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starsandhughes · 5 months

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Penalty Box Series— Quinn Hughes Edition (Thirteen)

23-24 Season Masterlist

previous: twelve

next: thirteen

NOVEMBER 15, 2023

yourusername

liked by _quinnhughes, bboser, and 19,859 others

yourusername welcome back to my postgame penalty box update show: QUINN MOTHER FUCKING HUGHES RUNS THE WORLD edition!

tonight, quinn went head to head (not literally though because quinny doesn't take face offs) with his ex captain/dad, bo horvat! (whom i miss very much!) and for those who were unfortunate enough to miss it, it was a DOOZY! this game was the best so here's a full play by play: sissy's version

let me start you off with the wonderful news that as of today, november 15th, quinn is the only defenseman in the league with a +20! this is my best friend's season! and bo got welcome home signs, and an amazing tribute video, and i was so heartbroken that i wasn't there because i just wanted to wrap him up in the biggest hug!

my nuckies didn't start off *strong* because ian got two penalties in a row and the islanders cashed in on both (rude) but things started going our way in the second! we got a power play and my good man millsy cashed in!!

and then we learned that petey can juggle and ride a unicycle at the same time! i already knew that, but shorty said "i don't know how many nhl players can juggle and ride a unicycle. i don't know how many nhl players have tried to juggle and ride a unicycle, but we know elias pettersson can!" and i DIED! we love sports journalism

and then bo was an absolute RUDE HEAD and scored against demmer! the disrespect! but don't worry, sissy fans— we got another power play and my favorite blonde princess scored on it! my least favorite hughes got an assist on it which means that QUINNY CURRENTLY LEADS THE LEAGUE IN ASSISTS AND IS TIED FOR SECOND IN POINTS!

now, if you didn't watch, you might be wondering "what the heckers is going on in the fifth pic?" well, my lovelies, there was a scrum and quinn decided to put the "hug" in huggy bear by holding palmieri in a cute little headlock and they had to be separated! quinny's gone wild! watch out!

in the third, two islanders penalties were called at once, so we got ourselves a 5 on 3! hronek cashed in on it with a 100 mph (there was great debate over this) slap shot! and quinn got ANOTHER assist! for those not counting, this made the score 3-3

next up: overtime! i was so scared because i did not want bo & co to win on his homecoming. i like poetry! and i got my wish because guess who scored the game winning goal? you guessed it! QUINN MOTHER FUCKING HUGHES! i was jumping (ish) and screaming (a lot) and i got my wish of poetry because it was the 43rd shot on goal for the canucks and it was quinn's third career overtime goal! (yes, he gets a trophy!!)

quinn, i am so unbelievably proud of you. you're making this your season and doing everything you've been working on the last few summers. you're finally being recognized for your talent, and i’ve never been happier. just always remember who your biggest fan is💙 i love you way past infinity!

tagged _quinnhughes

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_quinnhughes i could've gone without the facetime call where you just screamed, but i still love you way past beyond, sissy💙

yourusername stfu you love my postgame facetimes

_quinnhughes you can't prove it

yourusername maybe not, but i feel it in my heart. my soul. my ass.

_quinnhughes you were so close to being poetic

yourusername i was poetic, you just don't appreciate my work

trevorzegras @/yourusername i appreciate your work

yourusername @/trevorzegras that's because you're a SIMP

trevorzegras @/yourusername damn right

user81 HE WAS SMILEY AFTER HIS GOAL I'M-😭

jackhughes @_quinnhughes WOOOOOO!

yourusername that's what i'm sayin'!

_quinnhughes @/jackhughes wow, i can't decide if "AHHHHHH" or "WOOOOO" means more to me

jackhughes @_quinnhughes i used six o's! you only typed five

_quinnhughes @/jackhughes well that changes everything

yourusername @_quinnhughes i feel like screaming incoherently via the phone has a lot more heart to it. i cared enough to call.

_quinnhughes @/jackhughes that wasn't an invitation to call me and scream "woo" with six o's!

jackhughes @_quinnhughes yes it was

yourusername @/jackhughes stop being an attention whore

jackhughes @/yourusername you first

yourusername @/jackhughes i can't, it's half my personality

_quinnhughes @/yourusername @/jackhughes i decided that sissy's means more because hers came with tears

yourusername @/jackhughes ✨suck it✨

user6 quinn did NOT want to be interviewed midway through the game omfg

user80 okay but the petey on a unicycle thing was so out of pocket😭 do you think he practiced when him and quinn lived together?

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes i'm also at six games! you aren't special

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras you haven't played your last four games?

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes technicalities schmalities

yourusername @/trevorzegras you've gotten plenty of sissy penalties

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras and i haven't gotten any of those in at least two weeks!

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes you don't live with her!

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras technicalities schmalities

user62 THAT'S MY FIRST STAR OF THE GAME!!

bohorvat i miss you, too, y/n! you should come next time!

yourusername i’ll be gender reveal party planning! and very pregnant!

bohorvat i guess that's a valid excuse

yourusername oh good because then i’d have to think of a fake one that was better

_quinnhughes @/yourusername i need to know your first thought

yourusername @_quinnhughes "that's the day i'm planning to put jack into a permanent coma"

bohorvat both are equally good

_quinnhughes @/yourusername you should do that anyways

jackhughes @/yourusername @_quinnhughes HEY

yourusername @/jackhughes hi? didn't we just talk about you to stop being an attention whore? i’m going to need to see some more effort from you

bboeser am i not your only blonde princess?

yourusername you are? what is the issue here?

bboeser you said i’m your favorite which normally means that there's more than one

yourusername i will not hesitate to deem someone else a blonde princess and make you my least favorite if you won't be GRATEFUL

_quinnhughes @/yourusername what other blondes do you know?

yourusername @_quinnhughes i’ll just make jamie bleach his hair blonde

jamie.drysdale @/yourusername you better mean benn

yourusername @/jamie.drysdale you did it as a youth! it'll only be a little haunting! but it's for a good cause!

jamie.drysdale @/yourusername spite is not a good cause

yourusername @/jamie.drysdale maybe not to YOU

user48 "quinn decided to put the "hug" in huggy bear" HA

user3 we can't play who's sissy's least favorite hughes because you already said it in the caption :(

yourusername i'm sorry :( it was to match me calling brock my favorite! i’ll be more mindful of my fans next time🫡

lhughes_06 tag yourself i'm the ninth pic

yourusername i’m the second pic!

lhughes_06 you're no fun

yourusername i’m a happy person! mostly!

jackhughes i’m quinn in the fifth pic and @.yourusername is palmieri

yourusername @/jackhughes ummm uno reverse that

jackhughes @/yourusername you should've tagged yourself first then!

lhughes_06 @/jackhughes don't flatter yourself

jackhughes @/lhughes_06 sissy doesn't always win!

_quinnhughes @/jackhughes i’m not sure me and trevor grabbing her before she hits her head on something counts as you winning

jackhughes @_quinnhughes her being a klutz is not on me

_alexturcotte i’m the seventh pic over this argument

lhughes_06 @_alexturcotte nailed it

user88 jack and sissy are back at it again

user76 this game had me screaming and crying both in good and bad ways

colecaufield @_quinnhughes i think your headlock move has satisfied y/n for the time being

_quinnhughes @/colecaufield wait for it

yourusername @/colecaufield he still didn't get a penalty! he should've thrown hands

_quinnhughes there it is

trevorzegras @/yourusername he tried his best! he got separated!

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras i really didn't

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes i’m trying to help you

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras she won't be satisfied until i "throw hands"

yourusername this is true

colecaufield @/yourusername have you ever heard of "you get what you get and you don't throw a fit"?

yourusername @/colecaufield no <3

user32 why is no one talking about the fourth pic? i think we need to talk about the fourth pic

_alexturcotte six whole games since his last penalty? that's too many

yourusername is that because you're only at four?

_alexturcotte YOU COUNTED?!

yourusername don't think my son didn't text me that you got a penalty when you played against my babies on october 29th! i know you slashed!

colemcward @_alexturcotte my bad

yourusername @/colemcward you do nothing wrong, ever. i miss you and i love you. so much. thank you for tattling<3

colemcward @/yourusername i miss and love you, too, mom!❤️

_alexturcotte AND YOU WAITED UNTIL NOW TO BRING IT UP?

yourusername i was waiting for the perfect moment to truly belittle you

trevorzegras @/yourusername what other information do you have that you're waiting for the perfect moment for?

yourusername @/trevorzegras that's classified

_alexturcotte this is terrifying at best

_quinnhughes @_alexturcotte she holds grudges for things like this

yourusername @_quinnhughes you mean like how i still remember your interference penalty against robo in the third period on february 27th, 2023?

_quinnhughes @_alexturcotte see?

trevorzegras @_alexturcotte you done fucked up, bud

colemcward @_alexturcotte (mom don't read this!) my bad

_alexturcotte great

#penalty box series #penalty box series: quinn hughes edition #quinn hughes #quinn hughes edit #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fanfic #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes au #trevor zegras #trevor zegras x reader #jack hughes #luke hughes #alex turcotte imagine #alex turcotte #cole caufield #quinn hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #nhl imagine #hockey imagine

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gardengalwrites · 18 days

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20 Fic Questions

Thanks for tagging me, @angelosearch! This was a lot of fun and I tag everyone else who wants to play. :)

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 20.

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 230,251.

3. What fandoms do you write for? Just FFVIII.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Dinner.

Interzone.

Body Poetry.

Gorgeous Cohesion.

It's a tie between And Death Shall Be No More and Sunset Cadet (She's A Class Act).

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I always respond to comments, not only out of gratitude, but also because I love getting to engage with people in the fandom!

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I'm emotionally incapable of writing angsty endings, so I don't have any fics in this category. 🥰

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? ...All of them. 😂

8. Do you get hate on fics? Thankfully, no. I've met some truly amazing people through this community.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? So far, I've written a three-part mini-series that contains smut. My primary tags for these ficlets are Forbidden Love and Mutual Pining. I would describe the style as emotional and poetic.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? I've never written a crossover. I'm not sure that I could, mainly because I don't feel that I know another universe (besides FFVIII) well enough to pull it off.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I've discovered.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? No translations.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, but I always thought that would be cool.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship? Since I was a little girl, Seifer x Quistis (Seiftis) has been my OTP!

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? None, as I personally restrict the number of WIPs to prevent this exact scenario.

16. What are your writing strengths? Based on readers' feedback: excellent characterizations, imaginative storylines, and magical use of language.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I always have this nagging thought that I need to write more, though I don't want to base "success" on a word count. However, it's true that I could fill my chapters with plenty more descriptions.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I encourage this when the context requires it! Just be sure to do your research properly. Until I was asked this question, I didn't realize that I do this all the time when I'm translating dialogue from Korean to English (as you may have noticed, I am inspired by many K-Dramas). 😉

19. First fandom you wrote for? FFVIII.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written? It is impossible to choose. They are all my favorite, each for a special reason. 🩷

#tag post #tumblr mutuals #about me

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fire-fira · 3 months

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20 Questions for Writers

I was tagged by @linzerj for this, so without further ado:

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

On Ao3 I currently have 70 (though that number is going to increase soon), and on ffn (all my oldest stuff) I have 34. (Dear lord I need to eventually move my older stuff to Ao3. Maybe under a secondary pseud at some point... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

201,448

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Looooots of DC stuff, some TMNT, and with my older stuff I also wrote for Sonic, DBZ, Legend of Zelda, FMA, Gargoyles, Peter Pan, and Megaman. (I also have some early-stages fic and plans for Planet of the Apes fics, but I haven't posted any of that yet.)

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Head Trauma - One of my earliest Bluepulse OT3 fics. YJA-based; Jaime gets knocked out on a mission and the team gets their first exposure to Khaji Da directly.

Loving an Alien Shouldn't be this Complex - Another Bluepulse OT3. YJA-based; Bart's part in what's intended to be a trilogy of fics about the same circumstances/events. Crushing on Jaime is one thing, but realizing he's crushing on Khaji Da is a whole different ballpark.

If You Think My Truth Is A Lie, You Can Get Bent - Bluepulse OT3 yet again, though background in this case rather than front and center. Mostly YJA-based; Bart is trans, in college, and entirely fed up with an obnoxious classmate who was perfectly fine with him and the fact that he's a guy up until she found out he's trans.

The Weirdness That You Know - Pre-Bluepulse OT3, pre-finding-out-Khaji-Da's-name. YJA-based; During some downtime on base after the events of season 2, Jaime winds up finding out that Bart and Khaji Da are very similar in terms of their sense of humor. The two of them getting along should probably be concerning.

Familia: Not Simple, but Needed - Bluepulse OT3. Mostly YJA-based; What happens when you have a sleep-deprived scarab who stubbornly has stayed awake for about three weeks? Nothing good and nothing the three of them would have ever expected if Khaji Da was coherent enough to think through the consequences of their actions before doing something.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to. Sometimes I wind up replying waaaaaayyyyyy later (when my emotional energy tanks it takes a lot for me to drag myself into talking to people in general, but I try to reply when I'm in a better spot), but if I have my way then I'll eventually reply to everything (unless there's literally nothing else to say).

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

That would honestly have to be either my Bluepulse OT3 poem I Am Your Loss or my La'gaan-centric fic I Tried To Warn You. I Am Your Loss is focused on Khaji Da outliving Jaime and Bart and all the feelings involved with that, and I Tried To Warn You is an examination of La'gaan's emotionally abusive relationship with M'gann and him coming to terms with the fact that he was manipulated and abused. So yeah. Heavy.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

That's a tough one. The Name That Calls You Home is one contender, along with Fatherhood Isn't Easy, and Trusting Again Can Be The Hardest Thing. Two of those are focused on family and finding home (TNTCYH and FIE), and two are La'gaan-centric (FIE and TACBTHT). So yay for one of my TMNT AUs and two of my La'gaan fics meeting the mark? (Though all three have some painful circumstances that make the good that much more pronounced. Yeah, that was unintentional.)

8. Do you get hate on your fic?

The only time I've ever gotten any 'hate' was someone trying to be pissy about an old poem series I wrote back in highschool because they didn't feel it was a 'serious poetic work' and was 'amateurish'.

That. On character-based poetry. For freaking Sonic characters. Seriously just-

9. Do you write smut?

Almost never. (I can't say never because I did publish one fic on Ao3, but by a lot of people's standards it's really tame.)

10. Do you write crossovers?

I'm not opposed to crossovers, but I very rarely do. Usually I find my mind playing with multiverse iterations of characters meeting each other, but it's very rare my mind goes to wildly different stories getting a crossover-- in no small part because it usually tends to devolve into a case of 'Wouldn't it be cool if these characters met? Look how cool this character is!' in my head with no real decent plot. (That said, thanks to some old RPs with a friend of mine I am fond of Mass Effect's femshep and Voltron's Allura as a ship. It was a chaotic RP. lol)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

As far as I know, NOPE. If I'm fortunate it'll never happen.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes actually! Both I Tried To Warn You and Unstoppable Until I Break that I know of. (Unfortunately I can't read Chinese, so finding them on the site they're hosted on is difficult for me, but I do know they're there somewhere.) La'gaan keeps winning. lol

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Only one, and it's Devilfish. Beneath the Surface was a fun collaboration between me and onyxdragonx back before tumblr's purge in 2018. I have no idea if he left tumblr entirely, but I'm glad we wrote it.

14. What‘s your all-time favourite ship?

Ngl, it varies by series/franchise and how I'm feeling. I used to be pretty solid in single ships for characters for a long time, but as time has gone by I've drifted more into multi-shipper territory. At the moment though, the one that's eating at my brain the most is Devilfish-- La'gaan/Eddie-- because hell yes for my crack ship.

15. What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Maybe it's over-optimistic of me, but I don't look at any of my WIPs as 'abandoned' or as something I'll 'never' complete. Back when I was posting my writing only to ffn I used to joke about my trademarked 'delays of doom'. It's always a case of I will get to said stories eventually and I do work on old things from time to time, but due to shifting interests/life junk/life-junk-that-causes-a-low-creative-battery/etc. it can take me a long time to get back to something.

If I was going to narrow it down to the one that I'm not sure when precisely I'll get back to and is the most likely to take me a while to get back to (more than anything else), then it'd probably have to be an Elfquest fic with Leeta/Cutter/Rayek as endgame. Either that or the Planet of the Apes series kicking around in my head that I haven't quite figured out how to frame yet.

16. What’s your writing strengths?

FEELINGS. Emotions, getting into characters' heads and hitting that emotional gut-punch that makes people feel things.

17. What’s your writing weaknesses?

Aside from my delays-of-doom™️, I can get SO damned wordy. And cerebral. Which isn't always a bad thing if I want my readers to know what's going on in a character's head, but it's a royal pain in the ass if I want to give a decent description of the space characters are in or have actual conversation and events happening while a character is getting lost in their head.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

YES. I WANT. GIVE.

lol Seriously though, while it might be rare for me to write full-blown conversations in a different language, if a character is multilingual then I personally prefer including indications of that with their word choices. Usually that results in an offhand word or several here or there in places where it flows naturally, but unless I'm confident in how things flow with that other language (whatever it is) then I'm unlikely to go for a full on conversation. If I am confident in the translation of what I'm writing and the switch into that other language makes sense for the characters in context then it's highly likely I'll go for it-- albeit with including the hover-over translation thing that Ao3 offers so readers don't have to bounce back-and-forth between where they're at in the story and the translation at the end of the chapter/fic. (Though I don't mind when other authors take that tactic.)

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Sonic, and though I didn't put any online until 2003, I wrote a whole convoluted series back in middle school and on up into early high school I think (I suspect most of it's lost because it was all on an OLD computer), and even before that I remember a script-styled Sonic fic that I never finished that I was writing back when I was like... 5? ...7? Somewhere in there. Point is my first fandom is from a LONG time ago.

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

Yeeeeeet another hard one. If I don't cop out with Unstoppable Until I Break and I pull in my older stuff, then I guess it'd have to be Two Sides. It's a Legend of Zelda fic playing with the concept of Zelda and Sheik as simultaneously being and not being the same person, and while I'd probably write it differently now (dear gods I published it back in 2008) I still love the concept and think it's intriguing as hell. Just the very idea of Zelda and Sheik having once been the same person and remembering it in subsequent lives is just... There is a TON of potential there.

Will I ever revisit the idea? Maybe one day. For now, it is what it is.

As for who I'm tagging: @sounddrive, @brightlotusmoon, @radioactive-earthshine, and whoever else would like to do this. n.n

#my fiction #my life #ask game

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decepti-thots · 5 months

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sorry if you've answered this somewhere already - out of the books you've read this year, which three did you enjoy the most? and out of the fics you've read this year, which three did you enjoy the most?

All the fics I loved this year I mostly recced as and when on my fic recs tag, and tbh I don't think I read enough TF fic this year to really sort them into a top three- if I loved it, I put it up somewhere, mostly. If I had to pluck three out, I'd say Red Gold (god tier Rodimus characterisation), Your Own Hands (a reread, but still my favourite taraprowl fic, it gets the nod) and... oh actually. Okay, this one isn't Transformers, but I have to give a shout out to this Lupin III interactive fiction Twine fic that is an INCREDIBLE use of form to do something very ambitious with a fic. It's so good! If I do have any even casual Lupin enjoyers following me, definitely take a look.

The books, discounting one I already recommended:

Gilgamesh: A New Translation of the Ancient Epic, translated by Sophus Helle, is probably the single best book I read this year. I love the Epic of Gilgamesh very much, and this is a lovely translation, but what tipped it over for me was his essays after the poem where he discusses it in a way that is both accessible and also gets into the finer points of how to approach and appreciate the poem in a wider context. His discussion of the way gender plays into the power structures of the poem and the overview he gives of contemporary Iraqi cultural reaction to the poem were especially interesting. Especially after the former, I am really excited to read his book published this year translating and discussing all the poems of Enheduanna! Highly recommended. God I love Gilgamesh.

I reread The Invention of Love by Tom Stoppard, a play set in the Victorian era based (very loosely) around the life, death and afterlife of A. E. Housman. It's a really dense play on a lot of levels, mostly well known for being really obtuse. It has about six deeply obscure references to classical scholarship per sentence, twice as many offhand references to Victorian Oxbridge Stuff that go unremarked on, the timeline constantly jumps back and forth, a meaningful chunk of it is a dead guy talking to his younger self on the Styx, and they spend most of that time discussing the minutiae of latin grammar in poetry (with absolutely no dumbing down for the audience) as a metaphor for their unrequited yearning. I believe when it premiered on Broadway, they basically had to provide a book of like. Explanations as to what the fuck every other conversation was referencing. But I love it, even though I understand maybe fifty percent of it, because it's so beautifully written and clever and funny and able to withdraw from the ever-present threat of sentimentality. One of my favourite plays of all time. The 'poetical feelings are a peril to scholarship' exchange gets me every time. On my knees begging for a fucking proshot to be made of a performance one day.

A Play of Bodies: How We Perceive Videogames by Brendan Keogh is my favourite nonfiction by a narrow margin. It's a book that outlines a way to approach analysis and criticism of video games through a phenomenological framework, and it made me completely re-think how I understand what the 'text' of a video game is. This one is very much a work of academia, though it does give a lot more overview of what phenomenology is than, say, the average philosophy text is likely to, since it sits more in the 'games studies' area where that's not taken as much for granted, so it's not totally inaccessible. It made me think a lot about how video games exist as a unique medium in ways that completely diverge from the standard narrative of 'videogames are unique due to interactivity'. It takes a lot for me to be impressed by writing about games, given just how much of it I read/have read, but Keogh never disappoints.

#ask meme

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damienthepious · 1 year

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continuing to be unhinged on main, i guess the florist/tattoo artist au has another chapter now??? but THIS time i truly think that’s it. that’s it! I’m tapped for this au. unless i think of something else fun. and then all bets are off.

Budding, Blooming (chapter 2)

[ch 1] [ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien, Sir Damien/Rilla, Lord Arum/Rilla, Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, (but there’s still monsters), Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Pre-Relationship, Romantic Tension, Poetry, Flowers, Valentine’s Day, (implied but not stated. could be a some weird modern-citadel fest), DOESN"T MATTER

Summary: ... Was he asking for a date, though?

Notes: okay fuck. alright. okay so there's more. it's fine. thank you for uhhhh sticking with me as i took an unexpected month off!! felt weird, gang. felt real weird.

Arum feels... unsettled as he locks up the shop, that evening. He half expected Damien to have returned before he finished, considering- well. Considering. But the street is dark and still shining with the brief rain from a few hours earlier, and it is entirely empty of meddling poets as Arum flicks the keys around his fingers, his shoulders sagging with a sigh.

Long, grueling day. Damien hadn't been the only annoyance, of course. He hadn't even been the worst annoyance, surprisingly, and Arum is... tired. Perhaps he should have told the poet to come another day- tomorrow, or next week, or-

(Enough time to talk himself out of the idea.)

"Did he finally get up the nerve?"

Arum jumps, the keys flinging off his fingertips and hitting the pavement with a heavy chime as he whirls, teeth automatically bared and another hand clenching hard behind his back.

"What?" he snaps sharply, embarrassed without really knowing why, and then-

It's the woman from across the street, from the tattoo shop. Amaryllis- Rilla, Damien's- his-

(Once or thrice she has stopped by, warm and chipper and citing small business owner solidarity with a smile, chatting amiably about her almost-botany-degree while acting as if Arum isn't the most uncomfortable and asocial monster to ever crawl out of the swamp. She's sourced rare or monstrous flowers through him before, too, both for her own personal collection and because pics on the internet aren't good enough, I want this piece to work and I want hands on the real thing for my preliminary sketches. Which Arum... could not help but respect. It makes sense, to Arum, that Damien would fixate on someone like her.)

(She goes by Rilla, he knows, but Damien's insistence every single time he tried to plan an arrangement for her, every time, it needed amaryllis, he must add amaryllis, and amaryllis for Amaryllis caught in his head sturdy enough that he cannot seem to shake that name.)

(And now she's here in front of his shop and almost leering while Arum is distracted thinking about Damien and she's asking about- what? What-)

"Whoa, sorry," she says, grinning in a decidedly unapologetic way as she lifts her hands. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"You- would hardly say that you-" he huffs, flicking his tail to snag the keys and dropping them back into his hands. "I am fine."

"Right," she says, her eyes dancing (reminding Arum forcefully of one of Damien's poetic scraps), and then she tips her head. "I was just curious, y'know. The holiday and all, and he came out of here absolutely bouncing. He usually looks like a wet puppy when he leaves your shop, you know."

"What?" Arum says again, pulling his head back. "Who?" he asks, despite the fact that his stomach is clenching with a certainty that he does, in fact, know who.

"Damien, that cute poet boy," she says, her mouth curling into a warmer smile. "He's friends with my brother, so he stops by the parlor sometimes. Or- they're friends now," she says, rolling her eyes and gesturing to nothing before she shakes her head. "It was a whole thing, before, but- nevermind, not the point. Did he finally...?"

She leaves the question in a suggestive stretch, her eyebrows rising as she trails off, and Arum clenches his hands and stiffens with another wave of incomprehensible embarrassment, his throat ticking in a helpless rattle and his traitor frill rising at his neck.

"I don't know what you could mean," he rushes in a single breath, wrinkling his snout with as much disdain as he can muster.

"Aw, c'mon," she wheedles, leaning closer as Arum stiffens. "I've been dying over there watching him dance circles around you."

"Around-" Arum sputters, flicks his eyes away. "Around me?"

Some of the smirk falls out of Amaryllis' smile, then, her expression softening. "It looked like he asked you out. That's all. I don't mean to be nosy, I just-" she pauses, then laughs. "I just am. Nosy, I mean."

Arum barks a laugh at that, helpless against it, and then he huffs a breath and glances to the side, to the still empty, still rain-wet street gleaming in the light from the shops. "I don't-"

And he pauses.

Did- was that-

He had assumed, from Damien's tone, from the context of the day and-

"He asked if he could come meet me," Arum says slowly. "After my shift was over. I don't... I don't know if he meant..."

He trails off, stomach twisting, suddenly much more uncertain, and then he looks to Amaryllis again. Her smile twitches as she meets his eye, and she nods, her expression going thoughtful and sympathetic.

"That sounds like he was asking you out?" she says, her inflection swooping upward at the end. "I would think?"

She pauses, while Arum's stomach continues to do unhelpful little turns, his hands flexing, and then she tips her head gently to the side.

"Did you... want him to be asking you out?"

Usually, Arum only wishes that he could sink into the mantle of the planet once per day at the very most. This holiday might kill him, he muses.

"N-no," he sputters after a suspicious beat. "He is- he- utterly obnoxious, and-"

"So... that isn't what the flowers are for," she drawls, her eyelids lowering and her smirk reemerging with a sly little twist (another poem screams to the forefront of Arum's mind, distracting as a flitting moth).

Arum stiffens further as the words sink into his mind. He clenches the hand already held behind his back, ineffectually trying to hide- the bouquet.

(Ridiculous. This was ridiculous. Two canceled orders and a few minutes stolen time and the vague idea that Damien would like these colors together, the memories of the flowers Damien gravitated towards when he would plan out his own arrangements-)

He manages a sound that could be half the word no, an awkward nasal humming, and then his voice fails entirely as the compulsive rattling growl in his throat takes precedence.

Amaryllis giggles, and Arum does not know why he does not instantly take offense to the noise. Perhaps because it sounds entirely joyful, and not at all mocking.

He sighs, after a moment, relaxing his arm and holding the bouquet at his side rather than behind his back. "Perhaps," he admits, but then he glances back through the unlit shop window, to where he can see the clock. "Though I'm not certain that it matters."

Her smile subsides a little, her head tilting. "Hm?"

"He's... late."

He told Damien he would be done around seven. He had been optimistic, apparently. It is already nearing eight, and... he and Amaryllis are still alone on the dimly lit street. He had been (without admitting it to himself) keeping an eye on the door since six thirty, for all the good it did him.

"Oh," Amaryllis says, and Arum turns his attention to her again at the quiet note of sympathy in her voice. "Maybe he... lost track of time?"

Arum thinks of the hours that Damien has previously spent agonizing about his potential purchases, and decides that the possibility is entirely likely. He is unsure if that makes him feel any better, however.

He realizes, belatedly, that Amaryllis has stepped a little closer, and he tries not to visibly tense as she lifts a hand.

"Can I see?" she asks, and Arum can't quite think of a reason to say no. He sighs again, lifting the bundle and allowing her to brush, just barely, the petal of one of the flowers. "It's pretty. The colors-"

"It was the best I could do with scraps," he deflects, shrugging one shoulder.

"It's pretty," she repeats with a stubborn lilt, glaring up at him as she gently cups a hand around one of the few roses he'd managed to salvage, a dusty pale purple thing, and the way her fingers curl against the petals is almost protective. There is something about the gesture that Arum feels like he needs to look away from. "And it's very sweet of you."

Arum grumbles, some part of himself distracted with wondering if he has ever in his life before been called sweet.

She seems to realize that she's still got her hand in his flowers, and she shifts backward without taking a step, dropping her hands back to her sides and briefly biting her lip.

"Tell you what," she says, and then she- she hesitates for a half second, ducking her head and then looking up at Arum with her dark, oddly searching eyes. "I'll wait with you. If he doesn't come..." she shrugs, "I'll walk you home."

Arum's instincts flare in at least three directions, after a moment of confused sputtering he hones in on his indignation, stiffening.

"I do not need your pity," he says, only barely managing not to spit, and Amaryllis-

Half-steps back, blinking as her expression opens in surprise.

"Wh... whoa, what? No, no, I just-" she shakes her head, giving a stunted, embarrassed laugh. "Being stood up sucks for anyone," she says, "and I just- I mean, it isn't like I haven't thought about it, y'know? You've got this whole," she pauses to gesture with a hand, up and down Arum's entire body as if that explains anything, "this whole thing, hold yourself all regal and- if we weren't both so busy constantly it might've been nice to try- to ask- I don't know, I don't-"

She pauses more fully, lifting her shoulders as she takes a deep breath and then releases it, giving Arum a wincing smile as he stares at her, still uncomprehending.

"I am... making a complete ass of myself, aren't I?"

She waits for him to answer, which means that Arum needs to come up with one. He can feel his tail twitching behind him, so he tries to curl it around his ankle to keep from hitting anything.

"I don't have the first idea what any of that meant," he admits, and she exhales a sigh that sounds relieved.

"That's fine, that's great, I was just- what I meant was, I don't want to walk you home out of pity. I want to walk you home because- because I just want to. It isn't like I have anyone else to take me out tonight, anyway," she adds, not sounding bothered about it.

Arum turns that over, then slowly gives a nod.

"Solidarity again," he murmurs, and Amaryllis snorts.

"Well- not exactly, but- fine. Yeah, that works."

Arum considers letting it drop there, but-

"If not that, then what?" he asks, his voice sounding tired even to his own ears, and she gives him a searching look.

"I like you," she says after a beat, and then she shrugs as Arum's comprehension staggers to another halt. "I'm literally too busy to date, so it's not like I was planning on doing anything about it, but- you're fun to talk to, you're gorgeous, I like talking to you," she shrugs again, a little too casual, and realization hits Arum like a physical blow that she's nervous about this, at least to some degree. "And I don't want you to have to walk home alone in the dark on some big dumb romance holiday when I could walk with you instead. So."

Arum stares at her for another long moment, but-

Before he can respond, he hears footsteps on wet pavement, and he turns his head at precisely the right moment to see Damien round the corner at an anxious jog, skidding on the turn, a journal overflowing with stuffed in pieces of extra paper clutched against his chest.

"Arum, I-"

Damien twitches with his entire body when he recognizes Amaryllis, the nervousness in her expression replaced now with amusement and delight, and-

The three of them... stare. At each other. Arum considers his third bout of wishing for swift removal from the planet. Damien looks as if he may have forgotten how to breathe air. Amaryllis only looks more amused with each moment.

But then Arum-

(Flowers in his hand. Bouquet here and now between Damien and Amaryllis. A box full of poems. Love poems.)

Arum has a moment of clarity.

He understands what he should do, even as Damien finally takes a breath to collect himself and and steps forward again. It makes Arum feel as if his stomach has vanished, but... well. It doesn't matter.

Arum holds the flowers up, pressing them into Damien's hands as the poet flushes dark and sputters wordlessly, and then Arum turns towards Amaryllis.

"He hasn't been coming by my shop for my sake," he explains, his voice strangely calm. "He was trying to pick out the perfect flowers for you, and the nerve to give them. Because he adores you," he continues, watching Amaryllis' lips part with surprise. "He's written dozens of poems for you and doesn't consider any of them sufficient to present to you, despite their beauty and deftness. He-" Arum inhales, a hint of a shake entering his voice. "He made a mistake, earlier today. I made him feel guilty. He was trying to... make up for inconveniencing me. But it is you, that he wishes to be with."

Arum makes himself turn towards Damien, then, who has returned to open gawping, his hands clutched hard around both his journal and the flowers.

"You should give those to her, honeysuckle," Arum says, because that's what happens next, isn't it? And Arum can- he can go. He's no longer needed in this exchange, and he can finally escape this whirlpool of discomfort and go back to-

Being alone.

"Hey whoa hold up-"

Amaryllis grabs his wrist before he can even finish turning, which is so surprising that Arum fully freezes instead of pulling away like he should.

"I- what? You can't just drop a bomb like that and leave."

Arum glances between the two of them, who- why are they both looking at him? Shouldn't they be- he doesn't know, falling into each other, already? It should be abundantly clear that Arum has no place here, between them.

Damien's pout is firmly aimed in his direction, however. And he glances down at the bouquet for a heartbeat, his face softening, before he shuffles the book into that hand as well, carefully juggling both objects so he can step forward and take one of Arum's other hands, his brow furrowed.

"I did not make a mistake, today," he says, and Arum is mortified to find that his voice sounds hurt. "It is-" he flushes, but perseveres, "it is true that I have been... contemplating a romantic gesture towards- towards Rilla, yes, but- but that does not mean that my words to you today were a mistake." He swallows, glancing to Amaryllis for a moment, and adds, "I apologize, that you needed be told in this way. You deserve far more than that, I should say."

"Don't mention it," Amaryllis says, her nose wrinkling as she flaps a hand in the air. "If it makes you feel better, I kinda figured you had the hots for Arum and I was stuck across the street wishing I had more free time to join the flirting."

Arum feels his frill twitch and Damien gives a startled laugh of his own.

"Flirting with- with who, may I ask?"

Amaryllis shrugs, grinning again, still holding Arum's wrist. "No wrong answers, there, I think," she says slyly, and Arum chokes on a breath, unfortunately drawing both of their attentions again. "So. Wait," Amaryllis says, tilting her head to the side. "So... Damien. You- you like me?"

Damien's flush deepens, and his throat seems to have failed to work, but he does manage to nod, his expression almost brokenly shy. Amaryllis, conversely, grins even wider.

"And you like Arum," she continues, and Damien nods again, his brow furrowing, obviously as uncertain as Arum is, as to where, precisely, she's going with this line of thinking. "So you like me and Arum, and honestly I've been fighting back crushes on the both of you for weeks now, and Arum- the date and the flowers, I think you probably like Damien back, yeah?" she asks, but she doesn't actually seem to expect an answer, this time. "And... do you feel any sort of way about me?"

Arum stiffens, two of his hands still clutched in their absurdly warm grasps, feeling utterly trapped. But-

He swallows. He glances down at each of them, hesitant and unable to hold their gazes for more than a moment each.

"You-" he hesitates, then jumps when he feels Damien squeeze his hand. "You inspire poetry," he says in a rush, and then he looks away entirely, growling low in his throat without meaning to. "Your work is exquisite and your laugh reminds me of sunlight," he adds, still growling, still not looking.

And then Amaryllis drops his hand, and he lets himself look again, startled into another spike of anxiety, but all she's done is pressed a hand over her heart, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth and her expression very tentatively hopeful. She inhales, deep but shaky, and then she quirks a smile and holds her hand out again, offering rather than taking.

"Pretty much every restaurant is going to be full up tonight," she says, "so if we want to go somewhere to talk and have some coffee, maybe... my apartment is above the shop. We could... we could go sit down, maybe. Talk a little bit more about... who likes who. And if we might want to do something about that."

Arum- blinks, then glances down towards Damien, whose expression has tilted so far past hopefulness so fast that he looks near to tears.

And he still hasn't let go of Arum's hand.

This holiday might kill him, Arum thinks again, and then-

He nods, and he takes Amaryllis' hand too.

#elle's fanfic #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #(it's weds in my zone now but the ao3 chapter went up before midnight!!! it fucken counts)#lord arum #amaryllis of exile #sir damien #budding blooming

12 notes · View notes

definegodliness · 1 year

Note

Does it ever bother you that writers whose writing ain't that good gets loads of notes here but talented writers like Lorienfae (sorry if I mispelt it) don't get due credit even though they so deserve it?

No, it doesn't bother me. That's just the way it is. It confuses the heck out of me as to why that is the way it is, but I really don't know enough about popular tags, algorithms, and demographic preferences. Let alone catering to them time-zone wise. Social media is a skill, and it is beyond me. The more I get it, the less I want to get it. I prefer poetry.

That being said, I am evidently statistically completely out of touch due to my poetic pet peeves: quotetry, 575 syllabic botch jobs, and diary entry type sentences about how your boss was mean to you today with supposedly aesthetically pleasing line breaks... there are six word (stories, factually) lines... and they all tend to do well, so what do I know? I am a dweeb. I like sonnets and villanelles; fixed versed rhymey-rhyme poetry. Count ten syllables for me, baby. That kind of stuff. I guess, a niche.

Bite-size snack poetry thrives, for whatever reason. And, then, whenever this effortless kind of text posts gets lauded — again, for whatever reason — the poster gets in a 'whatever I write is fantastic'-mode, creating more low effort / high reward bite-size content. It's a vicious cycle.

A celebration of junky-kicked bare-enoughs.

I call it agony.

However, this, albeit confusing, to, at least, me, isn't aggravating, or a cause to feel bothered. Not rousing, unlike my lascivious use of commas. In the end it's just the answer to the question whether you are writing for the notes, or for the art; to hone your skills, or to cultivate an idea of popularity; to seek recognition / critique from your peers, or from the masses. It is writer versus reader. There is no shame in catering to the crowds, if that is your desire.

It's nice to get notes.

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red-riding-wood · 1 year

Text

Time in a Bottle

Pairing: Emit Flesti x Female OC (not a well-established one, though)

Fandom: Faraway, So Close! (1993), sequel to Wings of Desire (1987)

Summary: A fallen angel bargains with Time for immortality after realizing how beautiful yet transient life is.

WARNINGS: explicit sex/smut. But it's the most poetic smut I'm ever gonna feckin write WC: 5677

This fic is a part of my Willem Dafoe Challenge.

Tag list: @glitter-and-gasoline, @giona45-5

Read on AO3 if you prefer. Otherwise, story below cut!

Time is hunting me.

An old, cadaverous woman collapses from her electric throne beside me, eyes glazing and thin lips stretching pale, crinkled skin taut over bony cheeks and hollowed eye-sockets as she wails her final, silent words.

I was taught to see the beauty in everything of Father’s creation – even death – and although, now that I’ve fallen, now that my world is a wondrous palette of colour, and I can feel the kiss of the sea against my skin and the warmth of a fire when my bones ache from cold and fatigue, I still cannot seem to find the beauty in the absence of life. Maybe that was really why I fell, perhaps to learn a lesson.

The woman is barely clinging to life – life, that is beautiful, that is fleeting, yet potent; life, that is the kindest gift and the greatest curse one can receive. She is afraid, she is weak, she is crumpled in a ball on the unforgiving concrete like a fetus that has never left the womb.

I do not see the beauty in death. I do not see the poetry in its inevitability or its balance.

Half of the crowd around me carry on their way, casting no more than a quick glance at the dying woman. I cannot blame them; I would not want to waste a second of my life on death, either.

The other half converges, like a tide crashing around me, their shouts tangling thick into the air as they scramble to aid her. Don’t they know, it’s useless. Don’t they know, this will be them in twenty or thirty years and they’re wasting those years ordering coffee that doesn’t have enough sugar and reading the front page of useless drabble and diving to save a stranger whose last breath has already left her withering lungs.

A glimmer winks on the ground, and catches my eye; I bend to pick up a compact that fell from her purse, and everyone is either too unconcerned by the tragedy or too deeply-swallowed by it to notice.

I flip open the compact to reveal a polished mirror as clear as the crystals I’d spotted in a shop window not even five minutes ago, and in its clarity I glimpse the pockets of grey that have formed beneath my vessel’s bottom lashes, the furrow of a brow sewn by stress, the eyes that, in life, are so absent of it.

I am left standing in the midst of the crowd, suddenly feeling numb, and I roll my head back to glimpse a figure emerging from around the corner of a shop, his shoulder leaning against the brick.

His eyes are a cold blue that pierce my soul. His suit is black as death. His hair is a deep brown, like when people soften their coffee with a dash of cream. His gaze is haunting, eviscerating, lingering.

Someone jostles my shoulder, and I swing my head to regard them. They are rushing to the old woman’s aid.

When I look back, he is gone.

Time is running from me.

I follow him down the long stretch of the alley, the black of his suit blending with the drab colours the passerby citizens wear, but I keep my eye trained on the glimpses I catch of his shoulder bobbing in the crowd. There is a festival being set up in this alley; paper lanterns brush my cranium from where they are loosely strung from the side of each building, vibrant hues of violet and red and blue. A man, with tangled dreadlocks and tattered clothing and nails imbued with grime, plucks away at the metal strings of his guitar, casting wonderful notes to the air that smells of scented candles and exotic food; if I had a dime, I would stop for a moment to listen and plunk it in the tin that sits in front of him for change.

If I had the time, I would also stop by the railing that borders the sea, let my fingers curl around the metal railing and suppress a shiver as the ocean breeze caresses my skin and blows the hair back from my shoulders. The man in the black suit leads me out here, along the bricks of the pier. The crowds are thinning now, but I cannot seem to keep pace with him.

He effortlessly traverses the uneven steps of a small bar. SALLY’S, 1029 BLEAKER STREET. The black of his suit is swallowed by the door that swings shut with a chime of shrill bells.

The same bells announce my presence as I pull open the door, the tang of seaweed and the sharp bite of the ocean winds blanketed by the bitter notes of rum and whiskey, and the slightest trace of smoke that is expelled by two candles sat either side of the bar.

Tick.

The cruel, piercing sound of a clock drills itself into the marrow of my bones, the synapses of my mind. It nearly makes me flinch. Why is it so loud?

The bar is silent, but not even the creak of my boots against the flooring is enough to cause such a great stirring of unease. It is silent because it is empty, void of even a bartender, despite the neon OPEN sign I read outside its window.

At least, it would be empty, if it weren’t for the man who turns to face me, steely blue eyes meeting mine and his expression passive, until the slightest quirk of a smile pulls at his lip, creasing a sharp cheekbone.

Tick.

I take another step forward, and the floorboards creak as if to warn me, but I didn’t know fear until I fell, and I’m not about to start bowing to it now.

“You’re – “

“Emit Flesti,” he says, and outstretches a hand for me to shake. His blue eyes come alive, glitter like how the sun dapples the surface of the waves on the ocean.

I eye his hand cautiously, and, after exactly three more ticks of the tenebrous clock, finally reciprocate, finding the exchange awkward. I don’t know how long to hold his grip, or how quickly to move my arm, but his flesh is warm against mine, and he guides me through the motion as if he’s done this a million times.

Emit straightens his suit jacket once our handshake breaks, and eyes me with that sea-gaze. “And I know exactly who you are. I’ve been expecting you.”

“Is my kind really that predictable?” I ask, tilting my head to the side.

His eyes narrow a fraction as he studies me, and he says, “You’re lost. Scared. Confused. Trying desperately to cling to a world you have only just discovered, a life that has only just been birthed.”

Tick.

I swallow, and say, “You’re right… but how do you know? You’re not able to read minds.”

“I’ve been around a while. Learned to grow observant. And you angels are all terribly easy to read. You want something only I can give. That’s why you’re here.”

I rake my gaze across him, across that polished suit, that matching black tie, that neatly-styled hair that retreats primly over his ears and teases the line of his neck, that ever-so-slight twinge of a smirk that curves his lip upward as if he knows something I don’t. Dressed and presented more like one of Satan’s glorified businessmen than one of the ancients.

I meet his gaze again, and step forward. “And if you’re smart…” I say, chin high and tone imbued with confidence. Angels are threatening when they want to be, and though I have fallen, I am certain I haven’t lost my edge. “… you’ll grant me my wish.”

Emit mirrors my stride, bringing the two of us closer. His scent is sweet, and irritatingly familiar. The smirk disappears from his features, and he says, “Your very existence here defies the natural order, causes an eddy of disruption and chaos in the cogs of a machine that are designed to function without your interference. Why would I bend the natural order for one fallen angel?”

Tick.

The cruel incipience of wrath begins to bubble in my stomach, and I bring myself another stride closer so that I am only an inch or two from him now; mousy lashes flick down, those steely blue eyes studying each groove and ridge of my face, before landing in my own, piercing through them and wrapping their icy tendrils around my soul. I swallow, a weight inexplicably forming in my throat, and glare up at him.

“Because if you don’t…” I growl. “I will get my wings back, if only to spite you. And I will rain all of Heaven down on you – or all of Hell, if I have to.”

The corner of his mouth curls upward again, creases his sharp jaw, and he speaks around a gleeful smirk as his eyes remain latched to my soul, “You angels are always smite first, ask questions later. But you, you’re only human now. You’re only bark, no bite.”

My nostrils flare, and my wrath churns in my gut, effervesces into the pockets of my chest that have been stripped bare of what I cannot define, nor can I find.

“I think you’ll find my bite to be equally as vicious,” I hiss from between clenched teeth, my gaze darting madly across twin blues that are so still frustratingly still, so disconcertingly locked onto my own. Does he even blink?

His smirk broadens, those twin blues glitter and narrow, and he says, “In the long run, I’m usually the one that does the biting.”

Tick.

His breath is hot against my face, flutters my lashes, and I swallow again as a new sensation – foreign to me, peculiar, rather disquieting yet strangely exhilarating in nature – tickles at my ribs. For a moment, I am lighter; I am free of the wrath that chains me to the earth.

But then I am heavier, as the weight of his words sinks in; I deflate, my shoulders sinking along with my exhale and my chin dipping, dragging my eyes from his. I am reminded of the transience of time and of my limited opportunity to experience my father’s beautiful creation.

Time is poison.

I turn my shoulder and start towards the wide, spotless windows that frame each side of the door. Outside, I glimpse the ivory of the seagulls cutting the pastel blue of the sky, the sea frothing at the hull of a sailboat, the tides that glitter like diamonds below the warm caress of the sun.

The final pillars of my wrath topple, and the pockets inside of me erupt into an abyss that aches to be filled with something anew. I am hollow. I am lost. I am helpless.

My disconsolation strings itself thick into my words as I breathe, a tear rimming my eye, “The world is so much more beautiful down here than it was up there. I don’t ever want to part from it. I want to paint it, limn its happenings into magnificent stories, to traverse its every mountain and canyon.”

My fingertips brush the glass of the window, and the tear rolls down my burning cheek. I am called by the restlessness of the waves, by the warmth of the sun, by the freedom of the gulls that ride the air currents.

“I have been rebirthed,” I tell him. “And I will not let this slip away. In Heaven, I was a soldier, a cog. Here, I am…” I shutter my eyes, and bite my lip; the saltiness of my tear on my tongue tastes like the ocean. And then I turn back to face the man, and I finish, “… alive.”

He is silent. But he blinks.

Tick.

I step forward again, though without the same portent weight, and I say, “If I do not bring you terror, do I at least stir in you some form of pity?” I am begging, pleading with my words now. “Do you have any ounce of humanity? Or do you just make sure that the cogs keep turning in the clock?”

We are maybe an inch apart now, and as I stare into those eyes, so swathed in steel-blue mystery, I wish that I could read minds again, if only in this moment, to read his.

And then, as if my wish comes true, a dash of sadness, streaking so fleetingly across them like a shooting star, manifests, and I seem to hold my breath in my chest, surrendering my soul to their intense stare.

“You’re forgetting that I have always seen in colour,” he says, his pride vanished along with but a vestige of his smirk. His face seems to soften around sharp features. “I have witnessed the joy of a doting mother. I have glimpsed the turmoil of loss. I have felt the cold on my flesh and the sun on my face. But it is not my job to pity. If I did, the clock would cease to function, and the order would fall into chaos.”

Tick.

And then suddenly it feels not as if I am searching for the answers in his gaze, but he in mine; his countenance is unnervingly solemn, his eyes no longer of impenetrable steel, but of a feather: delicate, wandering, listless.

And he says, “Have you considered, little angel, that I too am as much of a cog in the machine?” A challenge washes over the somber blue of his eyes, sparking something between us that is so suffocating palpable, it threatens to crush what little thread of hope there is in my chest, constricts my throat so that my disquieted swallow must be audible to his ears.

Tick.

The clock must surely be mocking me. I cannot seem to find my words, cannot seem to find a solution in the maelstrom that is my mind, cannot find solace in my florid thoughts or the life that is passing so pointedly one second at a time.

And I find myself with no solution, no wrath, no hope – lost, to a reality that I cannot smite. All I can do now is string out this one word, so feeble in its whispered impotence,

“Please.”

Time is cruel.

He doesn’t have to speak to tell me my answer, and I choke out my next breath on that crippling absence of hope, gaze lowering to the aged floorboards as if in submission. They too have become a victim to time, and must rot in debility.

“I cannot grant you immortality,” he says. “It would cause too much of a disturbance down here, upstairs. But perhaps I can give you something -- a token, for your will.”

My head rolls back, my eyes seeking his in confusion and wariness. His visage glimmers past my shimmery veil of unshed tears.

“Tell me…” he says. “… if you could stretch one moment into a thousand, if you could relive it as many times as you desired, what would it be?”

I blink, and the tears fall, and his visage sharpens. “A token? Minutes ago, you were mocking my will. Is this some cruel trick?”

He shakes his head. “It’s not a trick. Now, answer my question. What would it be?”

Tick.

The clock is drilling deeper than my mind or my marrow now; it is burrowing itself into my soul, withering its light, and past its deathly pursuit I cannot seem to find an answer to his question. I want everything that I described to him – I want to live, want to be eternal. How can I possibly choose one moment of my barely-beginning and so swiftly-ending life?

“You seem to be the expert,” I say, my tone so bitter in contrast to the sweetness of his cologne. “What would it be?”

Perhaps only time will tell.

The curve of his mouth pulls back into his smirk that could rival the Devil’s, and his glittering eyes drag across my face as if he is painting it into his mind for eternity. A thread seems to materialize between us, pulling taut and drawing me closer to his warm breath and toothy grin. I recognize his scent now – vanilla, the bean they grind in the coffee shops for their specialty brews with exorbitant prices.

A sharply-pitched sound snaps me from my heady trance, and I flinch, my lips parted in a silent gasp as I watch his lip curl over his teeth in a whistle.

And the world falls silent; the relentless ticking finally ceases, and out of the corner of my eye, I see that the clock’s hand has frozen.

His warm breath is mingling with mine now, his lips soft yet burning hot as hellfire against my own. Blackness coats my eyelids as I shutter them, and though tentative, I melt into him, drawing my vessel closer to his by that thread that I discern now to be desire. I move my lips against his in an uneven rhythm yet insatiable intensity, and I draw my hand up along his suit, fingers grasping insensibly at his tie. He is much more assured with his touch; one hand is fastened around my waist, while the other explores my breast through the fabric of my shirt, dragging a thumb across a perked nipple and stirring an unbridled breath from my lungs. He turns me like the hand of the clock, and presses my lower spine against the edge of the bar.

When we draw apart, I am weightless again, and that foreign feeling once again teases my ribs, flutters my stomach and pools magma between thighs that squirm against the hardness of his slacks. Lust, I ascertain; I have never experienced it because I have never been kissed, or touched in this way that seems to electrify every nerve and raise goose-bumps along my flesh – or even think, really, about this element of humanity. Life is so full of surprises, so faceted in its pleasures that I fear I may never uncover all of them.

His eyes are half-lidded, blue tides turning darkly with want that mirrors my own, and his warm breaths come swifter, panted against my flushed cheeks. The effulgence of the sun, as it had just begun to dip into afternoon, washes the finer strands of his dusky locks in a buttery, chestnut-gold, and shadows the sharp features of his face, every line bold, purposeful, sculpted as fearlessly as an angel’s blade. And in our proximity, I find a flaw in his design; his teeth, at first distractingly white, are gapped, slightly crooked, but it makes him more human than a cog, completes the artistry of this moment in such a way that makes my heart ache with yearning.

Time is beautiful.

“Is that it?” I ask him, raising a brow as my tongue darts hungrily between my lips and I let my hips rock with explosive impatience against his. I am as greedy as I am wrathful.

He smirks, and takes this as his cue to continue, for he lifts me onto the bar, both hands now cradling my waist, his body gliding between my legs; I part them in eager acceptance, hips once more seeming to have a mind of their own as they rut against his. I link an arm around his neck and pull him to me in a kiss that I have every intention to deepen to its farthest limits. My other hand slips from his tie and reaches for the buckle on his belt; I yank the leather past its loop as fiercely as I would shed armour after a battle.

He breaks our kiss, my teeth snagging his bottom lip as he pulls back, and I expect him to chastise me for not being more careful with what is likely an expensive belt, but he grins at me and says, “There’s no rush. In this moment, time is all yours.”

If this isn’t all some cruel trick, then he is right; I should savour this, relish in its sordid bliss.

My fingers reach almost instinctively to his jaw, brushing the sharp line of bone in reverence, my touch more delicate than it had been even with Father’s most treasured artifacts. They linger there for a moment, before dipping below his chin, running down the lines of his throat and thumbing the ridge of his clavicle beneath the collar of his shirt.

But I find myself blocked by the fabric, by the tie around his neck, and so my fingers thread through the weave of the tie, tugging gently as I swallow, almost ashamed, my cheeks ruddy and warm.

He smirks, but says nothing, and loosens his tie in one fluid motion, undoing the two ends so that they fall around his neck. He knows I’ve never done this before.

I unfasten the first few buttons of his shirt, my fingers now gliding across flesh that burns hot, that burns living – flesh that thrums, steady, with the beating of a seemingly-mortal heart.

Though fascinated, I let my hand travel some more, leaving the volcanic veneer of his flesh and letting it slip back over his shirt, running down the thin fabric until my fingertips tease the hem of his slacks, and I notice his eyes flutter, irises darkening with ink black, as I begin to grope at him through fabric that is frustratingly denser than his shirt. I feel him twitch beneath my palm. I bite my lip, a jolt of electricity shocking me from the depth of my core to the top of my skull, and a demur smile quirks at the line of my mouth as he moans out a beautiful sound, hot breaths fanning my already-burning cheeks.

Fingers tighten around my waist, and he leans in again, our lips brushing and our breaths panted fervently against each other’s teeth before I pull back, only half an inch or so, to smirk and say, “What happened to ‘no rush’?”

“That was before you decided to take advantage of the situation,” he huffs, mousy lashes shrouding those ocean eyes as his gaze darts to my lips to the line of my breasts to the hem of the fabric that he thumbs above my hipbone. For someone who can command the clock with a mere whistle, he is surprisingly impatient in this moment that he can stretch to eternity if he so desires.

“I’m only making use of my token,” I tell him, a thread of mischief entwining itself into my tone, and I notice him catch his teeth in his lip. Our noses are brushing, breaths still entangled, and I bring my hand up to undo the slacks that have been forgoing my descent into debauchery.

He is eager to shed my clothing; my shirt comes down at my elbows from buttons that may have been popped, my boots clatter to the floor, my trousers are slipped from the bare of my legs and goosebumps raise along the flesh, the lacquer of the bar colder than I had initially thought.

He looks me in the eyes as he sidles my panties down my hips, oceans seeming to catch fire, surely turning mine to molten rock.

I shiver, not from the cold, but from the light fabric that brushes the crest of my toes, and then he has all of me before him – all of my vessel, in her battered, bruised flesh and her sunken eyes but her purity.

Long fingers pry my legs apart, and he breaths his question down the nape of my neck, setting the fine hairs on end, “And you’re sure you don’t want your wings back?” His voice has dropped into something husky, something dark. But it does not bring me fear. Only want.

I swallow, tongue dry, the moisture perhaps evaporated from the magma that bubbles from the very core of me to the top of my head, and I spare the thought only a moment of consideration.

I never want to go back. To go back would be to live an eternal nightmare. And would that be any better than a fleeting dream?

And his touch, it feels too heavenly to be a sin, the sharp, sun-kissed lines on his softened face too angelic to be of Hell.

“Yes,” I breathe, running my hand down the bare trail I had revealed of his chest, fascinated still by the faint thrumming of his heart and the flesh that has become volcanic as mine, still burning to the touch.

His lip twinges into a smirk, the flash of gapped teeth and sparkling eyes in my vision before it undulates, seems as if I have been thrust underwater, staring through the surface of the waves and catching the glitter of two suns tinted by blue.

I am no stranger to pain, but even I gasp as he seems to split me in two; the magma in my gut seems to solidify, crack, fragment into fiery ropes that slice through me.

I grasp feverishly at his loose shirt, but it only tugs him closer to me, his shattered breath fanning across my collarbone and the strip of hot flesh down his chest meeting mine. I am whelmed by fire, thrust into the deepest pit of Hell only to emerge above the highest clouds of Heaven as new sensations begin to race through me, from where he buries himself inside me all the way out to my forearms, up to the crest of my tingling skull that falls back as lips part in panted, ardent breaths.

His warm lips are on my neck, his hot, shattered breaths coming against it, the graze of his teeth against my flesh as his fingers brace my hips, the chafe of my thighs against the lacquer barely a fragment of the entire innervation.

My muscles seem to tense, my legs kicking upward to engulf his waist, currents of electricity pointing my toes and my loins burning hot as they tuck around him, as if to pull him closer into the inferno that is our lust. My hands have resorted to gripping his shoulders now for stability, though one slips to cradle the hammer of his heart against his ribcage, as if it is mine to hold, if only for this moment.

Though there are no words spoken between us, we create music; there is a rhythm to our fevered breaths, a beauty to our moans that seem to echo their yearning for more, voracious yet elegant.

That is until I am plunged into rapture, my soul grasping at my ribs as if begging to leave my body, my head lost in the ether, my spine a gateway for the streaks of bliss that envelope every nerve, every fiber of my being, and for a moment I am almost afraid that I will combust; my insides burn hotter, and I collapse over the man’s shoulders, my chin settling limp into the groove of his neck.

The guttural sounds that are cast to my ear seem to ground me, bring me back down from my blithe, though I am undone; and so, it seems, is he. I am not sure which one of us is trembling, but despite our plummet back to Earth, we are alive with a hum of energy, and that ethereal thread that had once pulled us close seems to tether, knot. My soul is not reaching for the sky at all, but for him, for the beating of his heart, and for what may as well be an eternity, I let the remnants of what I have been reduced to remain captive against its pulse, let him remained buried inside of me so that that thread never frays.

When he does leave me empty, I ache; my own heart freezes in my chest, and as I pull my head back, strands of messed hair cut my vision as I seek out his eyes.

They are there, their tides finally calmed, but still alive and glittering, still entrapping my soul. His thumb comes to brush along my jaw, and I can feel the tease of his lips against mine, feel the way my soul reaches for his as I sink into the kiss eagerly.

But he pulls away with that gloating smirk, and his sharp whistle stirs the unruly strands of hair from my face. The light moves again across his features, and the faint lamentations of gulls echo in the backdrop of our little, seemingly-separate existence. But it is not the high pitch of his whistle that instills dread heavy in my gut or animates my spent body with a horrid flinch, but the tenebrous note of the clock.

Tick.

---

Humans talk about Heaven as if it is an escape from life, some craved destination that they are all too eager to reach. But they don’t know what they have.

I wouldn’t trade the sunset for anything, the brush of magenta beneath the darkening clouds, the soft glow of fire as the sun melts into the ocean. I wouldn’t trade the touch of a man, the warmth that seeps into every pore, the elation of mind and body. I wouldn’t trade the tinny yet resonating notes of the vagrant’s guitar, the way your soul leaps at every note, the way they become your lifeblood if you allow yourself to sink into them.

I linger a while at the festival in the darkened alleys, trying to mimic some form of dance beneath the glow of the paper lanterns as I bump shoulders with people of all shapes, sizes and energies; once a concrete sea, the city is alive, bursting with colour and music and heady aromas of perfumes and spices.

But as much as I attempt to sink into the lovely notes of the song, the buzzing of life, the lurid yet enchanting lights strung in the air above like pigmented stars, the weight of Emit’s token seems to lift me above it all, the incessant feel of it in my pocket. He had given it to me before I left the bar.

I freeze in my languid motion, my body and soul snared by the steel-blue gaze that peers at me from the sea of bodies. Still swathed in a black suit, he would be almost invisible if he were to step from the glow of the lanterns and into the shadows of the alley, but against the colourful robes and costumes of the crowd, I am amazed that no one else seems to notice him.

A sigh of air crashes from my lungs like a tide, and my shoulders loosen, as his gaze flits down to a pocket-watch that he holds in one hand, the brass winking in the glow of one of the lanterns.

Past the soothing notes of the guitar, I can almost hear the faint yet drilling sound…

Tick.

I blink, and he is gone, and I wonder if he was ever there.

Time is haunting me.

I leave the festival, enter once more the wasteland of the drab streets lit by simple, white lights; I pass by the shop in which I had glimpsed the crystals, know that I am close to where the old woman had perished.

The sidewalk where she fell is empty. The crowd, having dwindled in the absence of light, pass by, as if she had never even existed. The only semblance of her left are the bitter threads of fear that slither across my heart.

I never want to be emptiness, never want to be gone.

The thought is enough to make me look around, casting glances at the shadow of each alley, seeking out the blue-eyed man as if in comfort. But he, too, is gone. And his remnant lies in my pocket.

The air is stale, though the fresh yet salted kiss of the ocean still lingers on my tongue; the sweetness of vanilla seems to have seeped into the fibers of my clothing, and as I settle into the abandoned building I have been subsisting on, hear the patter of the crying roof, the creak of the rotting boards beneath my boots, I keep these gifts with me, bringing my nose to the fabric of my shirt once I free it from my body, roll my tongue in my mouth as if to savour that kiss of the ocean forever.

A storm had broken the dark clouds of the evening, and the patter of rain against the floor seemed to grow louder each minute, seems to mimic that wretched clock in its perfectly-timed beat.

At last, I dig Emit’s token from my pocket. It is a bottle, barely the length of a small dagger. I can just faintly catch the reflection of my vessel’s hollow eyes in the dull sheen of the flickering candlelight that dances across the glass.

The bottle itself is empty, save for a small, folded note.

“Take this,” he’d said, his hot breath raking down the side of my neck as he slipped the bottle into my pocket, that sea-gaze catching mine once more. “Open it whenever you wish to relive the moment.”

I look out the cracked glass of the window, at the newspapers and wrappers that swirls, rampant, in the storm, in the deadness of the street. My soul aches; it yearns to become alive as it stares into the empty.

So I open the bottle, popping the cork and letting the note fall into the palm of a hand I hadn’t realized was shaking until now.

My heart is in my throat as I unfold the note, my breath trapped in my lungs. The unending rain patters against the floor.

It reads:

SALLY’S, 1029 BLEAKER STREET.

Something in my soul stirs, quirks my lip into a smile, and my breath is released from the cruel cage of my lungs, and the pockets of my chest that have been stripped so bare begin to warm with the faintest trace of feeling, of hope, of what I have sought ever since my fall.

Time is mine.

#fanfiction #willem dafoe #writing #emit flesti #faraway so close #1993 #the willem dafoe challenge #my writing #smut #mdni #fanfic #wings of desire

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chaosmushroomsushi · 9 months

Text

I hate myself

someone help lol

I wish I could stop doing this shit to myself

I know this sounds more human than most my posts

maybe I should do this more often

just speak to the void like I'd speak to myself

I do think in the poetic lines I write

but it's not every thought

obviously

no one thinks purely in poetry

and my god dude. I am so fucking lonely

and I'm so tired of my trauma

and my chronic pain, can my bones just fucking stop?

I need a break

I need to be loved

unrequited love is the worst

dont ask why this is more tagged than normal when out of everything this is one of the last things I'd want to actually be seen a lot

I'm just talking because I have no one else to talk to

I have two friends I really talk to

and one I've been in love with since I was fucking 12

typing while dyslexic sucks. I've broken auto correct some

I wish I had a partner

but even if I did it wouldn't matter

I'd still torture myself endlessly

because I've never been good enough and I never will be

no one will ever actually choose me

no matter what I do or how hard I try

I will never be what someone wants

or if I am it's just using me until I'm no longer useful

I hate that this might be my most relatable post

and at the same time appreciate that the realness is what will make it that

but I hate we're all so traumatized that we feel people are incapable of loving us

I hate that others understand

but dude seriously how do you learn that you are capable of being loved

that you're actually not worthless and your only point is being used by people for so many different reasons

my content is so fucking inconsistent

is this what it feels like to unmask? even a little?

I feel like it should involve less joint pain lmfao

all I'm doing is laying in bed cuddling a frog stuffed animal with anime playing in the background typing out a shitty post on tumblr

just writing out my thoughts

I miss being held

I say that but I've never actually been held

I've never had someone to lay with and cuddle

I have to slow down my typing so tumblr doesnt lag which is stupid

stupid adhd

the mlm flag is so fucking pretty

I'm supposed to be asleep

I changed what anime was on so I didnt miss stuff so I could sleep

I need so much help

I have so much I need to talk to my therapist about already, it's been two days since my last session

how do I have more in 2 days than in the 2 weeks we couldn't meet

I mean its good but also what the fuck?

I miss him

I miss affection

fuck

I just

need to be held and loved

I hate life

if you read all this

why what mental illness do you have

dont forget food water and meds

any food counts even if you dont keep it down, protein shakes also count for either food or water but you can only choose one

ur still alive and that counts ❤ you did good kid

#shitpost #mlm #speaking to the void #trans #chronic illness #chronic pain #disabled #adhd #autism #2am thoughts #2am posting

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snowddeong · 1 year

Note

for the kpop ask game: le sserafim!!

ps, i sometimes see you in your posts’ tags saying you’re anxious about your writing, so i just wanted to let you know that i for one am a big huge fan of your writing, and i think you have such great vibrant portrayals of yeji & ryujin, and tbh your writing makes me want to write too, so thank you always for sharing your work and god-tier ryeji thoughts with us :’)

Not sure which category to put them in cause I'm familiar but also very barely hkasdh

I’ll listen to their top song on Spotify & tell you my thoughts - I'm going to assume that's antifragile? (In uganda we don't use spotify much so I can't tell if it's their top song adskhds I only have the acc for whenever I wanna support my faves and have enough internet)

Fun and catchy, it has aspects I REALLY like but there's also stuff I'm unfortunately not so into so I don't think I could listen to it on repeat but it's very much stuck in my head now sdakjh

I’ll look up photos & tell you who stands out to me - Yunjin I think??? Idk there's something about the vibes she's giving here especially that's knocking me tf out

Idk her really so I might be very mistaken but like HER EYES? There's a way that she seems to use them to really enhance her expressions??

I’ll tell you if I’d look into them more - I might if they release something I'm REALLY into. Or if I'm in a situation where I have to write something with one of their members that's actually how I got into Stray Kids lmao. I usually try my best to check out as many gg releases as I can cause finding new music is always a positive so it'll probably happen eventually since the little I've seen of them is always a serve

This is already long but I'm so touched by your ps 😭

Thank you so much for all this. I never really considered myself on the level to inspire anyone and it's actually a dream of mine to write stuff that has an effect on people so I'm kinda emotional over this ashdjsdh

Thank you for reading my works. I'll be sure to keep sharing my thoughts and random brainrots and hopefully keep writing stuff that you guys enjoy 🖤

And if the interest has gripped you I really do hope you give writing a shot anon. It can be very tough and frustrating and sometimes it feels like downright torture but if you love it enough it's the most fulfilling thing to have an idea in your head and express it with words. Even though I'm anxious like 99% of the time cause perfectionismTM and self esteemTM I always enjoy myself the most when I'm writing. I really love writing so I'm going to try to stfu and not start waxing poetic rn but imo everyone should give it a try at least once. Whether it be poetry or prose of even just journaling. There's something really beautiful about writing that you can only experience when you're really in it and I hope you find it as well. If you ever write anything feel free to send it to me through anon or even dms if you feel comfy with that I'd love to read it

#kpop ask game #not shy ask me (itzy)#again I apologise for how long this is like sadhk #maybe the real reason I love writing is cause I can never stfu 😭#thank you so much for the ask I'm feeling feelings

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allthefakepeople · 1 year

Text

I posted 1,156 times in 2022

That's 1,021 more posts than 2021!

200 posts created (17%)

956 posts reblogged (83%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@daylightsimon

@books-books-smolderinglooks

@altruistic-meme

@grizviser

@purplehoodiesimon

I tagged 960 of my posts in 2022

Only 17% of my posts had no tags

#young royals - 763 posts

#wilmon - 527 posts

#young royals s2 - 271 posts

#yr s2 spoilers - 171 posts

#young royals fanart - 150 posts

#young royals s2 spoilers - 114 posts

#asks - 101 posts

#young royals fanfiction - 72 posts

#prince wilhelm - 72 posts

#miels answers - 69 posts

Longest Tag: 132 characters

#i still think it’s some kind of crime that we didn’t get to see simon putting wille’s hands on his waist but i’ll let it go… for now

My Top Posts in 2022:

the only scene in s2 where simon is wearing purple and it’s completely unobstructed (it’s also the purple hoodie) is during the book scene after wille says he’d give up the crown for him and THAT right there is poetry

248 notes - Posted November 16, 2022

can’t really explain it

but tell me why i feel like wille is the “love” “darling” “älskling” type

while simon is the “baby” “gorgeous” “cariño” type

272 notes - Posted June 11, 2022

there has to be some element of artistic parallels and something poetic about how wille is the one who teaches simon how to play the school song, and that’s the song that simon uses to express his affections for wille through

293 notes - Posted November 7, 2022

i think it’s so interesting that Marcus says this line when simon is ending things between them in ep 6

“But that’s not enough, is it? Not compared to a prince at least.”

because it has nothing to do with wille being a Prince and everything to do with it just being wille. like we know for a fact that simon could not give less of a shit about wille being Kron Prince Wilhelm and it’s everything to do with the fact that he’s Wille. like if marcus thought the reason he didn’t compare to wille was because he wasn’t a Prince, he clearly didn’t know simon very well. like Marcus didn’t really stand a chance whether wille was a Prince or not

anyways, i just thought that little line was so interesting

324 notes - Posted November 5, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

wait ok ok

everybody come with me on this

i don’t have the physical evidence of this BUT i noticed something about certain simon/wilmon scenes this season that added a different meaning regarding costuming (also i have no idea if someone else has already noticed/mentioned this, but if you have i am sorry)

i wish i could provide the evidence but for now you’ll just have to trust me and go back and rewatch s2 hahah and it’ll probably get a bit long so i’m sorry about that

as we know, the costume department had simon wearing purple in scenes where simon’s feelings for wille were growing, while orange kind of represented when they felt further away but but but

there were multiple scenes this season where simon was wearing orange OVER something purple (and there were a few scenes where he was noticeably wearing purple) which was super interesting for me

the most notable one was when simon goes to marcus’ to hook up with him that first time. he’s wearing orange but you can see a hint of a purple shirt under it which could represent how even though simon is trying to move on with marcus (the orange) his love for wille will always be an undercurrent in their relationship/scenes together (the purple)

another one i can think of is when first assigned they’re book and wille is talking to simon about marcus and simon admits that they’re hanging out but not together. yet again he’s wearing a hint of purple underneath something orange which hints at the fact that he’s feeling conflicted because he still loves wille but he feels super far away from him

another scene is when wille is thought to be leaving hillerska. the scene where they come to take wille, simon is wearing a purple shirt over his yellow/orange one

follow this scene by when he goes to train with rosh, where he’s wearing the Purple Hoodie™️ for the first time all season and he literally says to rosh “i don’t know why i can’t fall in love with [marcus]”. the purple hoodie being a focal point in this scene is almost declaring the reason why he can’t fall in love with marcus is his love for wille

another important Purple Hoodie™️ moment this season (let it be known that i’m pretty sure he only wears that hoodie like 2 times this season) was during the iconic book project scene where they’re essentially confessing to each other through it.

ALSO the fact that maroon is shade of purple and simon was wearing his school uniform (which is kind of a redish purple) when him and wille kiss for the first time

i’m sure there’s more scenes but these were just the initial ones i noticed on my rewatch (if someone wants to somehow provide the evidence that would be so wonderful but i promise i’m not going insane)

ANYWAYS this post was just thought up to prove that despite how fractured and far away wilmon seemed at some points throughout this season, simon was still feeling that love for wille throughout even if it wasn’t outwardly showing at times

thanks for coming to my tedtalk

470 notes - Posted November 3, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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clarasghosts · 1 year

Text

thanks @duplicitywrites for the tag! i'm finally responding a little into 2023, but i am responding!

this also made me realize how little i actually posted in 2022...

rules:

post the top 5 works you're most proud of that you released in 2022 (not necessarily your most popular),

your top 4 current WIPs that you're excited to release in the new year,

your top 3 biggest improvements in your writing over the past year,

your top 2 resolutions (ways you wish to improve your writing/blog) for the new year,

and your number 1 favorite line you've written this year!

tagging: not sure who to tag, really, since the fic writers i know that haven't already been tagged (i think) are in different fandoms than the one i wrote in this past year. so please, respond if you'd like and tag me!

five works:

turns out i actually only posted for two different works in 2022, so i'll share those:

the garden walls grow quick (15k, wip)

my tomarry hill house au, where harry, hermione, and luna are invited by tom to take part in a supernatural experiment. this is that rare fic i went into without any real plan at all, but writing it was necessary because it's calming for me. hill house (the novel), strangely enough, is like self care for me, so writing a tomarry au of it is like self care, too. (turns out i actually last updated this at the very end of 2021, but whatever, i'm using it here. it doesn't feel like it's been that long because 2020-2022 is actually just one long year)

2. you in my life (3k)

ginny/luna post canon fic i wrote for the background tomarrymort fest. i've always loved the idea of ginny and luna, and i really wanted to write something very human for luna. it's canon compliant apart from the hints of voldemort's survival (since 'tom' is in an established relationship with harry)

works in progress:

the garden walls grow quick

this fic still means a lot to me, and i look forward to continuing it.

2. a hollow grave (20k so far)

i only have one last chapter to write for this tomarry sleepy hollow canon divergence! but endings are the hardest to write. i promise i have not abandoned this fic, and i know how it ends. the ending is actually the idea that inspired me to write the first two chapters.

3. she sought death (14k so far)

whouffaldi, post hell bent. i actually just posted the penultimate chapter of this fic last night! i originally plotted out this murder mystery in 2016, so it's really great to see it finally come together. i fully plan to post the final chapter this year, hopefully within the next month (again, endings are hard to write).

4. in these times (6k so far)

whouffaldi first wizarding war au. i last updated this fic in 2020, but it still lives in my brain always. there's so much in it that i love writing: clara being friends with the other companions, queer rose, bill & heather, magic, and a dark atmosphere.

improvements:

i really thought a lot about what i really meant when i used words like "realize", "knew", etc., and rewrote at least some of the sentences that used those words so i could make the reader realize or know them instead.

a lot of the writing i do doesn't get post on ao3 (academic, poetry, etc.), but i have discovered over the past year that when i have limitations (time limit, specific poetic form), my writing gets stronger because it forces me to really focus on what i'm trying to say, and how i can craft a way to say that as strongly and clearly as possible. i also found out that in poetry, i naturally tend toward 6 or 8 syllables, and that 10 syllables (pentameter) results in me writing garbage lines.

i wrote things! literally writing at all last year was such a win for me. for those of you that have been here for a while, you know that before i finished grad school, i wrote constantly and in abundance. but since 2018, i've barely been able to write anything at all. i've worked a lot on it, and i feel that my biggest obstacle now is my own inner critic who keeps me from writing so i don't write awful things (when writing awful things is a very necessary part of the process). when i try to write, my brain just stops seeing the story, the world, the characters, so i can't get more than a thought or two down. moving through that and writing things at all is a success.

resolutions:

write! write anything and everything. write badly. journal. note down overheard conversations and describe people/places. the only way to write is to write.

don't force something to happen. if a certain project isn't working at the moment, set it aside and work on something new. completing things is important, but there's no joy to be had in throwing yourself against a wall. the momentum to write builds on itself, so this year i just want to keep writing.

one line:

this is actually really hard because i secretly hate pretty much everything i've written over the past few years.

"[Tom's] older than them, though she’s not sure by how much, and the most forward he’s been about his work is that he had left a political career behind for new ventures." (you in my life, because writing dramatic irony can be fun, and 'tom' here is very much voldemort barely pretending to not be voldemort.

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bukojuiice · 3 years

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25 lives — katsuki bakugo

ೃ pairing: pro! hero katsuki bakugo x fem! reader

ೃ tags: alternate universe/time traveler au, a lot of angst, fluff but the sentimental and nostalgic kind, flashbacks, bakugo travels through so many parallel worlds just to find you.

ೃ warnings: strong language. wc: 4,764 words

ೃ my nav → my mha writing masterlist → my katsuki bakugo x reader smau

ೃ i created a spotify playlist for this fic, feel free to listen to it while reading here!

ೃ please do reblog if you enjoyed!! it really helps writers and content creators on tumblr! if you want to be a part of my mha taglist. send me an ask! ♡

ೃ Heavily Inspired by one of my favorite written poetry/prose of all time, 25 Lives by Tongari. The poem will be heavily referenced and mentioned in this fic! The lines from said poem can be identified [❝ like this❞.]

ೃ After losing the love of his life in a brutal villain incident, Katsuki Bakugo had lost a part of him. Nothing and no one could ever bring her back. He became the shell of a person he once was; fiery, bright, and the driven #2 Pro-hero in the country. He continues to live life with guilt, all hope still lost until he is gifted a time device that can transport him to parallel universes, dimensions and alternate worlds, where he begins his quest to find his lost love. Crossing a hundred of realities and living twenty-five lifetimes just to bring her back into his arms.

“Stars die. they die and they are not sorry

No matter how much the moon says otherwise.

Stars die and your whole galaxy explodes.”

For the majority of Katsuki Bakugo’s life, he is the main star of the show.

Then, you came into his life and made everything else feel like a rehearsal.

In a world where he mostly treated everyone in his life as extras, you were the main heroine.

When he put up walls around himself, you brought them crashing down.

To him, the concept of love and loving someone romantically was foreign. It always came to him as a question, If whether or not love was something worth living for and sacrificing for, giving your half to another person to be whole, when he can already live for himself.

It was always a question… until you became the answer.

“Use my new baby wisely! Okay, Bakugo-san!?”

Hatsume Mei, a schoolmate of Katsuki back in his UA days, warned him cautiously. She was now an esteemed scientist, one of the best in the country. Katsuki was the first one to come into her mind when she finally completed her new invention, a gadget that can transfer a person’s soul and being to a different body; one in a different space time continuum.

It was as if living a new and different life.

In another universe.

The concept of the device was pretty straight-forward. You are able to go to different dimensions and live the life of your other self; then if it wasn’t the world you wanted to live in, you are free to disappear and go to another parallel universe. It raised skepticism at first and it sounded too good to be true, as how could something as extravagant and complex as this become possible? But they were living in a world full of heroes with the most unique and bizarre quirks, so why can’t it be possible?

This was his chance.

Maybe, with this, he can bring back (Y/N)…

All along, there had been hope.

He was finally going to see her again.

His thoughts bring him back to the day of the incident.

What was reported to be a regular villain attack, escalated into something that no one could expect.

She was the only casualty-

And he was a minute too late.

Was he not fast enough? What could have happened if he had gotten there in time? Hundreds of hundreds of scenarios of what could’ve been still continue to haunt him until this very day, what could have happened if he had only arrived there earlier to save her? The things he would do to see her beautiful face and feel her calming presence once more, to see the loving woman he went back to after a tiring day, to pepper kisses on, to be dancing with in the kitchen at 2 am, to be the sharing the first cup of coffee with in the morning, the one to wake up to every single morning…

The one whom you’d share the rest of your life with.

But, now… that life was gone.

Seeing your limp and unmoving body surrounded by debris was the most devastating experience and image he had to see and go through in his entire life.

He could do nothing but hold you in his arms, gritting his teeth, tears streaming down from his cheeks, feeling nothing but frustration and powerlessness as the world came crashing down on him.

“Dammit (Y/N!) Why you? Why did it have to be you?”

Your resting eyes and dormant body remain steady and… cold. Your boyfriend rests his head on your shoulder, trying to hide that he was bawling in pain and sorrow. Katsuki began to feel the weight of his emotions pulling him down, his thoughts reminding him of his past failures and mistakes, and now that this accident that met your demise became one of those said mistakes, how will he be able to recover? If he was able to overcome his demons and insecurities solely because of you, his friends, and his parental figures to guide him… will he even be able to do the same once again?

He was the #2 Pro Hero too… What will the public think of him?

After he had failed to save the one that he had loved the most?

It has been a year since then.

Katsuki’s life went on without you.

Well, of course it did, Of course it does. It was just an ending, they told him. Not the end.

He told the general public that he had been slowly recovering and that he was able to bounce back to his usual explosive self. Still yelling, still being the competitive and pompous ass he is, even as a Pro-hero. But his friends and family weren’t dumb. Kirishima, his closest confidante knew there was something wrong with him. His parents noticed too that he still wasn’t himself. All of them did.

They all knew Katsuki still hasn’t recovered from the incident at all.

I mean, who would right?

It was perfectly normal to mourn. It was part of the healing process. The Pro Hero Dynamight still can’t move on and that feeling was valid. It takes time to fully heal and he had already made it clear time and time again that he will never ever love someone like the way he loved (Y/N).

But, if there was a way to bring her back, then he wanted to take that chance.

When Izuku heard of news from Hatsume Mei’s newest invention, Katsuki’s green-haired childhood friend immediately told him about it.

Although he was unsure at first, the quirky scientist assured him to wait a little bit more for the trials of the device to finish if he wasn’t sure about it. And when her test subject came back safely, bringing home their lost relative from another universe, that was when Katsuki became sure of his plans.

This was the key to bring (Y/N) back.

It wasn’t going to be easy but he would do absolutely everything just to see you again.

And with that, the day of his world-jumping adventure (literally) had finally arrived.

Bidding farewell to his family and friends, a small gut feeling inside of him says that this might be the last time he’ll ever see them again… and so, in the most Katsuki Bakugo fashion ever, he thanked everyone present that day… indirectly. He expressed appreciation to those who supported him and helped him throughout his life.

Now, it was his time to find the girl who had been there for him the most.

(through his darkest times and saddest nights, she was the ray of sunshine.)

He took a deep breath, turning to his loved ones one last time, a solemn nod yet the cheekiest smirk present on his face as he disappears, whisked away to another world.

The parallel universes that he was going through dropped him into different years of his life. So, Bakugo had to adapt to knowing what age his other self was in the timeline he was currently in. He was lucky that most of the time he landed in a world and at the time where he was a student at UA.

The time where he originally met you.

He needed to take note of every world he had been too because not only were each and every one so different. Katsuki wasn’t a poetic person (his vocabulary mostly composed of colorful words.) but as he continued to jump through so many parallel universes, he had begun to take note of the ones that stood out to him the most. In the form of a poem, one that he thought you would appreciate when he finally reunites with you. Another you at least.

[❝ The very first time I remember you, you are blonde and don’t love me back.❞

✧ This is the first parallel universe in where you were an upperclassman. From Class 3-A. A friend of Nejire, one of the big three. Katsuki was so delighted to see you, only for you to not know him. He was currently one of the most popular students in UA, of course he is, but you paid him no attention, passing by him in the hallways as if he was just another regular freshman, instead, you were seen holding hands with some slimey-looking guy that Katsuki has never ever seen in school. This wasn’t you. Or, at least, this wasn’t the (Y/N) he was looking for. This was only the first parallel world. He wasn’t going to give up.

[❝ The next time you are brunette, and you do.❞ ]

✧ Unrequited love. What a stupid cliché. In this world, he was an idiot too far up his own ass, whilst the entirety of Class 1-A loathed him and did not look up to him like the way they did in his original world. Katsuki was so caught up in trying to change his personality, that he failed to notice you. The girl who was always in the back of the classroom, looking out the window. You were always just there. Never noticed. Admiring him from afar.

[❝ After a while I give up trying to guess if the color of your hair means anything. because even if you don’t exist, I am always in love with you. ❞ ]

✧ This was practically the same world that Katsuki originated from. Only you were missing. Every single event that transpired in his life, had happened in this parallel universe. The USJ Incident, The Forest Camp Training, The Trip to to Nabu Island… everything. There was this huge empty space that you were supposed to fill. Except, you didn’t exist in this universe. It was the quietness and the lack of your presence in this world that bothers him. Katsuki wonders how this other self of his could continue this life without you in the picture.

[❝ I remember most fondly those lifetimes where we get to grow up together, when you share your secrets and sorrows and hiding places with me. ❞ ]

✧ This universe surprised him with puppy love. Here, he was brought back to his childhood. You were his dearest friend and childhood sweetheart. The three of you along with Deku, were a trio. At a very young age, you kept his feet on the ground, never wanting him to think that he was above everyone else despite his powerful quirk. The young Bakugo was able to share his frustrations and insecurities to you, while you always listened. You were always there. He talked about his quirk and his complaints about how the other kids only liked him for his powers, but not for who he actually is. You continued to support him and love him wholesomely for who he was and he was glad to have a friend like you and…. Deku. (as much as he didn’t want to admit it

However, it ended there. The two of you lying down on the hill, looking up at the stars, and shyly holding hands. Just randomly faded away. And in a blink of an eye, the timeline shifts forward to middle school. His worst years, he would say.

He was so eager to see you again and hopefully remain friends with Izuku after all this time.

Yet, you were nowhere to be found and… Izuku wasn’t his friend anymore.

Apparently, the two of you became distant after graduating elementary because you moved away and never got into contact with him ever again.

This was too heartbreaking for this universe’s Bakugo. To have such a wonderful and healthy social life when he was a kid, only for all of that to just disappear when he started middle school. On to the next parallel world then.

[❝ I love how you play along with my bad ideas, before you grow up and realize they are bad ideas. And in our times together I have many bad ideas.❞ ]

✧ The Sludge Villain. A very traumatizing experience that still haunts Katsuki until this very day. In this world, you were still friends with him. Always following him around and making sure he didn’t get into trouble. He continuously pushes you away, telling you that he didn’t need you and you shouldn’t be controlling of him.

You finally had enough of his arrogance that day and… got into an argument with him. It was the same day as the Sludge Villain incident.

It happened in this universe too.

After he was captured by said villain, you ran after him, tears welling up in your eyes, wanting to reach out and save him. The sludge villain noticed you, and became more interested in your quirk, targeting you instead. All Might was a little too late and…

The incident led you to losing your quirk and having to live in a hospital for the rest of your years.

It felt like a long bad dream. One that reminded him of your demise in his original world. Bakugo immediately teleported to a different parallel universe. Not wanting to deal with that kind of sadness ever again.

[❝ When we meet as adults you’re always much more discerning. I don’t blame you. Yet, always, you forgive me.❞ ]

✧ In this universe, you were in the same hero agency. Not knowing each other prior to this. Bakugo was the new hotshot that all the other heroes in your agency were going crazy about, just because he was from UA and was attractive. You didn’t get the hype and why everyone else was fawning over him. He was a Pro-hero just like all of you. So, when you finally met him in the flesh, you could immediately tell he was a conceited ass by the way he looked at you and by the way he presented himself.

Unbeknownst to you, Dynamight’s heart was fluttering with happiness at the sight of seeing you again. Your Pro-hero self. Caring, Bad-ass, Confident, and Courageous… It was you.

Almost you.

After being partnered up with him in hero work for the past months, he began to turn soft, a bit annoying, and act flustered whenever you were around which you immediately thought was very out of character for him.

Then he confesses.

You said no.

It just didn’t feel right. First, your hero career was more important to you and you just couldn’t reciprocate those feelings back. The two of you weren’t for each other, and he understood that. He left you for a moment to go get get some “fresh air.”

Bakugo was getting frustrated. His mind going hazy at the thought that he’s gone to so many parallel worlds yet still haven’t found you is slowly beginning to take a toll on him. But he still wasn’t going to give up.

[❝ As if you understand what’s going on, and you’re making up for all the lifetimes in which one of us doesn’t exist, and the ones where we just, barely, never meet. I hate those. I prefer the ones in which you kill me.❞ ]

✧ The next alternate worlds he went to were an absolute mess. One of them where the two of you barely meet. Merely passing by each other in the street, opening the door for you or entering the same convenience store. Fate not wanting the two of you to meet. Like magnets being pulled away from each other. A romance movie without the romance. As if telling Katsuki that the two of you were never meant to meet in this universe. Don’t even bother.

Then there’s the other one where you were a merciless villain and he was a pro-hero who had to defeat you. He couldn’t do that. You overpowered him.

But, hey, at least he got to see you as the girl who didn’t put up with his shit and could care less about him. Not to mention you were a part of the organization that was against everything that he stood for as a hero.

It was a tragedy. Not the Romeo and Juliet kind, but reminiscent of it. With Romeo sacrificing his life, yet Juliet remains the same and indifferent.

[❝ But when all’s said and done, I’d surrender to you in other ways. Even though each time, I know I’ll see you again, I always wonder is this the last time? Is that really you? And what if you’re perfectly happy without me?❞ ]

✧ Bakugo was finally teleported to a reality where he was a high school student again. However, he wasn’t studying in UA. Instead, having to go to a regular high school (which he was totally irritated about because why is his parallel self here going to a regular school in the first place? What happened to him?) The two of you pass by each other on your way home. Going off in different directions. You were a student at UA, laughing and mindlessly chatting with his friends. Mina, Kirishima, Denki, and Sero…

All of you barely even noticing him and acknowledging his presence.

At this moment, he realized that maybe you weren’t meant to meet in this world again. He felt like a simple character in the background. A small speck of dust in your universe. God, why was he thinking this? This wasn’t like him. He slowly lost his confidence as he goes from one parallel world to the next to find you. He couldn’t even motivate and give himself pep talks anymore. Has he reached the breaking point? Is he still even himself? Is he still Katsuki Bakugo?

Maybe, he should just give up trying at this point. Every single alternate reality so far all ended in tragedy. Not once were the two of you able to reconcile and have a happy ending. It was not like him to give up, but the chances at this point were slim and in each alternate universe, Bakugo just become more and more disappointed with how things turned out with your other-worldly selves…

It was as if the only universe where the two of you became happy was in his original world.

Was he going to stop here?

[❝ Ah, but I don’t blame you; I’ll never burn as brilliantly as you. It’s only fair that I should be the one to chase you across ten, twenty-five, a hundred lifetimes.❞ ]

✧ This was it. The twenty-fifth parallel world. Hopefully, the last one that he has to go to and hopefully the one where he finally he finds you.

Bakugo jumps into the portal, expecting the vibrant colors and hues of the city to appear around him, only for him to be transported to a white box.

In the middle of this white void was a cherry blossom tree. Blooming in the prettiest pink colors, and swaying with the non-existent wind. Near it was a small bench. A feminine figure sitting on it, facing the tree.

It was you.

You.

Katsuki knows it’s you because it’s the same dress you wore that day.

A beautiful blue dress that the two of you bought when you were out for some errands. It was the kind of blue that reminded you of the sky, which is why you bought it in the first place. You were saving it for that day, to wear when you visit Katsuki at work and drop him off his bento lunch.

That day.

Instead of a sky reflecting off of your dress, it became grey. Like the color of a storm instead.

He remembers fondly what happened at that same morning. He was getting ready for hero work, whilst you were rummaging for something inside the closet.

“Ahah!” You exclaimed, finally pulling out something to wear. The sound of the wardrobe hangers clinking from the inside.

Katsuki wanted to take a peek of you but you were giving him no chances. You see him trying to take a look when you noticed his blonde hair spiking up more than usual.

“Hey! No peeking!” You giggled, hiding yourself even further inside your closet.

“Gah. Come on! Just one?” He groans, teasing you, trying his best to pull out his puppy tone. “Please?”

“No.” You deadpanned seriously and you could practically feel him pop a vein.

“Hey! What was that for!? I was just joking-“

“I was just joking too you weirdo.” You giggled again, stepping out of the closet. You take a deep breath and straighten your dress, twirling around for him to see. “How do I look?”

He dashes towards you, picking you up from the ground as he begins to twirl you around.

“Katsuki! Put me down!” You chuckle, feeling his strong arms wrapped around you. “You’re going to be late for work!” You tap his back lightly, trying to get him to put you back on the ground.

“You’re beautiful. You always are.” He says seriously. Not a tinge of playfulness or abrasive in his voice. He was still holding you up, but positioned you in a way that the both of your faces were inches away from each other, gazing at each other’s eyes.

The both of you lean in for a sweet and blissful kiss. It felt light and comforting. A feeling that you always have whenever you were with him. A very giddy feeling.

And at that same day, when he saw you again, surrounded by darkness, your eyes closed, your body tranquil and your gentle face looking ever so at peace…

You still looked beautiful, even then.

“Suki-kun.” You wave at him from afar, a solemn smile present on your face. You beckon him to sit next to you but he hesitates.

“(Y/N)…” His voice cracks, not really noticeable, but you could hear it. “Tch… are you.. real? Is this really you?”

“It’s me, love.” You continue to show him your smile. As you blink, you were suddenly caught in his arms. Katsuki was hugging you tightly like there was no tomorrow, his head nestled on your shoulder. His hug felt warm yet cold, like he had been hugging skeletons all this time whilst trying to find you.

You had no words to say to him.

It was just that kind of moment.

Hearing your voice, hugging you tight, holding your hand, and seeing your smile was enough for him at the moment.

This was you.

Actually you.

“It seemed like a lifetime ago when I began searching for you.” He whispered softly, his voice still so rough yet loving all the same.

A lifetime of pain and sorrow. Of disappointment and missed opportunities.

“Ah…” Your voice trails off. “We don’t have much time left.”

“Huh? What the hell do you mean?” You untangle yourself from his arms, cupping his cheek and rubbing your thumb whilst he holds your hand still.

“I-I can’t go back to our original universe.” You mumble, trying to fight back the tears and continuing to caress his face. “We can’t go back together.”

“(Y/N)!” Bakugo’s face goes stern, as realization hits him. “Shit! (Y/N)! Look, We can get out of here okay!? There’s this device I have-“ The device on his wrist dissolves into nothing as the room around you begins to be consumed by darkness, like sucking you into a black hole.

“Katsuki… no. It’s hopeless! We can’t-“

“Damn it (Y/N)! I’ve traveled through every fucking imaginable universe possible just to find you again! I’ve gone through hell and back just to see you again! I’m not going to leave without you!”

Before you could answer his rebuttal, the bench that both of you were sitting on vanishes and now the two of you were falling in an endless black hole.

As this parallel world around you began spinning faster and faster, the two of you floated upwards, hands locked tightly together, and your eyes sad and bewildered.

The two of you watched as your faces grew younger back to your high school years, like this universe was going in reverse, moving the both of you backwards in time.

You were still holding onto Katsuki’s hands, trying to savor the last few moments with him as you began to say your goodbyes, tears coursing down your face.

“Katsuki… I know you had seen things you wish you hadn’t. You have done things you wish you could take back and I know you’ve been wondering why you’ve been thrown into all of this, why you had to suffer the way you did and why you had to go through so much just to find me. The ghost of me. And as you were going through all these alternate universes alone and hurting, I wish I could tell you that it’s okay. Even if you don’t find me again, I will always be here. My presence will always be lingering. I will live in your heart, Katsuki Bakugo. You deserve the whole world for traveling through twenty-five lifetimes just to look for me. I love you with all my heart, my soul, my being, and all that is left of me… I love you.”

“I-I love you too. Through all these lifetimes I’ve spent with another you, you will always be the one.” Katsuki mumbled, pulling you for one last kiss.

A kiss ever so soft and sweet, worth all the lives he’s experienced.

“Let’s meet again in another lifetime.”

Time continued to reverse back, to the point you no longer knew who you were with. Their face being blocked by a gleam of light. You were grasping the hands of a stranger, but you didn’t let go. And neither did they.

For a moment, there was a calming presence. A whole new world was opening up like a vortex, swallowing the both of you…

Into a whole new universe.

“(Y/N)-chan! Wait up!”

“Oh? Ochaco-chan!”

The brown-haired girl catches up to you, holding on to your arm as she catches her breath. “Can you believe it’s our first day in UA!?”

“I can’t believe it either!” You giggle along with her, taking in the sight that was the top hero academy of Japan.

It was finally the month of April.

The Cherry blossoms were blooming, symbolizing a time of renewal, a time for change and a time to turn over a new leaf.

Today is your first day in UA Academy.

You still haven’t even grasped the fact that you even got in the first place.

Everything still feels so surreal.

The entrance exams and the excitement you felt whilst waiting for the results to release and now, you were about to step foot into the school of your dreams?

What an amazing start to your high school life indeed.

You and Ochaco were standing in the middle of the walkway, still in awe of all the pretty sights when someone bumped into you.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going!” You called out.

No response.

You turn to take a good look at the person who knocked against you and it was… a guy.

Blonde. Spiky Hair. Hand in his Pockets. Earphones on. His pants worn loose.

God, what a dork.

“It’s alright (Y/N)-chan! He probably didn’t hear us.” Ochaco assured you, trying to pull you away from him before you could even start a fight.

You sighed, turning to your friend with a smile. “Fine. Fineee. Shall we head to class?”

“Class 1-A! Here we go!” She holds onto your arm once more as the both of you giggle and hop your way into the classroom.

“Ochaco-chan! What are you saying!? You do know I got sorted into a different class right? I’m in Class 1-B!”

“A-ah! You’re right! I’m sorryyyy (Y/N)-chan!”

Bakugo turns his head to look back at your animated figure walking behind him. He stares at you for a good second whilst readjusting the earphone on his left ear, as he too, heads on his way to his Class 1-A.

There is something so delicate about time, so fragile. In a slight moment, you can miss something so pivotal, yet never have the chance to see or witness it ever again.

Feeling the presence of the person you would be spending the rest of your life with, joining the dots in the sky, and wondering when your stars would align.

Until then, you will dream of him, and he will do the same.

It was only a matter of time. You will cross paths again.

[❝ until I find the one where you’ll return to me.❞ ]

- Fin.

ೃ taglist: @chibishae34 @sparkykatsuki @ramunegoddess, @serossimpy @drinktheramune

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