and too proud to fix things. Will they find their way back together before the year ends, or will the end of their time at Hogwarts be the last time they ever see the each other?

general fic warnings: smut, drug/alcohol use, language

CHAPTER 13 - screaming color

But it's not forever But it's just tonight Oh, we're still the greatest The greatest ___________________________

Ron had avoided hanging out with Cassiah for a few days after the naked Quidditch incident. Frankly, he couldn't shake the image of her naked body out of his head and he knew he'd start blushing tomato-red from head to toe the moment he looked at her. Cassiah knew him so well and was so good at reading people that she would have known instantly why he was flushing. Just the idea of that brand of embarrassment had Ron's face flaming.

He recovered from his funk fairly quickly though, aided by copious amounts of bud and extensive, vivid sexual fantasies about imaginary women. Embarrassing? Yes. Effective? ...Also yes, apparently.

Just in time, too, because there was another Potions test coming up that week and after his humongous flunk on the last test, he needed Cassiah's help more than ever to bring his grade back up. She was such a good teacher; she was always so patient with him. In the past, she'd rewarded correct answers with kisses or by removing articles of clothing, but Ron had a sneaking suspicion that was off the table this time.

The point was, no matter how smart Cassiah was and how easily this stuff came to her, she never for a second made Ron feel stupid. On the contrary, she made him feel confident. She was the first person to ever make him realize that he was smart; he was a great communicator and very intuitive. Just because he wasn't a good tester didn't mean he wasn't intelligent. Cassiah had told him that he was smart in ways she could never be. That made Ron feel good.

And if Ron did a little advanced reading before their scheduled study session just to impress her... that was nobody's bloody business.

Despite the fact that he'd spent the last few days completely entranced by the thought of Cassiah, Ron actually felt pretty relaxed on his way to the Slytherin dorms. Even when there were underlying and confusing thoughts, things felt natural between them. There was an organic quality to their dynamic that he didn't even realize himself and wouldn't have been able to describe even if he did. All he knew was hanging out with Cassiah was easy and fun.

_____

Cassiah was surprised to find that Ron had beaten her to the dorms. She could see his ruffled red hair from down the hall, waiting out in the hallway for her to let him in. While Cassiah knew the password to the Gryffindor dorms ("Quidditch" wasn't super difficult to guess), Ron had no idea what the Slytherin passcode was. Because of Ron's never-ending feud with Malfoy, they hadn't hung out in the Slytherin dorms often enough for her to bother telling him.

They always studied at night, after the library was closed, so common rooms were pretty much the only option. This time around, however, they were meeting in the Slytherin dorms because Cassiah really didn't feel like running into Ginny or Hermione sober. This left Draco as the more amicable option, and he'd agreed to basically vacate the premises or hide in his room while Ron was there, and make sure the others did the same. The promise that he wouldn't get called a blood traitor by any random students really eased Ron's nerves about coming to see Cassiah in the dungeons, and he'd agreed.

And now this was going to be their first time hanging out alone since the breakup.

"Hey Ronald," she said in greeting, bumping into him lightly. "You weren't waiting long, were you?"

"Only a couple hours; don't worry," Ron deadpanned in return. She punched him in the arm – a very hard, muscled arm – for his sarcasm, but she also couldn't help but laugh. He never failed to make her laugh.

"Shut the fuck up," she shook her head, but she was smiling widely as she leaned in and whispered the password.

"No way! Your password is Quidditch, too?" Ron gasped with excitement as they stepped into the common room.

Cassiah looked at him like he had seven heads. "Merlin, no. Are you hard of hearing, Weasley?" she teased, "It's in Latin. It's practically impossible to guess unless you speak the language. Which I clearly don't, based on my marks in that class."

"Bloody hell, Cassie. You got a B–. Plus, we were fourteen. That was four years ago. Quit it with the melodrama," Ron rolled his eyes but his tone was playful so Cassiah knew he wasn't actually annoyed. She could probably count on one hand the number of times Ron had been genuinely annoyed with her.

Cassiah huffed and placed her books down on the coffee table, organizing them in neat stacks: "Just sit before I change my mind about tutoring you."

"Yes, sir," Ron joked, carelessly dropping his beat-up book bag onto the floor beside the couch and scooping out the contents before plopping them haphazardly onto the table. Cassiah winced at the pile of crinkled papers and bent notebook covers. Ron was so messy sometimes.

Cassiah wasn't a neat freak herself, but she liked to keep most of her belongings in pristine condition. She squinted and was pretty sure one of the notebooks had "PENIS" scrawled across it in Ron's abominable handwriting and then "BOOBIES" in Harry's neat block-print. But what else could she expect? Sure, they were in their last year and not children anymore, but Ron and Harry were going to be like this forever, probably.

"Where do you want to start?" she asked Ron, flipping through her notes quickly. They were color-coordinated.

"Everything," Ron grumbled, "I don't get the whole lot of it. Even when Neville and I are paying attention, I only remember the stuff when I'm doing it, and then I forget it the moment we walk out the door."

"Must be all the weed," Cassiah teased. But she was also probably just the slightest bit right.

"Very funny," Ron snorted, "Seriously, though. I have some notes, but I just never can tell what the important stuff is going to be, so I just end up copying almost the entire thing and I'm back at square one."

"Okay," Cassiah leveled with him, "Then we'll start at the beginning of this unit and just try to decide what's going to be important enough to be on the test. We'll focus on actually remembering the stuff later. Now c'mere."

Ron scooted closer to her on the couch and leaned over to share the textbook. They worked quietly for about forty minutes, completely focused. They had always worked fairly well together. Ron even corrected Cassiah on a few things, which made his chest swell up with pride.

After they finished one of the chapters, Ron leaned back against the couch, exhaling heavily. "I'm getting hungry. Do you have any study snacks?" he asked. When Cassiah just looked at him for a moment, he shrugged his shoulders, "Nevermind, I brought my own."

He reached into his bag and produced a whole array of sweet and salty snacks, spreading them out on the coffee table on top of the notebooks. "Snack break?"

"I guess it wouldn't hurt," Cassiah wagered, "Oh! Do you have–"

Ron beat her to it, holding up a bag of butterbeer popcorn. "Of course I do," he grinned.

She squealed with delight, grabbing the bag and opening it immediately. "Mmm," she murmured as she popped the first one into her mouth, "I hardly ever have these but Merlin they're good."

"Oh, trust me. I know," Ron agreed, stuffing his hand into the bag on Cassiah's lap, causing her to shriek and giggle as she batted his hand away.

"It's so good to be hanging out again," Ron said after Cassiah's laughter died down, "I really wasn't sure if we ever would after everything that happened."

"Well, we were friends first, right?" Cassiah gave him a half-grin through a mouthful of popcorn.

Ron scoffed. "Yeah, but I wasn't sure if you were going to ever want to be friends with me again after the fit I threw over you and Malfoy," he explained, and then fell silent. After a moment, he asked cautiously, "Whatever became of that anyways? When I asked him about it he just gave me some vague, non-answer about your relationship not being what it appeared to be."

Cassiah was floored. "You talked to him?"

"Long story. But answer my question!"

She sighed. "Well, I guess his answer was right. Draco and I were never like that in the way that you thought. We're just friends – entirely platonic."

Ron furrowed his brow, clearly perplexed, "So you guys never...?"

Cassiah snorted, burying her face in her hands in embarrassment. "Merlin, no, Ron. Nothing romantic ever happened between us. Or sexual, for that matter," she reassured him, and then added, half under her breath, "Nothing sexual has happened for me in a looong time."

"Hah. Me neither," Ron groaned, leaning back in his seat a little bit.

Cassiah's eyes widened a bit. She wasn't entirely expecting Ron to hear her. But to hear that he hadn't been with another girl was definitely an interesting surprise.

Ron must've been thinking the same thing: "I kind of would've thought that you would have, you know, been with someone. Malfoy or MacMillan or someone. I mean, guys were always hitting on you even when we were together. You have plenty of options."

She raised her eyebrows and grunted, "No opportunities have really presented themselves, unfortunately. It's just me and my lonesome."

Ron chuckled at that. "Bloody hell, tell me about it," he murmured. He waited a second, considering, and then said, "It's really hard, you know? Going from have sex every day or at least once or twice a week to just... nothing."

"Yeah, I'm sure it's really hard," Cassiah joked and Ron shoved her in the arm for her pun. "But I know what you mean. Sometimes it drives me crazy. I got so spoiled that now I feel like I need sex and I can't have it."

Cassiah looked up from her lap to see Ron's face aflame, suddenly aware of how close together they were on the couch. Ron was clearly caught off guard by how candid she was being about her needs. She knew she normally didn't talk like this, but he'd started it and it felt good to just vent.*

"That was never our problem, was it?" Ron said. The sentence itself was a joke but his tone was completely serious. "Sex, I mean..." his tone was gruff, almost a whisper.

Cassiah felt the energy shift in the room and her nerves start tingling. "No," she manages to squeak out, "Definitely not... You knew me in that way like nobody else."

She could've sworn she heard Ron let out the smallest groan. He always liked the praise.

Cassiah looked up at him through her lashes, feeling her heart pounding in her chest and hearing both of their breathing become a bit ragged. Ron was staring back at her with a look in his eyes that she couldn't quite comprehend. Needy but also controlled and–

"Oh, fuck it," heard him mutter and suddenly his hands were grabbing her face and his lips were crashing into hers and bloody fuck this time it was real, not a dream or a memory.

His hands on her face and gripping the back of her hair were rough as his lips slid against hers, his tongue licking against hers.

"Oh, Ron," she murmured into his mouth immediately and he let out a loud, unbridled groan at the sound of his name on her lips. That sound sent heat straight in between Cassiah's legs and she rolled her hips into the couch.

"C'mere," he growled, his voice gruffer than she'd ever heard as Cassiah felt his big hands grab onto her waist and roughly guide her into his lap. She let out a low whine when she could feel his length already hard and pressing up against her core. She rolled her hips down and shocks of electricity sparked through her body as she felt his hardness brush against her through the crotch of her leggings. The friction was so delicious that she kept rolling her hips again and again with Ron's hands on her waist guiding her in the figure eights he always used to like.

"Bloody fucking hell. I didn't know how long I've been wanting this until now," Ron panted, thrusting his hips up to make contact with the apex of her thighs. Cassiah ground down against him, coaxing a long, low moan out of him.

Ron reached up and moved his hands from her hips to her breasts, squeezing roughly and kneading his fingers into her flesh through her bra. He pulled the hemline of her shirt up to reveal her bra and then pushed her bra down as far as he could. He licked a circle around her nipple before roughly sucking it into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it again and again. Cassiah tangled her head in Ron's hair, panting heavily as she watched him. He was looking up at her with big blue-green eyes as he sucked her nipple into his mouth.

And then she was tugging his head back up to her mouth, reconnecting their lips briefly before pulling away again to say breathlessly, "Get me ready for you, Ron."

Rom growled, and Cassiah felt him throbbing at the mere thought of being inside her again after so long. She felt his lips trail over to the nape of her neck where he began sucking a harsh mark in just the right spot to send shivers down her spine. He licked a thick stripe over the mark before quickly turned to suck the lobe of her ear into her mouth.

"Ah," Cassiah gasped, the combination of his tongue and his hot breath on the shell of her ear making her wetter by the second. She could feel her slick forming a wet stain on the lap of Ron's slacks but she knew he'd love it when he realized. There was never anything that turned him on more than seeing how wet she got for him.

Cassiah didn't let up on the rotation of her hips on his thick length. She could feel him hot and ready in his pants. She had half a mind to climb off him so she could unbutton his pants and take him into her mouth so she could hear him completely lose control, but she wanted him inside of her even more.

She reached down in between them and cupped him over his pants, causing him to hold his breath. She gripped his length and gave it a squeeze. It felt huge and hard even through the fabric and Ron sucked in a breath at the contact.

She kept rubbing him in circles through his pants, pressing her thumb over where she knew the tip was every now and then.

"Harder. More. Tighter, fuck, Cassie, please," Ron was chanting, his lips still attached to her neck, which was covered in huge, dark bruises by now. Just the thought of that had her growing slick.

She pressed harder against his length, now running her hands up and down his shaft through his pants. She couldn't stand the tension and heat in her core anymore and started grinding down against his thigh as best as she could.

"Bloody hell, are you getting yourself off?" Ron moaned and when Cassiah gave him a wicked smile in response, he gripped onto her hips hard enough to bruise and let his head fall back as he let out a long, quiet "fuck yeah."

"You're so dirty," he continued, his voice ragged and rushed as Cassiah kept rubbing him faster, "So fucking desperate for me that you're fucking yourself on my thigh. I'm gonna make you feel so bloody good, Cassie."

His filthy words sent fiery heat all over her body and egged her on.

"O- Cassie, I-" Ron stuttered bucking his hips against hers. "Stop stop stop stop, I'm–"

But she didn't listen. His whines and his hot breath were too delicious and sinful for her to just stop. She never wanted him to stop making those greedy little sounds. It was rare he completely lost control like this.

And then she felt him go completely rigid, his fingers digging into her waist and his head falling back as he let out a choked "Ohhhh" and squeezed his eyes shut.

She didn't realize at first and kept pumping him through his pants until he rushed to say, "Merlin. Stopstopstop, just– Give me a minute, bloody hell..."

That's when she felt the rapidly growing wet spot on the front of his pants, and it wasn't from her. She stared down at it in shock. That had certainly never happened before.

When she looked up, Ron's face was flaming red. Before she could say anything, he was grabbing the blanket off the back of the couch and shoving it over his crotch as best as he could with Cassiah still on his lap. "B-bloody hell, Cassie, I'm so sorry. You know I never do that; it's just been so long that I just couldn't hold off. I-I tried to tell you to stop but–"

"Ron," she soothed, giggling softly, "It's okay."

"It's bloody humiliating. I'm a grown-ass adult and I just shot a load in my pants."

"Felt good though, didn't it?" she asked, and Ron nodded enthusiastically. "Plus," she added, "You know you'd think it was hot if I did that. And I happen to find it unbearably hot when you can't control yourself because I make you feel so good."

Ron stared up at her, the mischievous glint beginning to return to his eyes.

"Prove it."

Cassiah grabbed his hand from where it was resting on her waist and took two of his fingers in her own. She guided his hand down into her leggings, slipping his fingers under her panties. She shimmied a bit and then swiped their fingers through her sex. He groaned when he felt that she was dripping for him between her legs, his fingers becoming coated in her slick. They brushed against her swollen clit as he removed them from her panties and Cassiah let out a needy, high-pitched whine.

Ron locked his eyes with her and he brought her fingers to his lips, sticking them in his mouth and sucking them clean of her juices. That visual paired with the intense eye contact had Cassiah's sex throbbing between her legs.

"Wh-" she started, her voice shaky, "Why don't you take care of me until you're ready for round two?"

"If I fuck you after I just came I'm gonna last–"

"I know," Cassiah blurted out and blushed, ducking her head in slight embarrassment at the memory. There was a time over the summer when they'd gone for a second round immediately after Ron had finished and he'd lasted so long that she'd come about four times before he'd finished and she'd actually been crying from how oversensitive and fucked out she was.

"You naughty little slut," Ron murmured, his eyes bright with admiration, "I'm going to make you scream."

Before she could even respond, he grabbed her and swung her around, pressing her back into the cool leather of the couch as she pinned her wrists above her head with just one hand. She struggled against him, loving the thrill of the fact that his one hand could hold her down.

Ron roughly pulled her leggings and panties down in one motion, leaving them pooled around her ankles as she wrapped her legs around the back of his head.

She crawled up so her core was aligned with her face and he stared at her wetness with a hungry, animal look. He licked his lips and groaned, "Fuck, I missed this pretty pussy."

He delivered a tiny slap to her dripping lips and clit before running a finger through her slick and spreading it over her swollen clitoris. She was already a needy mess under him, whining and whimpering.

"How fast can I make you come for me?" Ron wondered aloud, "No one's touched you like this in so long." He circled his finger over her clit at an agonizingly slow pace and she rotated her hips, signaling for him to spread up.

"Have you been touching yourself?" he questioned her and she nodded quickly and desperately, wanting to answer his question so that he'd pick up his pace and give her a release.

"Merlin, you're so bad, Cassie. Such a bad girl, I fucking love it. I'm gonna fucking destroy you," he promised and she moaned.

Ron sped his fingers up to a torturously fast pace and Cassiah felt herself hurtling towards the edge. Her legs started to shake uncontrollably and her thighs clenched around Ron. Her back arched and her head shot back as she chanted, "Ronronron, bloody hell, I'm coming, I'm coming Ron..."

He kept stroking her through her climax until he could tell her was done, completely spent and relaxed back against the couch. But he wasn't even half done with her, and she knew it as he loomed over her, shucking off his stained slacks and his wet underwear.

He stroked over his aching cock as he towered over her, already hard and leaking at the tip after she'd made him come just minutes ago.

"On your hands and knees," Ron demanded, pumping his thick length expertly in his hand. Cassiah felt her heartbeat between her legs at the sight of him touching himself and immediately moved to follow his orders.

Cassiah braced herself on her elbows, leaning to arch her back and push herself closer to him. She looked back over her shoulder and saw Ron shifting to move up behind her. She bit her lip and looked up at him.

"Fuck," Ron murmured at the sight. "Get ready, baby. I'm not going slow with you," he said as he linked his tip up with her entrance.

"Would never want you to," she countered, pushing back against him, silently begging him to put it in.

Without any warning, he thrust into her in one push, giving her no time to adjust and as a result earning him a winded, shrill, "Ron!"

She could hear him chuckle slightly behind her and knew he smiling as he palmed the thick flesh of her ass in his hands, kneading it between his fingers as he caught his breath.

"Merlin, Cassie, you f-feel tighter than ever," he stammered as he started moving his hips, keeping up his promise of not going slow with her. His thrusts were short and rough. When he hit the right spot deep inside her, Cassiah cried out and pushed back against him to take him deeper and he kept up angling for that spot, earning the same reaction every time.

"Merlin, Ron, right there," she begged, circling her hips, "Please don't stop. Keep going."

"I couldn't stop if I wanted to baby. You feel so good," Ron responded, the loud smack of his hips slamming into her over and over echoing throughout the room.

Cassiah began to whine almost non-stop, obviously losing control, and he quickened his pace and went even harder on her than before, knowing from experience that this was just what she needed to come.

He leaned over her, his chest hovering just over her back so that he could place sloppy kisses along the back of her neck and her shoulders. She turned her head to kiss him but Ron had reached underneath her to begin playing her clit and instead, her mouth fell open and her eyes rolled back into her head. She came hard with a sob, her walls pulsing around.

But she knew Ron wouldn't be done with her yet. He started back up with slower, more thorough thrusts, pulling almost all the way out every time before pushing back in at an agonizing pace, but still just as hard as before. Their bodies jerked with every movement.

Ron fathered Cassiah's hair in a fist behind her head and yanked, pulling her head back and coaxing a sharp cry out of her. He was finally able to kiss her, and he pressed his lips sensually to hers. She moaned as he licked into her mouth, just as needy as she was.

She could feel her third orgasm coming on and knew that she wouldn't be able to hold out or handle another afterward. She clenched around Ron, circling her hips in rhythm with him, and panted, "Come for me, Ron. You know you want to. You've made me come twice, you're gonna make me come a third. You deserve it."

She knew his praise kink would take him right over the edge and it did. He let out an earth-shattering groan and cried out her name, finishing inside her and giving a few final thrusts before going still and collapsing on top of her back. They stayed there for a moment, no sound but the sound of them catching their breath for several moments.

"Bloody hell," he panted, peeling himself off of her sweaty back and sitting back on the couch.

She gingerly sat up too, still over-sensitive, and faced him. "You can say that again," she murmured.

"Bloody hell," he repeated, and Cassiah barked out a laugh, weakly punching him in the arm and telling him to shut up.

"You're so right," she conceded, "We may have had little disagreements every now and then, and you had to do what was best for you and end things but... Sex was never our weak point."

"Definitely not," Ron agreed, pushing his sweaty hair back off of his forehead before starting to get redressed. "Merlin, can we please keep doing this? I don't think I'll be able to handle it going back to my hand after this. I had no idea how much tension had built up until now," he admitted – more like pleaded.

"One hundred percent. Trust me, Ron. You know I always needed this just as much as you did," Cassiah said, fully dressed and pulling her hair on top of her head in a messy bun. "We just have to be cool about it. Friends can definitely have passionate sex and then be just that – friends," she explained to him, but it felt more like she was trying to convince herself.

"Totally," Ron was quick to agree, staring forward in a sexed-out daze.

"So long as nobody finds out, there will be no weirdness. Just two friends who also happen to enjoy having sex with each other in secret."

"Amazing, mind-blowing sex," he added.

"Uh-huh," Cassiah agreed, still not entirely recovered, "So it's deal."

"Yes," Ron finalized it, "It's a deal. Now let's get out stuff and get out of this common room before they get tired of being holes up in their dorms and wander in here. We've already pushed our luck enough."

Cassiah nodded, grabbing her books, "I suppose we have. But what about the test? We didn't finish studying."

"Cassie," Ron answered earnestly, grabbing her hand, "I don't care if I never pass a test again if I'm having sex that good."

______________

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!

i think this is the most sinful, blasphemous thing i've ever written in my life and i really hope you guys enjoyed it lol.

all my love! xx

tag list: @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @girl22334 @mariellelovescupcakes @lateautumn @heartofcanvas @gloryekaterina @mackaywhore 

Published on my Wattpad and my Tumblr (theweasleyslytherin).

[nomazee]

Enigma

tendou satori x reader; side ushijima & reon & reader friendship

word count: 2900+

content: slowburn (as slow as it can get in <3000 words), developing friendships, platonic relationships (this is pretty much,,,not romantic at all???), brief mentions of past bullying/exclusion, mild trust issues, fluff

cross-posted on my ao3

(WOW OKAY so first off,,,not to flex but i’m kind of really proud of this?? i hope it’s as good as i think it is right now--i’m kind of hyped up on caffeine and a lack of sleep so my perception of things might be a little off, to say the least. 

i think tendou is an interesting character, and he has a personality that’s sort of,,,,malleable? in a sense? so this is my take on him! but i hope i still kept him accurate to how he’s portrayed in the show. 

also !! i’m probably going to be opening up requests soon!! this is still a small blog but once i post my request rules you can feel free to stop by and leave a suggestion in my inbox :) 

i really hope you guys enjoy this one!! happy reading!!)

☾.:°∗★.:☆:.★∗°:.☽

Making friends was never an easy process for you. You could count on one hand the amount of friendships you’d initiated yourself, and most of those occurred between the ages of five and twelve. After that, it was not smooth sailing and you found yourself sinking deeper into a pit of self-doubt and self-loathing. 

Because, you figured that the only reason you couldn’t form connections deeper than surface-level was because you were… well, you. People never made the effort to approach you, so you didn’t put in the effort either. Though at first it was a tough pill to swallow, you’d convinced yourself that was just how life went as one of the unlucky ones. 

Maybe you’d be a bit more content if the lucky ones would retain their distance from you. 

In a way, they did. The kids with big friend groups--the typical loud, chatty ones that pushed tables together in the cafeteria to fit their whole squad--didn’t really interact with the likes of you. Not that you minded. You only started to mind when they did start to interact with you in a less-than-pleasant manner. 

It started with lingering glances that you felt burn into the back of your neck during lunch. That’s what initially drove you out of the main cafeteria and into the bathroom, where you’d neglect eating in exchange for a quiet, botherless place. Then it led to too-tight smiles being sent your way in the hallways, followed by silent laughter shared among their groups. By then you’d caught on, and tried to distance yourself from them. But things never went as planned for unlucky ones like you. 

They’d talk to you in class, eyes narrowed, brows raised, and smiles pulled taut against their conventional features as they chatted about their weekend with you as if you were all old friends. 

It hurt more than being alone had. After a while, you learned to be alone and not lonely. You liked it, even. Knowing that these people were feigning friendship for their own sick entertainment only served to hold you back in the grand scheme of school-life. 

You remembered all the jeering comments from junior high even when entering your first year of high school. You remembered the comments on your hair (“Yeah! That’s such a cute style! You should wear it more often”) that only led to you holding back tears in the girls’ bathroom during lunch and plucking out bobby pins from within your hair, reverting back to whatever style you typically wore. You remembered comments on your photos that you’d even dared to post online (“I liked your outfit that you wore on your trip last weekend. So cute”) that nearly made you delete your account after heavy consideration. 

You remembered a lot of things. Maybe too many for your own good. It’s what led to you lacking trust in everyone around you and analyzing things far too deeply to be healthy. 

When you entered high school, you expected things to be the same. Though the same group of people weren’t following you to your choice of school (Shiratoriawa, which you studied frantically for in what you were sure was a subconscious effort to distance yourself from whatever schools they would be attending), you figured that people didn’t change. People didn’t mature. It was still school, after all. No age or grade or whatever would change human nature. 

Maybe that’s why Tendou Satori had been such an enigma to you in your first year. 

You remembered entering homeroom--no daring makeup, no accessories to your uniform, and hair worn as always--and avoiding the gazes of all your classmates. You plopped yourself into whatever spare seats were in the back and waited for the day to start, quiet and mundane and tiring as always. 

What you hadn’t been expecting was someone to talk to you--already, on your first day. As if you were such a visible target for those around you that they could immediately sniff out your inferiority among them. 

Bright red hair that seemed to defy gravity was the first feature you noticed. His eyes were a similar color, though certainly darker, and his expression was far too similar to those you’d seen in the past for comfort. 

“Hiya! I’m Tendou. What’s your name?” 

The greeting went in one ear and out the other, though the general gist of it had stuck inside your head well enough to be able to process it. You averted your eyes from his. The best way to deal with someone like him was to respond, and not hope for, ask for, or do anymore than that. 

You gave him your name. His smile only widened. 

“Nice to meet you. I hope we can be good friends.”

You stayed silent. There wasn’t much point in saying anything. Your nails bit into the skin around your thumbs until it was red and aching. 

Weeks passed and Tendou has resigned himself to a strange sort of routine with you. He’d say good morning, ask you about the homework, and make small comments during lecture which you assumed were attempts to get something out of you. Before lunch, he’d ask you if you wanted to sit with him. You’d decline, spend your break in the bathroom, come back to class, and the events from the morning would only repeat themselves with the addition of a polite farewell at dismissal as you two parted to different dormitories. 

It was uncomfortable, but you put up with it because--well, what else were you supposed to do?

Tendou was a bit peculiar to you, though. He put up facades of false friendliness just like the old kids from junior high used to do. But whenever you’d catch him in the hallways, he never seemed to walk in groups like they used to. You couldn’t speak for how it was during lunch, considering that you were never really there--but when you occasionally spotted his bright red head of hair bounding through the halls, he was always alone. 

You shrugged it off. To be fair, you didn’t see him often outside of class, so the conclusions you’d drawn were bound to be at least a little off. 

A couple of months went by. The routine didn’t change, and neither did you and Tendou. You were both the same individuals, and just as always, you weren’t planning on twisting any of fate’s strings. 

Tendou seemed to be different, though. He seemed to grow more and more curious of you as time passed. His questions became less vague and more frequent. He started voluntarily walking with you in the hallways whenever lunchtime rolled around. Thankfully, he never questioned it when you parted ways with him and walked in a direction that certainly didn’t lead to a cafeteria. 

Until his curiosity peaked, early in the morning before homeroom started. 

He greeted you, as always, and let you simmer in comfortable silence for a minute before he decided to prod at you. 

“Hey, [Name]. I never see you in the lunchroom. What’s that about?” 

You paused. No one ever really asked you about that before. You blinked once, then twice, and cleared your throat. 

“I don’t like going there.” You didn’t know where your sudden streak of honesty came from. Even Tendou seemed a bit shocked at your suddenly-informative response, and seemed to make the most of this unusual occurrence. 

“So, where do you go instead? Library?” 

“No.” 

“Then…?”

“Bathroom.” 

“...oh…? Why don’t you sit with me at lunch today?” 

Oh. The pattern came back. “No, thank you.” 

“C’mon! Just this once. I promise. And then you can come back if you want, but you don’t have to.” You retracted your previous statement. Usually Tendou would let you do your own thing after asking once, but this was different. Again. 

You took the time to consider his suggestion--again, something that was unfamiliar to you. Maybe just once. Just to analyze more of who he was and who his friends were--if he had any. You’d keep your expectations low, you promised yourself. (But a voice at the back of your head giggled in childish excitement at the prospect of maybe having an actual acquaintance.)

You agreed, and Tendou made an exclamation of victory that you couldn’t help but find a little endearing. 

When lunchtime rolled around, Tendou bounded to you and grabbed your wrist, pulling you along to the cafeteria (which you’d never seen before, so you couldn’t help but stare in mild awe at the grandeur of it). He’d asked you if you were buying lunch--you said no, as you never really had an appetite this time of day and he gave a playful frown, flicking you on the forehead and reminding you that you still had to eat and stay healthy. 

Since you hadn’t gone on line, he didn’t, either. You voiced your guilt and he shrugged, dragging you a long to a separate stand away from the main line and purchasing a few snacks for you to share. 

“I’ll pay you back tomorrow,” you told him. “You really don't have to get me anything, though.” 

“Nonsense!” Tendou exclaimed. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn't make sure you were well-fed?” 

Though the nature of his words were playful, you found a hint of something in his eyes and tone. Something that, despite your years of analyzing people’s body language and tone and words, you simply could not deduce that easily and put a label on. 

You paused. It was so foreign to you, but Tendou seemed almost… genuine. 

His smile became more soft rather than teasing, and he took the initiative to take hold of your wrist again and lead you to his table. Whereas you initially expected a large group of loud, coquettish boys you were met with a near-empty circular table occupied by two other boys. 

“Miracle Boy! Reon! This is the girl I told you about!” Your steps faltered for a minute--he’d told them about you? Maybe he was less genuine than you thought. 

‘Miracle Boy’ seemed like an amusing nickname, though, different from the ones you’d heard before. You couldn’t tell which boy had which name, though, leaving you in the dark as you and Tendou took a seat next to each other. 

One boy had dark brown hair while the other had a strange olive color. The former gave you a smile, like the one you’d seen Tendou give you just moments before. 

“I’m Reon. This is Ushijima.” He introduced him and his friend, and you found a wobbly, unfamiliar smile playing on your lips. “You’re [Name]? Tendou has told us abit about you.” 

You didn’t know how to take that, and your hesitation must’ve shown in your expression as Reon gave you a gentle chuckle and a dismissive wave of his hand. 

“All good things. Nothing to worry about.” 

With introductions and mild reassurance out of the way, casual conversation proceeded amongst the four of you--well, mainly among the three of them. You didn’t really find yourself inputting anything into the conversation too often, preferring to listen and nibble on the food Tendou had offered you, nodding along to whatever discussion they had. 

You realized that the way Tendou interacted with Reon and Ushijima, who you assumed were his close friends, was very similar to the way he interacted with you. It made you separate him from your initial interpretations of his character and hold him in a much better light, though still with a hesitation you simply couldn’t get rid of that easily. Reon was calm and very friendly, asking for your input at certain points in the conversation in what you saw as a genuine attempt to involve you in their group. He was observant, you thought, noticing his eyes glancing your way occasionally and taking in your body language before asking you certain questions and shooting kind smiles your way. Ushijima was quiet and seemed indifferent to your presence--which you appreciated. You’d rather have him indifferent than hateful or jeering, and you didn’t take it personally. He just seemed to have that sort of personality. 

By the end of lunch, you found yourself smiling and enjoying yourself. They didn’t seem like the same type of people you knew from junior high. It was a new experience, though not an unwelcome one, and you asked Tendou once you returned to class if you could join him again tomorrow. 

“Always, [Name]!” He shot you one of his blinding, playful grins and you couldn’t hold back the upwards drag of your lips. 

That day you found yourself reciprocating his farewell at dismissal, giving him a wave, a smile, and a nod before making your way back to the girl’s dorms. 

This was good, you thought. Very good. 

Another month passed by, and you developed a routine different than the previous. You’d say good morning, and ask how volleyball practice had been the day before (which you learned he attended early on in your newly-formed friendship). You and him would chat during lulls in class, passing notes occasionally if you felt the need to talk while the teacher was still droning on. When lunch came, he’d take gentle hold of your wrist and lead you to his table--or, on certain occasions, to his volleyball practice, where he made sure you were comfortable despite the intimidating-looking coach. At the end of the day, you’d say goodbye, with a promise to talk to him the next morning or after the weekend was over. 

It took you a while to get used to. But you certainly weren’t mad at it, and Tendou’s presence made it easier for you to adjust than you once thought it would be. You’d stuck to interacting with him only during school--which, in your defense, was what you thought most people did. The concept of meeting up with classmates off school grounds, actually leaving your dorms during the weekends rather than staying holed up in your room as your roommate went out and had her fun--it was even more alien than any other newly-adapted-to-concept had been for you. 

When he suggested exchanging phone numbers, you blinked owlishly at him before processing the fact that maybe that was something you should’ve done a long time ago and obliging to the task. When he asked you to go to the mall with him, Reon, and Ushijima, you repeated the dumbfounded gesture once again, before giving a halfhearted smile and nodding along. 

You were nervous, there was no doubt. But you sucked it up, put on a modest, but (somewhat) stylish outfit, and walked to the train station with your three friends. (It was almost amusing for you to see that number placed next to that word and used in a context referring to you--but you giggled in your room thinking about it and couldn’t find the strength to doubt yourself.) 

Tendou greeted you outside the girls’ dorms, and you felt nervous as he paused on his typical greeting to look you up and down. In the middle of wishing you’d grabbed an oversized sweater rather than the cropped jean jacket you chose, Tendou gave a bright, comforting smile, and laced his fingers with yours. 

“You’re pretty, [Name].” 

You couldn’t help but take apart that sentence as the two of you walked to the train station, Tendou’s endearing rambling becoming a consistent buzz at the back of your head. He stated it like it was fact. He was so sure in everything he said, and this time it was no different. There was no stopping the creeping grin appearing on your face, and Tendou seemed to take notice as his hand squeezed the slightest bit tighter around yours. 

To put it simply, the trip to the mall was fun. Reon gave you a gentle yet knowing look as you and Tendou approach with hands still interlocked, and you were sure you saw Ushijima crack a smile or two during the duration of your trip. Tendou didn’t leave your side--which you felt the slightest bit guilty about, but he managed to brush that internal guilt away wordlessly with simple smiles and his sheer presence. 

Though the four of you barely purchased anything other than food, Tendou made the effort to drag you into a children’s accessory shop while Reon and Ushijima went to order food for all of you. At your confused expression, he leaned down to your height, narrowed his eyes, and analyzed your face before bursting out into giddy giggles. 

“I think you should style your hair more often,” he’d told you. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I think these clips would look nice.” 

You left the store with a large, full bag in hand, filled with colorful, bright accessories that Tendou bought and made you promise to wear at least for the next week. It was a childish bargain, sure, but one you knew had deeper meaning than what was just spoken. There was something more in his eyes that you couldn’t hep but smile fondly at as you both left the store and faced Reon’s and Ushijima’s faintly amused expressions. 

Tendou had started off as an enigma to you. He was someone strange--someone you assumed to be the same type you seemed to constantly find yourself tied up in, only to flip that judgement on its head and become the exact opposite. 

The thing about enigmas is that they’re not good or bad--they’re just weird. They’re different, they’re confusing, they’re something new. It was the perfect way to describe Tendou, you thought. He took some getting used to. But he certainly wasn’t bad.

[gaylotusthatexists]

Sacary Village (1)

pairings: all platonic rn, but eventual romantic moceit

summary: After arriving in a new village to live with their supposed ‘uncle’ Janus, Virgil and Logan meet the Prince family, and find something weird deep in the forest.

trigger warnings: death mention, sympathetic janus and remus, please let me know if i need to add anything else

word count: 5794

taglist: @boopiskoop

a/n: hey!!!!! i. have been watching gravity falls recently and i blame that entirely for this fic. i’m also really fucking excited about this au, i have so many plans for this, and aaa. mostly i just wanted to write some momceit but the idea has somehow evolved into. this. this will have a sort of storyline, although will probably be more of a collection of related one shots. (by which i mean there will be an overarching story, but each ‘chapter’ will be it’s own sort of episode dealing with a different topic (or monster ig) and some may not be connected to the story at all). due to that, i’m totally down for y’all to send requests for scenarios you’d like to see in this au, although probably won’t get round to them until i get everything set up properly (i do, of course, already have things in mind). anyway, i’m very very excited about all of this, so i hope y’all enjoy!!!

ao3

the cave in the forest

Virgil fiddled with his sleeves as he stared out the window, watching the countryside zoom past, trees all blurring into one as the sun set over the fields. He found himself playing with the zip on his sleeve, moving it up and down at an increasingly faster pace, completely ignoring the annoyed glares from his brother.

"Could you stop that?" Logan finally let out, trying to keep his voice at a whisper but failing.

Virgil just glared at him and zipped and unzipped harder.

With an heavy sigh, Logan leant his head back against the car seat and scrunched his eyes shut. Virgil's gaze fell to his knees and he let go of his sleeve, moving his fingers instead to the rips in his jeans, beginning to fiddle with the bits of string half-falling-off the fabric. These jeans had already been ripped when he brought them, of course, but they'd gotten worse as he constantly found himself pulling at the threads. It wasn't terrible, though, he supposed.

The car halted to a stop, causing Virgil to jerk forward. He looked up, noticing that they'd just stopped at a red light. Oh. Well, that was boring. He looked over at Logan, who still had his eyes closed, but Virgil could tell he wasn't asleep. No, he was just listening, waiting to see if this was the right moment.

It wasn't. They weren't there just yet, although they did seem to be a little closer to civilisation. The fields and trees had been replaced by little, family-owned shops and street lamps. Not many cars lined the streets, but there were a few people wandering around, adults just arriving home or teenagers lurking in the doorways of shops. This was where he and Logan would be staying for the next, what, two, three weeks? Their record so far had been a month, although they hadn't really had much time doing this whole thing. And this guy was supposedly 'family' - an uncle, or something, by the sounds of it - so maybe it would be a little different than the random couples they'd been passed around, people who couldn't deal with the fact that neither he nor Logan were perfect.

Glancing over at Logan again, Virgil noticed his older brother had now opened his eyes, and was looking out the window, scanning the area. He didn't look... all too pleased about this new development, but then again, Logan never was. It wasn't as if the two of them had much of a choice, anyway. They'd be out of here before they knew it.

The car left the main town area and drove a little through the countryside again, before turning into a smaller street, a few cottages lining the cobbled road. They stopped outside one cottage and climbed out the car, Virgil swinging his backpack over his shoulder and Logan dragging out a small suitcase. They stood for a moment just outside the wooden gate, swinging a little in the wind, and stared at the house, built of white brick and with ivy growing up the walls.

After Logan had a brief exchange with their driver, the car drove away, and Virgil and Logan were left alone on the street. The windows were dark, with no clear sign of human life within the house. Virgil looked up and down the street and saw no one else, but did hear talking coming from the garden of the house opposite their uncle's. He hummed, turning to Logan.

"We could just run," he suggested. "Like, our driver's gone, there's nothing stopping us from escaping right this second."

Logan sighed. "Virgil, do you want to die of starvation and/or murder in the middle of nowhere?"

Virgil took a moment to think of a response that was both true and also wouldn't concern Logan, who was already stressed out enough with the constant moving and the... everything. Eventually, Virgil replied, "Well, when you put it that way it sounds bad, but I do kinda see the appeal," which didn't particularly ease any of Logan's concerns.

"It won't be that bad here," Logan said, although he didn't sound too certain. "This guy's meant to be our uncle. Can't be that bad if he's family, right?"

Virgil rolled his eyes. "Yeah, our 'uncle' that we've never heard about before." He turned around and leant on the brick fence, looking over at the nearly identical house across the street. "Like, you'd think our parents would have mentioned him once."

"Maybe they did and we just didn't remember," Logan said, opening the gate and stepping into the front garden.

"I didn't even know we had an uncle," Virgil said. He twisted around to face Logan and frowned. "What are you doing?"

Logan paused, his hand hovering in mid air. "My plan was to knock on the door. Then introduce myself to our uncle."

"What about our running away plan?"

"You mean your running away plan that I never agreed to."

"What, so now I'm meant to just go along with your 'introducing ourselves' plan that I never agreed to?"

"Yes," Logan said, "you are."

Virgil groaned, but didn't argue anymore, instead turning back to face the houses on the other side of the street. The voices from the garden had stopped, but he could now see silhouettes of people instead - specifically, a man standing in the window, seemingly looking down at the two of them. He gulped and looked away, hoping that maybe he'd just been imagining things. If someone was watching them it probably wasn't anything malicious, but Virgil couldn't shake the thought away.

Logan hummed, turning back to Virgil. "Doesn't seem like anyone's in."

Virgil's head shot around. "What do you mean?"

"No one's answering the door," Logan said. "And, y'know, just looking through the window the house looks empty."

Virgil was silent for a moment, before a grin spread across his face. "Sweet!" He moved away from the wall, turning his full body around to face Logan. "Guess that means we're going with my running away plan-"

"No, Virgil, that- we're not doing that."

Virgil pouted.

"I'm going to check around the back," Logan decided, moving away from the door and heading down a passageway on the side of the house.

Virgil watched him disappear around the corner, then returned to the wall, pushing himself up to sit on it. Across the road, he noticed the door on the other house open, and a man step around, making his way towards Virgil. He was shorter than Virgil, which for a moment Virgil was quite proud of, and had a round, kind face, with dark skin and curled hair, dyed a pastel pink. He looked to be in his twenties, although his fashion choices depicted him as more of a child, with a blue t-shirt under denim overalls, as well as round glasses sitting on his nose. Virgil wasn't entirely sure what to make of him, as he stepped closer.

"Hey, uh..." He clicked his fingers and scrunched up his face, trying to remember something. "Logan, is it? I think Janus mentioned a Logan..."

Virgil shook his head. "Nope, not Logan."

"Oh." The man hummed, looking up and down the street. "So, uh, are you lost, or something?"

Virgil shrugged. "Nah, not really. Planning on doing some vandalism, maybe. Who is it that lives here?"

The man blinked, noticeably stepping back. "Uh, Janus," he said. "We're good friends. I thought he said something about having family coming over, but, uh, if you're not them then-"

Logan re-emerged from behind the house. "Who's this?" he asked, glancing suspiciously at the man.

"Oh!" The man smiled and turned to Logan, holding out a hand which Logan politely took to shake. "I'm Patton, I live across the road. I was just, uh, wondering if you kiddos needed any help, or anything."

"Perhaps we do," Logan muttered.

Virgil rolled his eyes and turned around, lifting up his headphones to his ears. He didn't play any music, instead continuing to listen to the conversation, but didn't feel like doing anymore human interaction.

"I'm Logan," Logan introduced. "This is my brother, Virgil. Whatever he said to you, it probably isn't true."

Virgil turned around and stuck his tongue out to Logan, stupidly signifying that he was listening to the conversation. Thankfully, Patton had his back turned, and so clearly hadn't seen.

"Oh, of course, Janus did also mention a Virgil," Patton said. "So you two are his... nephews? Cousins?" He paused. "Sons?"

"Nephews, apparently," Logan confirmed. "Although we have yet to actually met him in person. Would you happen to know where he is?"

Patton hummed. "He's probably in the town somewhere. I can go look for him."

Virgil jumped down from the wall, taking off his headphones and approaching Patton. "Not gonna lie, I don't know if I actually want to meet him," he said, causing Patton to jump and spin around to face him. "I mean, he's not here for our arrival, so he clearly doesn't give a shit about us, y'know?"

"Virgil-"

"What?"

Logan sighed. "Chances are, he just didn't realise what time we were coming." He turned back to Patton. "Could you help, please? Unlike my brother here, I don't particularly want to die in the wilderness."

"I never said I wanted to die in the wilderness-"

"You can hang out in my house for a bit, if you'd like," Patton offered, stepped away and beginning to move to the other side of the road. "The twins can help you get settled whilst I go search for Janus."

Logan and Virgil exchanged a glance, before Logan began to follow Patton. Alarmed, Virgil grabbed Logan's arm and pulled him back, moving back around the house until they were out of ear-shot of Patton. He let go of Logan's wrist, who proceeded to rub the spot where Virgil had grabbed him.

"Are you sure about this?" Virgil asked, a twinge of worry in his voice.

Logan nodded. "Yes, Virgil. Patton seems like a nice enough guy. I mean, what do we have to lose?"

"I don't know." He began to fiddle with his zip again. "What if he's kidnapping us?"

"Virgil, look at him." Virgil glanced over Logan's shoulder, noticing that Patton still had a wide, happy smile on his face. "I'm fairly certain he isn't trying to kidnap us."

Virgil closed his eyes and breathed in. "Okay. Fine. But if we get murdered, it's your fault." He pushed past Logan and returned to Patton, who quickly let him into his house.

"There's some food in the kitchen if your hungry," Patton said, leading them into the front room. "I'd advise against cooking anything, but if you want something heating up feel free to use the microwave. Should be enough stuff to make sandwiches, though. And, of course, feel free to have any drink you want. Uh... the twins are upstairs if you need any help with anything, although you both look like very capable young boys. I'll- I'll try to be as quick as possible, but make yourself at home." He smiled, and then darted out the house.

After a few moments of staring at the door, Virgil sighed and flopped down into the sofa, taking his phone out his pocket and beginning to mindlessly play a game. Logan seemed a little more hesitant to 'make himself at home', instead just standing in the middle of the room, staring out the window.

"Y'know, I really don't like this Janus guy," Virgil finally said, to which Logan looked at him for a moment and then sat down besides him. Virgil took off his shoes and pulled his legs up onto the sofa, sitting cross-legged. "I mean, we show up and he isn't even here, we've never actually met him before in our life, he's apparently friends with this weirdo-"

"I'm sure everything will be fine," Logan said, which didn't really make Virgil feel any better. "Based on our track record, we probably won't be here much longer anyway."

"Yeah, true." Virgil let his phone fall down into his lap, before he looked around the room. It was tidy, too tidy, with a white, fuzzy rug in the middle of the wooden floor, pure white sofas, and walls painted a pale blue. On the fireplace, Virgil noticed a few photos, one of Patton and two of people he didn't recognise, but who looked pretty similar to Patton - perhaps those were the 'twins' he had mentioned.

As if one cue, a person came running down the stairs and into the living room, frowning upon spotting the two brothers. He looked very much like a younger version of Patton, but with a leaner build and well-kept dark brown hair, and no glasses. He wore fairly casual clothes, just blue jeans and a white shirt, under a red jacket with the trans pride flag containing the words 'he/him' attached. From the looks of it, he seemed to be older than Virgil - fifteen, if Virgil was to make a guess.

"Who are you?" he asked, stepping into the living room and folding his arms.

Logan stood up and held out a hand. "Logan Sanders. And my brother, Virgil. We've just moved here."

The guy stared at Logan's hand for a moment, but didn't shake it. "Why are you in our house?"

"Patton - uh, your father, I'm assuming? - let us in," Logan explained. "We're supposed to be staying with our Uncle Janus across the road, but he isn't home right now."

"Oh." He turned around, stepping back towards the stairs. "Remus!"

Another boy came stumbling down the stairs, looking vaguely annoyed but grinning wildly upon seeing Logan and Virgil. He looked very similar to the guy, although with much messier hair, longer and dyed green at the ends, and a few strands of a moustache. He wore a simple green tank top and black shorts, and Virgil wondered for a moment how he wasn't cold.

"This is Logan and Virgil," the guy introduced to Remus, as Remus stepped into the room.

"Hi! Are you burglars?"

Logan blinked. "What? No. Patton just told us to stay here whilst he went to look for our uncle."

Remus pouted. "Boring."

Logan frowned. "Would you... rather us be thieves?"

"Well, it would be more exciting-"

"Don't mind my brother," the other guy interrupted, stepping in front of Remus. "Can we do anything for you?"

Logan gave him a polite smile. "We're quite alright, thank you. As I mentioned, Patton has already offered to help."

Remus pushed in front of his brother again, eyes sparkling with excitement. "You're new in town, right?"

"Correct."

"We should show you around!"

Logan glanced at Virgil, who tried to tell him to say no, but returned to Remus regardless and said, "That would be nice. Although, Patton did say to stay put-"

"We won't be long," the other guy promised. "We could show them the forest," he continued, now addressing his twin.

Remus grinned and nodded. "Yes! Oh, we haven't had anyone to explore the forest with for ages!" He grabbed Logan's hand, and began to drag him out. "C'mon!" Seeming as though he had no choice, Virgil sighed and followed the other three out the back of the house, through the fields and, once again, away from civilisation.

~*~

Patton's frown deepened as he wandered around town, still no sign of Janus in sight. Huh, that was strange. Well, it wasn't particularly unusual for Janus to disappear, sometimes for days on end, but he'd usually at least inform Patton that he'd be gone, and he rarely left when something important was happening. And this was important, right? Two kids coming to live with him. Janus had been talking about these two for ages, about how excited he was to have family coming round to stay, even if the circumstances weren't exactly... ideal.

Patton didn't know much about the Sanders family, but from the sounds of it those kids had been through a lot. He didn't want to dig too much, just allowing Janus to tell him what he was comfortable with him knowing, but he knew that both their parents were dead - how they died, he didn't know, but he assumed it wasn't pretty. And now Janus wasn't even here to welcome them in? It didn't make any sense.

Unless he'd forgotten about them. Maybe he'd got the day wrong?

Or maybe he was just in town, and Patton wasn't looking hard enough.

"If I were Janus, where would I be?" Patton muttered under his breath, peeking inside the local bar only to find it empty asides from the barman. The answer to the question was: not here. Janus only ever came into town for basic necessities, and didn't really involve himself with any of the residents. Asides from himself, as Patton had given Janus no other choice but to be friends, way back when Janus first moved here.

He supposed there was always the forest - Janus often disappeared into the forest for days, weeks at a time, although, again, he'd usually tell Patton. Plus, Patton didn't particularly want to go in the forest and... well, he'd heard stories, enough to make him shudder at the very thought of it. He knew that Roman and Remus frequently hung out there, even though they thought he didn't know - his boys really did think they were good at hiding things, but Patton knew everything - and, although they'd never actually provided evidence, they were certain that something was going on in there. Something that Patton didn't want to find out about.

He turned into the local supermarket and wandered through the aisles, picking up a few bits for himself, as the fridges at home were beginning to look a little bare, and kept an eye out for Janus as he went, figuring that it was likely that if Janus did come into town it would just be for food, especially knowing that he'd have guests coming over to stay soon. But when Patton left the store, and realised that he'd checked every other store, he came to the conclusion that Janus probably wasn't in town. So instead, Patton turned back into the local bar, deciding that maybe he should ask around.

A few other people had gathered inside now, people that Patton recognised but never really spoke to. Whilst Patton did try to be friendly with everyone in the village, it was rare that he came into the bar, and talked to the (mostly straight) crowd. So instead of approaching the more intimidating men sat around drinking, Patton approached the bar, which Remy was stood behind.

Patton knew Remy fairly well, as they lived down his street and often came over for dinners. Why they had decided to work in this bar, Patton didn't know. He gave them a small smile as a hello and took a seat at the bar. Remy smiled back and immediately got to making Patton a cocktail, strawberry flavoured like he always liked. Remy always knew what Patton would want.

"So what brings you here?" Remy asked, taking off their sunglasses (they always wore sunglasses inside for some reason - Patton had yet to figure out why) and sliding the drink over to Patton.

Patton took a small sip, before replying, "I was looking for Janus."

Remy raised an eyebrow. "In here?"

"This is actually my last stop," Patton said, with a giggle. "Couldn't find him anywhere else. Have you seen him?"

Remy shook their head. "Haven't seen him for a few weeks now. Why, is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Patton said, although he wasn't sure how much truth there was to that statement. "It's just that he's got some kids he's meant to be taking care of. They arrived earlier today, but he isn't home."

Remy frowned. "Kids?"

"Yeah." Patton fiddled with the edges of his now empty glass. "His nephews, apparently. They do sorta look like him."

"Oh." Remy hummed. "He's never mentioned his family to me before." Remy was another person that Janus was somewhat close to, simply because they spent so much time round Patton's house. Although, he very clearly didn't trust Remy as much as Patton.

"He doesn't talk to me about them, either," Patton said. "He did say some stuff about these kids a few weeks back, though."

There was a moment of silence between them, as the men in the back started cheering - someone scored in football, by the looks of it - before Remy said, "Think he's pulled another disappearing act?"

Patton stared down into his cup, watching the ice slowly melt at the bottom. "Maybe. I- I should probably head back home. You're right, he's probably just in the forest again."

Remy nodded and slipped his sunglasses back one. "Good luck, babe. Say hi to the boys for me, yeah?"

Patton grinned. "Of course!" He got up off his chair, handing his empty glass back to Remy. "How much do I-"

"Don't worry about it."

Patton blinked. "You sure?"

"Yeah." Remy smiled. "Gift for a friend."

"O-Okay then. Thank you." Patton smiled one last time, then left the pub, heading back towards his car to drive home.

~*~

Virgil glanced nervously around the forest as the twins dragged them further in, so far in that he could no longer see the exit. This was probably fine, right? No one was going to murder him, it wasn't as if he was alone. Although, it was beginning to get darker, and the others showed no signs of wanting to go back. What if Patton returned home with Janus and discovered they were all missing? What if they died in this forest and no one found them? What if they were all forgotten about?

No, no, that didn't sound right. The twins - one of whom Virgil still didn't know the name of - said that they came in here often, so it was probably safe. They'd be fine.

"Hey, uh, can I ask what your name is?" Virgil eventually asked the unknown twin, beginning to feel a little uncomfortable with the silence.

Remus gasped. "Woah, he does speak!"

Virgil rolled his eyes and shoved his hands in his pockets, refusing to say anything else.

"My full name is Romulus, but I tend to go by Roman," the other twin introduced, smiling politely at Virgil. Virgil smiled back, and nodded.

"Oh! Romulus, Remus. Do I sense a theme there?" Logan said, his eyes lighting up. Of course Logan would pick up on that link, and of course he'd choose to be an absolute nerd over it.

"Yeah, Roman decided to be a nerd when picking out his name," Remus said, crouching down to the ground and picked up a large stick, which he proceeded to wave around in the air pretending it was a sword.

"I'm not a nerd," Roman defended.

"You keep telling yourself that."

"Shut up."

"Nothing wrong with being interested in mythology," Logan interrupted, stepping forward to walk besides Roman, thus forcing Virgil to fall to the back of the group. "It is quite fascinating."

Roman looked at him for a moment, before looking away and beginning to walk a little faster. "Hey, Remus, we should go to that cave again!" he suggested. Virgil was just a little confused at the sudden change in conversation, but even more alarmed at the thought of exploring a cave.

"Uh, is that safe-"

"'Course it is!" Roman exclaimed. "We go in there all the time, right, Remus?"

Remus nodded. "Yeah!" He let his stick fall to his side, still swinging his arm back and forth as he walked. "I want to check it out again, anyway. We heard that sound last time, remember?"

"Oh yeah, that was weird." Roman hummed. "Couldn't get past that door, though."

"Door?" Virgil frowned.

"Yeah, this big ass door built of stone or metal or something. We needed, like, a code to get in it."

Logan seemed vaguely interested by that. "What sort of code?"

"Numbers? I don't know."

"Bet I could crack it."

"We spent, like, an hour trying to crack it," Remus said.

"I could do it."

Roman grinned. "Let's go then! I do wanna know what's in there." He picked up the pace again, beginning to run further into the forest. With a sigh, Virgil began to run along with the others, not particularly happy with the change of pace but not really able to complain, since he was an alright runner and didn't seem to have any other choice.

Eventually, the four of them came across a cave in the side of cliff, with lights illuminating the way inside. That was weird - it was a cave, why would there be lights? Unless someone lived there? Unless... something must have been going on. Virgil wasn't sure if he wanted to find out. "You sure about this?" he asked, once again.

"Don't worry, Virge," Roman said, before frowning. "Can I call you Virge?"

Virgil shrugged. "Sure."

"Nice. Anyway, don't worry, it's completely safe."

"Why don't I believe that?"

"Don't worry, Virgil," Logan said, coming up to his side again. "We'll be fine, yeah? If it gets too much, you can always come back out."

Virgil breathed in, then out. "Okay. Yeah, sure, whatever." He followed the twins into the cave, trying his hardest to stay brave, to stay strong. Things would be fine, surely. He couldn't... Well, okay, he could think of many things that could go wrong, but couldn't think of any likely things that could go wrong. Still, he found himself playing with his zip again, as the four walked around the dimly lit, quiet cave.

He could hear a low rumbling, and wasn't entirely sure what to think of that. It sounded like some sort of machinery, and the thought that this may be some kind of government facility briefly crossed his mind, before he shook that thought away and figured that it was probably just like that in here. Although, the twins had mentioned a sound, so...

"Down here!" Remus exclaimed, shooting down a corridor to the side with Roman quickly trailing behind. Virgil and Logan exchanged a concerned, kind of afraid look, before following them. Once they reached this supposed door, however, the twins stopped, frowning. "It's... gone?"

"Not gone," Roman muttered, stepping towards a keypad to the side, a green light blinking in the darkness. "Open."

"Is someone in here?" Logan wondered, leaving Virgil's side and stepping closer towards the door. Virgil decided to stay way, way back, not wanting to know what was behind the door, or find out who had entered. This was- This was all a little too strange for Virgil, too scary, and those unlikely situations he'd thought of earlier suddenly seem way more plausible.

"Looks empty," Roman said, as he stepped into the room. Virgil peeked a glance around the three of them, still keeping his distance but... a little intrigued, he supposed. Mostly, he just wanted to try and ease his anxieties, maybe knowing that nothing was wrong would help him. And, as Roman said, the room was empty, asides from a few crates. There didn't seem to be any other exits, either.

Logan looked back at Virgil and motioned for him to come closer. "C'mon, Virgil, it's safe in here."

Virgil grimaced. "No thanks, don't want to be trapped in some mystery room."

"It really is quite-" Logan's jaw dropped, and he fell silent. A look of fear grew across the other boys faces, as they all became frozen in place.

Virgil frowned. "What's up?"

Logan raised a shaky hand, finger pointing behind Virgil. Okay, that was weird, but... Gulping, Virgil turned around and soon found himself frozen in fear as well, trying to hardest not to scream. Some huge creature stood behind him, a big lizard of some sorts, with forest green scales and huge yellow eyes, glowing in the darkness, and... a pair of wings spread out behind in, talons digging into the ground.

Virgil slowly backed away, back into that small room with the others, and fell into Logan's arm, allowing Logan to grip him tight. He would be safe with Logan, right? Logan always promised to keep him safe. And-

"Close the door," Logan muttered, glancing at Remus who was the closest to the entrance.

"How the fuck am I meant to close the door-"

"I don't know, is there any buttons anywhere?"

"Here!" Roman said, stepping towards a control panel on the other side of the room. He pressed a few buttons as the dragon edged closer, before the door eventually shut tight. Virgil let out a breath, and then screamed.

"What the fuck?" he shouted, gaze drifting between Remus and Roman. "You didn't tell us there were fucking dragons down here?"

"Hey, last time we checked there weren't any fucking dragons!" Roman shouted back, beginning to show his own fear as well. "We thought this cave was abandoned!"

"Well, clearly not, if there's all this machinery around, and working lights," Logan stated, "and, y'know, an actual dragon. Since when were dragons real?"

"Look, I know Remus and I aren't exactly the smartest of people," Roman said, ignoring Remus' offended hey, "but I swear we have never found anything like this in here before-"

"What are we meant to do?" Virgil said, eyes now fixed on the closed door, trying his hardest not to think about the scratching on the other side. "We can't just stay in here forever!"

"You have your phone, Virgil, right?"

"Well, yeah, but who am I meant to call? Our fucking social worker?" Virgil groaned. "Just imagine that conversation. 'Oh yeah, my brother and I are trapped in a cave with a dragon, send help please'. Be realistic Logan."

Logan bit his lip. "We could call Patton? Either of you two have your phone?"

"Left mine at home," Roman said, at the same time that Remus said, "Mine's dead."

"Great. Either of you two know his phone number, maybe?"

There was silence for a moment, before Roman quietly said, "Who remembers phone numbers anymore?"

Logan sighed. "Okay, yeah, didn't think so."

Again, silence. After a few minutes, Virgil blinked. "The scratching's stopped."

"Huh." Logan broke away from Virgil, despite Virgil's silent protests, and approached the door again. "Do you think it's gone?"

"Maybe." Roman's hand hovered over the panel again. "Should I open the door?"

Virgil's eyes widened. "No. It might still be waiting for us."

"We can still close the door afterwards-"

"Open it, Roman," Logan ordered.

The door slowly opened to reveal the dragon laid on the floor, either asleep or dead - Virgil wasn't sure which one he hoped for more - as well as a man standing over the body, trying to catch his breath. After looking at each other, the four slowly made their way out of the room and towards the man. He was older, probably early thirties, one eye brown and the other green, a scar running down his face over the green eye. He wore a yellow shirt under a brown leather jacket, and a yellow beanie covering his somewhat messy brown hair. Virgil couldn't help but think that he recognised him, or that he reminded him of somebody.

"Janus?" Roman said, stepping forward.

Janus. Was- Was this their uncle?

"Uncle Janus," Logan said, stepping forward as well. "Right? Janus Sanders?"

The man looked Logan up and down, and then moved over to Virgil, a smile growing across his face. "Logan, Virgil. I've- I thought you were arriving tomorrow?"

Logan frowned. "No. We arrived today."

"Oh." Janus glanced around. "Well, uh..." He paused, frowning a little. "What are you all doing here?"

"Exploring!" Remus exclaimed, to which Janus sighed.

"I thought I told you boys that the forest was dangerous," he said.

"Yeah, which makes it even cooler."

Once again, Janus sighed. "Well, I'm sorry you all had to see that. We- We should probably get back. Your dad must be wondering where you are, right?"

"He went to look for you," Roman stated.

Janus closed his eyes. "Of course he did. We should... head back anyway." He turned, beginning to lead the four of them out the cave, not even taking notice of the dragon still lying on the floor. "You won't tell Patton about any of this, will you?" The twins nodded.

"Are you-" Virgil breathed in. "Are you going to explain any of this?"

Janus hummed. "Later. For now, we need to make sure you're all safe. This cave isn't exactly for a playground for children."

"I'm not a child-"

"I'll explain later, Virgil," Janus said, "I promise."

~*~

Patton arrived home to discover the four teens and Janus sitting around the table in the kitchen, all with a hot drink in front of them, Janus taking small sips and the others just staring into the liquid, looking rather shaken. A little confused, Patton hovered near the table, waiting for Janus to explain himself.

"Ah, Patton," Janus eventually said, "thank you ever so much for taking care of my boys. I'm sorry I couldn't be there for their arrival."

"I've been looking everywhere for you!" Patton exclaimed, sounding like he wanted to be angry but mostly just... relieved, that Janus and the boys were okay. "What happened?"

"I just had a little trouble to clear up in the forest, nothing to worry about," Janus stated. "Totally forget my nephews were arriving today. But, again, thank you for taking care of them. They've already seemed to make friends with Remus and Roman, at least."

Patton wanted to argue more, but seeing the small smile slowly growing on each of the boys faces made him soften up. He didn't know what had happened, but whatever had gone on must have made the four of them like each other, and... well, the twins had never really had many friends before, so maybe this would do them some good. Patton couldn't really complain, anyway. And it didn't look like anyone was hurt.

"Now that you're back, though, I suppose I'll be taking Logan and Virgil back home," Janus announced, beginning to stand up. "It is getting awfully late."

Patton considered him for a moment, before smiling a little. "No, don't go just yet, at least stay for supper?"

After a moment of silence, Janus sat back down. "Oh, all right. You are an excellent cook."

Patton grinned and went to get started on supper, occasionally glancing back at the table. It looked as though all five of them were trying to hide something, like they'd just done something extraordinary. Janus had mentioned that he'd been in the forest - what was going on there?

Either way, as Patton prepared the dinner, he came to the conclusion that life was about to get a whole lot more interesting.

[zhydoesart]

the only reward for love (JeffMads)

ships: QPR JeffMads

warnings: brief mentions of abuse, bullying, internalized a(ro)phobia, mild burn

word count: 3.5k words

AO3 Summary: "The only reward for love is the experience of loving." - John LeCarre. | Thomas is in love with his best friend James, who doesn't, CAN'T, want him back. And yet, James still feels a prickle of jealousy whenever Thomas flirts with someone else in front of him. 

Whenever James sees Thomas flirting with other people, he grits his teeth and keeps himself from saying anything. After all, it’s not like they’re dating.

It’s not like James is even in love with him.

Still, he can’t stop the jealousy from clouding his head whenever he sees couples engaging in PDA. He wants that, he really does, but as hard as he tries, he can’t make himself feel the right way.

But if James is incapable of love, what is it exactly that he feels toward Thomas?

He’s wondered that before. Often, actually, if he’s being honest. For whatever reason, no matter how hard he tries, it just can’t be that simple for him.

James thought he was normal until third grade. Sometimes, in kindergarten, kids would have “romances” on the playground where they’d kiss each other’s cheek and hold hands while they played, and he’d thought nothing of it. In third grade, a friend had started pestering him, asking him who he liked. They’d gone around the group, asking everyone else, and everyone else had an answer ready to go.

And James had realized—he’d never felt like that.

What does it mean? To “like” someone? To “love”? He’s asked himself those questions many times, but he never has an answer. He doesn’t know.

James is in high school now. Shouldn’t he have experienced a crush by now? Would he even know it if he did?

He sees his friends grow up around him, mature, even start to fall in love. They start prioritizing their relationships over their friendships, and he becomes an afterthought, a name tacked on at the end of a statement when they look over and realize they’d left him out.

The only friend he’s spoken to in years is Thomas.

Thomas. It’s a name not unlike a happy sigh, it rolls off the tongue with ease.

James met Thomas in seventh grade.

He’d always been sickly, especially as a child, and sometimes other kids bullied him because he wasn’t strong enough to fight back.

He remembered the day they met. Another boy had pinned James against the wall and was threatening to hit him if James didn’t hand over his lunch money.

James looked around desperately for one of the lunch ladies or a teacher, but there weren’t any adults nearby. He had sighed, internally preparing to go another long afternoon without food.

It had been at that very moment that someone had stepped in.

“Leave him alone,” purred a voice. It hadn’t been loud or demanding, but still, it made the bully stop and look.

James squinted at his savior. The other boy was backlit by the sun, and all James could make out was the fluffy mass of curls on his head and his posture, confident with his hands on his hips.

“Why should I?” sneered the bully.

The boy who’d come to rescue James took a few steps forward into the shade, and then James could see his face.

“Because if you don’t, I’ll make your life a living hell.” James didn’t know how anyone could say something like that so sweetly, but the bully’s face whitened.

“Okay, jeez, man, I’ll leave him alone.” The bully backed away slowly, looking slightly nervous. Both James and his rescuer watched him go.

“You okay?” James registered the boy’s voice, closer to him than before, and he looked up to see the boy right in front of him. His voice was soft, and it instantly put James at ease.

James dusted off his knees—a habit, something he always did once the bully left, whether or not he’d been knocked to the ground. “Yeah.” He was somewhat subdued, and he stared at the ground.

“You sure?” The boy sounded genuinely concerned for James. That’s never happened before. No one asked if James was alright, not when he got his lunch money stolen and was threatened with violence. Not when his dad started yelling and his mom protected him. Not when his dad yelled behind closed doors, and his mom left the room with bruises on her face and a sad smile on her lips.

James thought about the question. “I don’t know.”

The boy paused. “Can I touch you?” James liked the boy’s jacket. It wasn’t something that he himself would wear—too brightly colored for him—but it looked nice on the boy. He nodded.

The boy put an arm around James’ shoulders. “Hm. I’m Thomas. You look lonely. Wanna be friends?”

James smiled. “Yes.”

“Hey, cutie, you did well in Debate yesterday. Keep it up, and you’re gonna go places.” Thomas winks, and the girl—he thinks her name is Katherine—blushes.

“Thanks,” she mutters, staring at her hands, and runs off to gossip with her group of female friends, all of which were huddled around their lunch table watching the exchange. He watches as she starts excitedly talking, and he shakes his head.

Thomas strides back to his table on his long legs, settling down on the bench across from his friend. His spoon is still sitting on his napkin where he’d left it earlier, and he picks it up, glancing at James.

James… looks almost sad. In fact, if Thomas didn’t know better, he’d think James was jealous.

As it is, he does know better. He’s not sure James has ever liked anyone, let alone him. Unless he’d just been very good at hiding it. And while James is generally a quiet person, there’s an exception when he’s with Thomas. James tells Thomas everything, and vice versa. Well, he can’t tell James about this. So… not everything, he supposes. Not anymore.

The reason why he flirts with other people isn’t because he isn’t interested. In fact, it’s the opposite. He flirts with other people as a distraction. A distraction from the fact that the person he really wants to flirt with is right there, a literal arm’s length away, and he can’t.

(Thomas isn’t actually interested in girls, so perhaps it isn’t right for him to get their hopes up—although it is common knowledge that he’s gay, and the girls still giggle and blush when he flirts, so it isn’t entirely on him.)

James has this wistful look on his face, and he’s gazing at Thomas. When Thomas makes eye contact, he blushes and looks away.

Thomas is too trapped in his head these days to know what to make of it. Maybe it’s finally time for him to talk to someone else.

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

Angelica stares at Thomas in a way that makes him slightly uncomfortable, like she’s trying to read his thoughts.

He clears his throat. “I came here to talk, remember?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Thomas, I remember.” Angelica shifts in her chair, uncrossing her legs. “So what’s the problem?” she whispers, grinning.

Thomas is starting to regret this decision already.

Then again, who else would he talk to? Burr? Hamilton? Despite how popular he is, he doesn’t have many people he can confide in. Other than Angelica and James, there isn’t anyone else he’s on good terms with and talks to often.

“Okay,” he begins, stopping to gather his thoughts. Thomas is an eloquent person, and English is his first language, but whenever it comes to feelings, or James, he forgets how to speak. “Okay. It’s entirely possible I may have developed. Feelings. For someone.”

Angelica’s eyes narrow, and she leans forward. “You? Feelings? I thought you didn’t have those.”

“Hah.” Thomas rolls his eyes. “Very funny. May I continue?”

“Yes, you may.”

He glares at her, but there isn’t any malice. “As I was saying. I may have feelings. For.” He swallows. “James.”

Angelica’s eyes widen. “Oh.” Suddenly she seems awkward and possibly even guilty for teasing him. She lowers her voice. “Really?”

Thomas looks down, playing with his hands in his lap. “Yeah.”

Neither of them speak for a minute or two.

“Wait, why is this a problem again?” Angelica finally asks. “Isn’t he your best friend?”

“Yes, that’s part of the reason why it’s a problem.”

“Part?”

“I don’t think he’s ever liked anyone,” Thomas confesses. “I’ve known James for four years. He’s never once mentioned a crush.”

“Maybe he just didn’t tell you?” suggests Angelica.

“No, we tell each other everything. And I mean everything,” Thomas almost leaps to his feet, but instead takes a deep breath and remains in his chair. “He would have told me.”

Angelica shrugs. “Well, then, you might be right.” She pauses, examining Thomas’ body language. “What kind of response do you want from me?”

“I’m… not sure.”

Angelica straightens up. “You know that I know a lot about the queer community and its various labels.”

“Yes?” Where is this going?

“From what little I know about your, uh, ‘situation,’ I think James might be aromantic.”

“What’s that?” He thinks he knows, but he wants to hear it from the mouth of the expert.

“Aromantic means you don’t fall in love. That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t feel any kind of love, however; platonic love is still very much there.” Angelica is watching him carefully—gauging his reaction?

“I see.” Does James know he’s aromantic? Is James aromantic? Is Thomas just jumping to conclusions? When he gets home, he should do some research. Knowing more never does any harm, unlike not knowing enough.

“Does that help?” Angelica asks.

“I think so.” Thomas pushes his chair back, getting to his feet. “Thank you.”

The whole walk home, Thomas is lost in thought. He’d honestly be doing research on his phone if there wasn’t a serious danger of walking into things and people—he’d learned his lesson in the past.

The minute he gets up to his room, he drops his backpack on the floor, leaps into his spinny chair, and uses the momentum to roll up to his desk.

Thomas does a few Google searches for aromantic, then a few more for aroace. He’s reading an article on aromantic-related vocabulary when he comes across the word queerplatonic.

What it says is “queerplatonic: a form of love that isn’t inherently romantic or platonic. It’s different for each person who experiences it.” And a little farther down the page: “QPR: a queerplatonic relationship.”

Could…

Is that something he could have with James?

He reads a few more articles, then a few more, and a few more, until it’s dark outside. He retires to bed, but he doesn’t fall asleep for half an hour. He lies in the dark, thinking.

Unfortunately, Thomas and James don’t share any classes this year. Junior year means they have to start thinking about college, and thinking about college means having to take different classes depending on what you intend to major in. James isn’t going to major in the same thing as Thomas, so they’re taking different classes, which means the first and only time they can see each other during the school day is during lunch.

“Hey,” Thomas says as James sits down. James doesn’t give a verbal response, merely nods. “I said hello.”

“Hello?” James says uncertainly, and Thomas chuckles.

“Hello!”

“Hello.”

“Hello—”

“Okay, that’s enough, we’re not doing this again!” exclaims James, and Thomas cackles. “Are you done?” Thomas shakes his head.

“I can’t breathe,” he wheezes, slapping the table, and James catches his water bottle as it falls. Thomas gasps for breath, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Okay. So how was your day?” he asks, trying to recover.

“I will never understand you,” James deadpans. “My day was fine. Uneventful. How was your day?”

“Boooring.” Thomas unscrews the lid on his thermos, and James eyes it suspiciously. Thomas has had his fair share of spills, and it’s never a good thing when he brings in soup. “Oh, relax.” Thomas covers one of James’ hands with his own, and James attempts to regulate his breathing, since it had suddenly become more difficult. “Look, I  haven’t spilled anything in two weeks!” Right as he says this, he nudges his thermos with his elbow. “Oh, shit—”

James lunges for the thermos. He catches it before it tips over completely, but can’t stop the soup from splashing onto his hand. He sets down the thermos and stares at his hand. It takes a moment for the liquid to start hurting.

“Jesus Christ.” Thomas grabs James by the wrist, using the napkin from his lunchbox to dry James’ hand. “We should get some cold water on that, I’m so sorry—”

That’s another thing. Thomas rarely apologizes, even when he goes too far during Debate club. (James is always there to watch, but never participate.) And yet, he doesn’t even think twice when he apologizes to James.

“Come on.” Thomas pulls James along behind him.

The bathrooms in their school are generally awful, both in hygiene and in upkeep, but the ones by the cafeteria are the cleanest due to food-related health regulations. That being said, the moment Thomas and James walk into the bathroom, one of the three lights blows.

Thomas mutters a curse, and James jumps. “Damn janitors. Maybe they should be paid more, maybe then they’d do their jobs.” He pulls James the over to the sink, holding James’ arm under the water. “Sorry again,” he says quietly.

“It’s okay.”

“No, maybe you have a point. I never spill at home, but maybe I get too excited when I’m talking to you.” Ha. Is this another instance of Thomas’ infamous flirting? James is just his friend, after all.

“You should come over today.” Thomas isn’t looking at James, instead paying attention to the water and the slightly irritated patch of skin on his arm.

“I have homework today,” James says noncommittally.

“Come over! Do it at my place.” Oh no. He’s about to bring out his pout. “Please?” James can’t say no to him, especially not when he pouts.

“Okay, I suppose I can. I don’t know how much we’ll be able to hang out, though. I have an essay to write.”

“That’s fine.” Thomas beams at him.

“My arm is very wet,” James says, and Thomas startles.

“Oh, right, sorry.” He turns off the water, moving to grab a wad of paper towels. James never liked the cheap brown paper towels they have in schools. They’re scratchy and poor quality. He lets Thomas pat his arm dry, vaguely registering how odd it is that his friend is proceeding to do all of this for him and yet ignoring the fact that it’s at all out of the ordinary.

The rest of lunch happens uneventfully. James listens to Thomas rant about Hamilton (like he does every day), picking at his salad. Thomas almost knocks over his thermos again, nearly giving James a heart attack, but at the last second Thomas realizes what he’s about to do and carefully moves his thermos far enough away that it isn’t a threat anymore.

Thomas is waiting for James outside his classroom after the last period of the day. Thomas doesn’t have a sixth period, and James idly wonders if he’s been standing there all period.

“Hey,” Thomas greets him.

“Hello.” James can’t help but smile.

“Ready to go?” Thomas asks, and James nods.

They walk home together, for the most part in silence. Occasionally, something will occur to Thomas, and he’ll chatter on for a minute or two, but then James won’t be able to think of anything to contribute, and the conversation fizzles out again.

“Look out!” Thomas says suddenly, pulling James in close to him, and James flinches as someone on a bike nearly clips him. “Watch out, dumbass!” Thomas yells after the biker. “Are you okay?” His voice softens as he speaks to James.

“I’m fine, thanks to you,” James says, keenly aware of how close he is to Thomas.

“That’s good,” says Thomas.

James pulls back a bit, and they continue walking. But Thomas, who’d grabbed his hand to pull him out of harm’s way, doesn’t let go, and James looks away to hide his smile.

Thomas pulls his hand away once they get to his house, and they both proceed to act like nothing happened, but James is secretly pleased, and he’s positive he sees Thomas hide a smile behind his hand.

Thomas settles on his desk chair, and James takes a seat on the bed, pulling out paper and a pencil. He begins to draft his essay, but in his peripheral, he can tell Thomas is watching him.

“Did you need something?” he says finally, head snapping up to look at Thomas.

“I have to tell you something,” Thomas says.

“Okay?”

“I… I love you.”

James’ blood runs cold.

“I don’t feel the same way.” There’s a lump in his throat.

“I know.” He doesn’t understand the way Thomas is gazing at him.

“You… know?”

“I talked to Angelica. I’m not just assuming that you haven’t been in love before, right?”

“No, you’re correct,” James says cautiously, furrowing his brows. Does Thomas know something he doesn't?

"Like I said, I talked to Angelica. She thinks you could be aromantic," Thomas says carefully.

"There's a name for it?" James asks, aware both his voice and body are shaking but unable to do anything about it. "I'm not… broken?"

Thomas' arms wrap around him, and he takes the opportunity to take a few deep, shuddering breaths. "No, you're not broken." He can hear the sad smile in Thomas' voice.

"If I'm aromantic…" The word sits just right on his tongue in a way nothing else has. "Then what do I feel for you? If it isn't romantic?"

Thomas pulls back, taking James' hand in both of his own. "I did research, you know. Something I came across was the term 'queerplatonic.' Do you know what it means?" James shakes his head. "It's a kind of love that isn't platonic or romantic. That's the best definition anyone could give me, apparently it's quite subjective."

James sniffles. "Oh."

Thomas smiles again, a little sadly. "There's something else, too. There's a thing called a QPR, which stands for queerplatonic relationship." James is suddenly very much interested in what Thomas is saying. "That's also subjective, and what you do in a QPR varies from couple to couple. It's all down to boundaries."

James laughs, a little breathy and a little disbelieving. "Really? Do you… do you think we could have that?"

"Actually, that's what I was hoping for when I asked you to come over today." Thomas looks down at his hands.

"You wanted to ask me to be your partner?"

Thomas instantly turns red. "Yes, well, um, maybe even boyfriend, if you'll have me?"

James nods fervently. This is happening, somehow. This is real. Thomas wants to be with him, even though James isn't in love with him. There's a way for them to be together. "What kinds of things do, uh… queerplatonic?" Is that right? Thomas nods.  "Queerplatonic partners do together?"

"Oh, literally anything a couple could do." Thomas starts listing activities and quickly runs out of fingers. "Some go on dates. Some hold hands. Some kiss or cuddle. Some have sex." He sees the look on James' face and laughs. "Ok, so a no to that, you might be asexual then too. Some get married and even have kids together. Some are exclusive, and sometimes one or both partners date other people. It'd be entirely up to us."

"Well, then… could I kiss you?"

Thomas notices how close James is to his own face and turns red. "Um. Yes," he gulps.

And they kiss, and it's everything they both hoped it would be. It's James' first kiss, and even unrealistic expectations from the media don't set him up for disappointment because Thomas is wonderful (and also apparently really great at kissing).

"So are you my boyfriend now?" James teases, and to his credit, Thomas manages to keep a straight face.

"I suppose so," he answers, equally as smoothly.

Something clicks in James’ brain. "Wait, if you love me, then why did you flirt with all those other people?"

Thomas grimaces. "It was a distraction. I knew you didn't like me back."

"Oh." To think he was so jealous for so long, and now he gets to have Thomas all to himself. "I think I want this to be exclusive, if that's alright."

"That's perfectly fine." Thomas brings one of James’ hands up to his mouth and gently presses his lips against the skin. “I love you, after all.”

James pulls himself into Thomas' lap, and the taller man has the audacity to look surprised as James presses their lips together, winding his fingers in Thomas' curly hair. "You're mine now," James murmurs, and a thrill runs through him as he realizes it's true.

Tomorrow, they'd discuss the idea of announcing their relationship, and their boundaries, and what they'd even call it. Tomorrow, they'd tell Angelica, who'd ruffle their hair with a laugh, even though Thomas is taller than her, and he’d pretend to be annoyed. Tomorrow, Hamilton would bitch about the fact that Jefferson got a partner before he did, and Laurens, beside him, would look away.

But for now, they're free to do whatever they want, and right now, that's kissing.

Well… tomorrow, James has an essay due, and the usually quiet boy swears atypically as he remembers.

But they'll still have tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, and every day going forward. It doesn't look like they'll break up any time in the near or far future, and who knows, maybe they'll stay together forever. Get that dog Thomas always wanted. Move in together. Wake up next to each other every morning.

But for now, James has an essay to write, and Thomas has a beautiful boyfriend to stare at/encourage/tease.