#an attempt at a sonnet that didn’t work out as such

[friendsoup]

Could I perhaps request Dikke/Tennant with a reader who’s overly emotional/burnt out and cries a lot? (Currently happening to me and they’re like my comfort characters) thank you in advance 🫶🏻

Your Strength

Recipe: Dikke's can be read as romantic or platonic, Tennant's can be platonic if you squint, GN! Reader, Reader is called beautiful (many times), my dove and love, Both Tennant and Dikke are bad with genuine emotions, But they both Really Really care about You, Comfort fic, Shamelessly Indulgent WC: 1,998 (SO CLOSE) Chef's Note: AHHH I tried to get to this one as quickly as I could!!! I hope it's in time to make you feel better, anon :[!!!! Hopefully my work can brighten your day, at least a little bit :]! As always, thank you for the request!

Dikke has never been “in tune” with her emotions. Emotions were something strange and distant to her, they came and went as they pleased, leaving her feeling empty in their absence. To some, she came across as apathetic. That wasn’t exactly true, though. Her emotions simply never reached her face, despite how fiercely they roared in her chest. She could never quite tell how she was feeling. Though she could list symptoms of an emotion, she was never quite able to put a name to it, no matter how hard she tried.

The emotions of others were worse. She knew the basics. A frown meant sadness, a raised voice meant anger. But human emotion had so many intricate working pieces, an entire depth to them she couldn’t begin to understand. Sometimes a frown was meant jokingly. Sometimes a raised voice meant excitement. These little things made Dikke’s head spin.

So when you came into her room, and curled yourself into a ball on her bed, she didn’t know what to do.

The two of you had been seeing each other for quite some time now. Dikke didn’t put any labels on the relationship, and you didn’t mind that as long as you could keep her company. She was a strong shoulder to cry on, and though she was hesitant and awkward with your crying fits, you could always tell she cared.

Initially, Dikke didn’t look up from her blade. You entering her room was not a special event, you did this often regardless of how you felt. She greeted you, then continued to polish her sword, her eyes transfixed on it’s silver gleam. 

When you didn’t respond, a pang of worry hit her. Even at your worst, you always managed to mutter a hello.

She spoke your name softly, turning to you to gauge a reaction. When you did not move from your spot on the bed, her heart began to race. What had happened to you? Were you okay? Had she done something wrong? Had someone hurt you?

She spoke your name again, louder this time, worry dripping from her voice. 

Again, you did not respond.

Dikke put her blade down, discarding it on her desk without much thought. Her mind could not comprehend anything other than panicked thoughts about you. She stood, cautiously moving over to where you sat. 

She didn’t know what to do. Emotions were something so vague and strange to her. It killed her inside, but she knew she wasn’t best suited for the job. She was a hero of justice, meant to serve harsh judgements. She was never meant to be soft or kind or comforting. It wasn’t in her nature.

Hesitantly, Dikke reached out a hand, placing it on your shoulder. You shook beneath her touch, fighting back every emotion in your body. Dikke gave your shoulder a squeeze, as other knights had once done for her. 

“I’m no poet.” Dikke began, slowly scooching towards you. “I cannot sing you ballads of your beauty, nor write sonnets declaring my love.” She was sitting shoulder to shoulder with you now, her hand still resting on your arm. “I could try, if that’s what you wanted, but my voice was not built for anything but battle cries, and my rhymes would all come across as cheap.” When her words gained no reaction, she sighed. Usually, her attempts at jokes gained some sort of smile from you. “But, as a soldier, I can tell you how strong you are.” Her gaze settles on something far in the distance, her shoulders sinking, as if under some heavy weight. “I have seen only a fraction of the things you battle. I know only what you’ve shared with me, and the things we have fought together. Some, you will tell me with time. Others, I will never know.” “And that is fine. I do not need to know the extent of your war to know the strength of your character. I have seen great men fall to what you are fighting. Their minds unable to handle the stress their heart gives. You hold so much love, that it is painful to keep it all in your chest.” You lift your head, trying to form some sort of argument, but Dikke does not leave room for an answer. “Your love takes different forms,” She tells you, “Grief, guilt, anger. You torture yourself with the burdens of others. You try to carry the weight of the world, then grow frustrated when your shoulders grow sore, and your legs weak. You are not Atlas, my dove.” Her eyes flutter over to you, catching yours. “Some things are out of your control. Some things, you do not have to carry.”

“...But I do.” You argue, the words coming out too quick. “If I don’t care, nobody will. I need to prove myself worthy.” You sputter. Warm tears race quickly from the corners of your eyes, staining your cheeks.

“Worthy of what?” Dikke asks, her eyebrows drawn up in concern. “Of life. Of love. Of everything I’ve been given.” You can’t control your sobs now, they escape your lips, leaving you shuttering. “I need to make up for the fact that I exist.”

In one swift movement, Dikke pulls you to her lap. She wraps her arms around you, and you can feel her strength in her embrace. She doesn’t squeeze you hard, just enough to provide pressure. You can tell she’s holding back, as if worried she’ll break you.

“Please don’t say such cruel things to the person I love.” She begged, burying her face in your hair. “Please, be kind to them.” You were unable to say anything now, clinging onto Dikke with an intense desperation. You sobbed into her, unable to pull yourself together again. It was as if something inside you had broken, and now everything was pouring out. For so long you’d managed to keep yourself upright, yet Dikke had managed to destroy any wall you’d put up around yourself.

The two of you stayed there, tangled in each other for an hour. You, crying, and Dikke, muttering lovely words into your ear. Eventually, you grew tired, and fell asleep in her arms. Dikke was exhausted as well, yet she didn’t want to let go of you just yet.

Collapsing onto her bed, she cuddled into you, holding you tighter than she’d ever had before.

Your Beauty

“Genuine” had never been Tennant’s style.

She was a conwoman, who always got what she wanted from her clients. She used any tactic necessary to reach into their pockets. She’d been a lover, a mother, a friend, and an advisor to a wide variety of people. Never did she mean a word she said. It was all a game to her, her prize being the end goal. She didn’t care how she won it, in the end. As long as it was hers.

If you had been another noble lady, appearing on her doorstep in tears, she would have whisked you inside and poured you a glass of red wine. She would listen to your woes, but no matter their contents, she’d have the same solution. Treat yourself with diamonds, wear something nice to fight off the sadness. Show him how much you’re really worth by donning something shiny and expensive. By the end of the night, you would have been under her spell, and deep in her debt. But you were far from a noble lady.

Tennant had no idea how to act around you. She’d been a conning for so long, she forgot how to forge a connection with another human being. So, she treated you the only way she knew how. Soft flirting and batting eyelashes, wrapping you in her arms, but never staying long. The only difference between you and a client, is that she kept her free hand out of your wallet.

So when you showed up on her doorstep in tears, she had no idea what to do. Her mind instantly went to how she could bend the situation to gain your trust, which she hated, as she wasn’t trying to earn anything from you. Yet she didn’t know how to act in anyone else’s benefit. She was completely lost, trying to find some small glimpse of humanity in her heart.

She spoke your name once, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. Her touch was light, almost as if she was afraid, as she gently pushed you into her room. “What happened?” She asked, casually. You took a seat on her couch, trying your hardest to muster any words. “It’s so much…” Was all you could say, between choking on sobs and sputters.

Tennant hummed, putting a kettle on heat. As long as she had something to do with her hands, she figured, you wouldn’t see how nervous she really was.

“I’m making tea.” She told you, no question if you wanted it or not. “I’ll make it sweet, for you.” She winked towards your direction.

When her flirt made no difference in your behavior, she grimaced. It was the only thing she knew how to do in this situation. How else was she supposed to get across that she wanted you to be okay? The two of you sat in relative silence. Her, fidgeting with the tea. And you, sobbing on the couch. Eventually, the kettle sang, and Tennant made a glass for both you and herself. Forcing a smirk back onto her lips.

She placed the tea cup down in front of you, and began to drink from her own. The warm cup bringing some comfort during this uneasy interaction. You sniffled, trying to pull back your tears for long enough to drink. When you managed through a shaky breath, you picked up the cup and began to drink. Tennant was right, she did make the tea sweet for you. It was the perfect amount, however. Not enough to rot your teeth, but enough to taste nice. The tea warmed the both of you, making it easy to find some tranquility. When you’d both finished your cups, the two of you sat there, unable to find any words.

You sniffled again, rubbing your sleeve over your nose. You were out of breath, your eyes red with tears, and your entire body shaking with emotional exhaustion. Tennant watched you, observing you closely. This was a private moment, she realized with great alarm. You did not show this face to just anyone. This was you at your lowest, at your most emotional. You were showing her something special, these were not just some pretty tears in order to gain sympathy. 

“You’re beautiful.” She said, without realizing the words were escaping her lips. Her eyes were wide, watching you with great admiration. 

“Right now?” You questioned. “I highly doubt it.” You almost laughed, confused by her sudden change in demeanor.

“Are you kidding?” Tennant spoke, suddenly breathless. “This is the most beautiful I’ve ever seen you.” Your face grew hot at the attention, as you focused on fidgeting with your hands. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” You argued. 

Tennant shook her head, reaching forward for your cheek. She guided it gently, until the two of you were locking eyes. “Right now, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. More than diamonds, more than gold. You are a work of art, brilliant and bold. You are something to be marveled at.” “You have me at a loss. I don’t know if I want to keep this expression all for myself, or display your true beauty to the world.” Tennant’s gaze was so intense, you felt yourself melting underneath it. “Your tears are worth diamonds, I can only imagine what worth a genuine smile from your lips would bring.”

You looked away, the ends of your lips quirking up from the compliments. Tennant gasped, dragging a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Better than I could have ever imagined. Priceless.” She whispered.

[soleired]

Wind’s embrace (Angst One-shot)

Content: venti x y/n (gender neutral)  Warning: angst with no comfort, infidelity, mentions of alcohol. Note: This is my first time writing fanfiction, so any suggestions are more than welcome.

As long as you could remember you’ve always found comfort in the wind. A gentle caress on the cheek, a cool salvation in the summer, and a warning bearer before the impending storm. It was your eternal companion, leaping with your heart as you gazed at your lover on that midsummer field. And just like the wind he sang to you. His bright voice relays sonnets of centuries lost, of prevailing myths, and eternal love. His love. So attuned to his words, you didn’t notice the melody growing scarce.

This evening was drenched in melancholy familiarity, no different from the night before. Sitting in the nest of pillows, you hungrily welcomed the warmth from the fireplace. Little ambers dancing by you to tear your attention from the book on your lap. It wasn’t a difficult endeavour, your mind had been elsewhere for some time now.

“Probably at Angel’s Share.” You pondered your lover’s whereabouts.

At the start of your relationship, you expressed to Venti that despite your companionship you would not take away his freedom. He wasn’t a stranger to travels and you were no stranger to lonely nights, but he always came back. At least he did.

It’s been 2 weeks since he vanished without a word, slipping from your shared bed into the night. Your anticipation had long melted to worry, and that worry to rage.

Your musing was interrupted by a creak from the window, cold air rushing in, aggravating the fire beside you.

“Ven?” You whispered.

“It’s me.” He replied after pausing for a second. “I’ve been gone for a while ehe, sorry about that y/n”

Countless thoughts raced through your head. ‘Where have you been?’, ‘Why didn’t you contact me?’, ‘Are you hurt?’. But they all came to a halt when you saw his eyes. His gorgeous, anguished eyes.

Stumbling over the pillows, you inched closer. “You’re sober. Who are you and what did you do to Venti?” You half jested. Seeking answers on his face while simultaneously attempting to lighten the mood. He didn’t move an inch. Avoiding your eyes like the plague.

The anguish that had built up was resurfacing anew. You clenched your jaw, taking longer strides to reach him. Before you could utter another question, he carefully spoke.

“Y/n I..I have a confession to make. Please believe me when I say that this isn’t your fault.”

Your mind went silent and so did the world.

“Do you remember, a few weeks ago, I went out to try the Angel’s Share new wine speciality? Well, let’s just say it was much stronger than I anticipated and….”

“Go on.” You urged, feeling your patience slipping out of your grasp.

“And I lost my sense of judgment, and uh, as a result…I ..broke your trust..”

No.

No no no.

Please no.

“Y/N I’m so sorry. Please, I didn’t mean to go with her, but I couldn’t think straight in my drunken state. She didn’t mean anything to me, I swear!” He started pleading, your silence only raising the urgency in his voice.

“It took you 2 weeks to tell me this..” You uttered to yourself.

“I didn’t know how to face you.” He stepped closer, trying to take your hand as you rejected all advancements.

“Why did you...But… I trusted you!” Tears began obscuring your vision. “Every time you left, I waited! I waited and trusted you and you did this?” You grimaced further, hating how your voice broke. “Did I do something wrong? Were you bored of me?” You didn’t relent, interrupting his rebuttals after a second of consideration. “Aren’t you a God? Do Gods even get drunk?”

His silence was all the answers you needed.

“Leave.” You stated.

“Y/N please, I can’t fix this, we can work through this, I’m truly sorry, I am! I-”

“Leave my home, and don’t come back” You stated louder, fearing that your resolve would crumble if he stayed a moment longer. And so, after a pause, he left. Leaving the living room window ajar as you saw him for the last time.

The wind has never felt so hollow before.

[mydictionary-yume]

Lu has a new story now wheeeeee

Pre-story

-In her past, Lu has done a lot in dance and the theater, all the way up to her adolescence. She’s had the opportunity to take her skills to a professional level, but decided against it.

-This is because, during her last year of middle school into her first year of high school, Lu struggled a lot with a severe depression. She can’t find the motivation to get up, much less attend her new school. Each day is a struggle, and she doesn’t know how to fix it.

-Eventually, she works up the motivation and energy to attend school for the first time in weeks.

-When walking home that day, she hears someone shouting from the riverbank.

-Looking down, she finds a red-headed boy around her age, shouting lines from what appeared to be a script in his hand. His delivery was stiff and choppy, but the passion was surely there. She decided to stay a bit, just to watch.

-Soon enough, this became a habit of hers once she started working her way up to attending school regularly. She’d stay back to watch the boy, though she could never work up the courage to approach and give him advice. Just watching was enough, and he’d always leave with a friend or two afterward, apparently staying at their place often.

-Lu couldn’t help but wonder why… did he not have a place to come back to?

Prologue

-Lu’s habit of coming to watch these clunky performances suddenly took a strange turn.

-The pieces he read became a bit less classical, with a hastily stapled packet replacing his usual book of Shakespeare, and awkward dialogue about a girl he liked at school replacing the sonnets.

-There was no longer variety to the scripts, with this one being recited over and over again, and it was starting to kill her.

-It was a shame she left before she could see him leave to a home of his own.

Act 1

-At the start of the fresh spring of her second year, Lu found the boy, who she now started to know as Sakuya, performing by the riverbank again, though this time he wasn’t alone.

-Beside him was a new classmate of her’s, a boy that many of the girls in her grade wouldn’t stop telling her about: Usui Masumi. It was strange to find that he liked theater, too.

-The rehearsal was mostly Sakuya’s work, with Masumi chiming in with his own line once in a while. It was a well-written script this time, though some plot points were a bit clumsy and amateurish.

-Even still, she watched a bit before finishing her walk home, scurrying away once Masumi’s purple eyes glanced up to find hers.

Act 2

-Lu manages to find a place in Hanasaki, joining the newly-formed theater club. It was strange to find that neither Sakuya nor Masumi were at the auditions. They were fans of theater, right?

-Over the summer break, she finds herself part of the club’s production of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” though an abridged version for the school’s festival.

-While attempting to memorize lines in her home, her eyes caught on a group of five boys and a woman packing into the car of the abandoned Mankai dorms next door. That was strange. She didn’t remember the place ever having residents, much less people who would leave the place often.

-When she peeked out the window to get a closer look, she nearly jumped when she saw her classmates seeing off the group, with Sakuya giving an enthusiastic wave, while Masumi was being held back by a sandy-haired boy. Lu couldn’t remember ever seeing Masumi this angry.

-Seriously, though, what was it that was going on over there?

Act 3

-The Hanasaki Academy theater club puts on their first show at the festival!

-It’s generally well-received, with many people showing up in the audience, and several students congratulating and praising Lu for her work.

-Among those students are the leaders of the school’s dance club, offering her a position on the team, to which she happily agrees.

-Lu had to admit, she missed performing more than she thought.

-Another one of the audience members was a certain bright-eyed, red-haired boy, who was surprised to find his very own audience member up on the stage, pouring her heart into the show.

Act 4

-Lu couldn’t help but wonder if she still had the skills to continue her craft professionally, like what she was offered all those years ago.

-One day, when passing by the Mankai Theater while out with her new friends, a certain flyer caught her eye.

-“Auditions open: Looking for male actors for Spring Troupe, no experience necessary.”

-Lu glanced herself over in the glass of the ticket booth. Maybe she could pass…

Act 5-8

-(yes I’m combining them shut UP)

-No matter what she does, Lu can’t seem to find a date for the auditions, and new rookie members of the company kept popping up. Did they even hold the audition in the first place?

-That said, she does find Sakuya advertising the Spring Troupe’s latest show when she’s walking home, and takes a flier. It did seem interesting…

-She attends! The Wonderful Charlatan of Oz was so much more than what she was expecting, and she couldn’t be more blown away by the fact that the boy with the shaky acting skills she used to watch after school every day had evolved so much.

-After the company’s last performance of the season, Le Fantome de L’Opera, a new flier hung on the theater’s door, “Auditions open: Looking for male actors in Spring Troupe ensemble, no experience necessary. February 17.”

-A date? Was this one real?

-She decided to check it out.

-The day arrived, though not without extensive preparation.

-Lu had played some male roles in the past and often danced as a man because of her height, so passing as a guy for the audition wouldn’t be too hard, right? It was hard to hide her voice, but everything else was easy enough.

-She didn’t expect to actually get in.

-When she came to the dorms for the cast meeting in her usual twintails, the director looked as if she had seen a ghost.

-After explaining herself, with Masumi noting that she was in his class, Izumi made the decision to keep her as a part of the troupe, though she’d have to mainly perform as a man.

-Of course, once she was out of her disguise, Sakuya recognized her as well, greeting her as she did the same.

In between

-Lu and Sakuya find themselves bonding over their shared love of acting and performing, and get closer and closer as they do.

-Slowly but surely, feelings start to develop between the two of them, though they’re both unsure of what to do with them just yet.

-This is where the Masu-Lu fic, Azu-Lu fic, Saku-Ten fic, and finally the confession fic take place.

-The timeline here is around the time of Harugaoka Quartet

-All of my other fics up to now take place in this time period as well.

Act 9-10

-Lu graduated from Hanasaki! Yay!

-She chose to go to Amabi University, double majoring in both theater and dance, as she couldn’t pick just one. The work is hard, but she has full confidence in herself to achieve her dreams!

-She also moved out from her mother’s house, and now lives in the Amabi dorms with her roommate, Kenta.

-Lu decided to take on a part-time job as well, picking up a position at a small coffee shop near God-za’s theater.

-During the act-offs, she works more behind the scenes for Stray Devil Blues, but plays an ensemble role during Immortal Crow.

Act 11-12

-Not much happens for Lu in Act 11 wwwwww sorry queen

-In Act 12 some stuff does happen tho

-When the theater burns down, she has a little no Mankai AU thingy.

-Lu shakily exhaled as she left the office, trying not to cry. She didn’t think she’d find the courage to do it, but she did.

-She dropped the theater course.

-It only made sense, after all. Doing both of the majors at the same time was starting to get to her, and theater was leaving a bitter taste in her mouth recently. She hadn’t improved since high school, and even if she managed to reach that dream of staying onstage, she wouldn’t be able to make a living off of it. That was just the fact of the matter. It wasn’t a good idea, and it wasn’t stable.

-She’d just keep dancing, hoping that she could somewhat carry on that dream through educating the next generation, even if it felt fake.

-Of course, she had found a crowd in the dance department, and she was having fun, but there seemed to be something missing. Something just wasn’t clicking. It’s not like she could change that.

-Ok angsty part over.

-When Sakuya goes on his little solo expedition, the two decide to not talk during it for the sake of authenticity for the role.

-It was hard to say goodbye, even for just a bit, but they managed to make it work.

-One day, Lu couldn’t take it. It had been two weeks since she had last spoken to him, and she wanted to know if he was really okay. She wanted to know he was safe and happy. That he was okay without his family for a bit. Hell, that he was even alive.

-Like, yeah, of course she knew he was fine on his own, he was an adult after all, but she couldn’t help herself.

-She picked up her phone, dialed his number, and waited. Surprisingly, it didn’t take long for him to pick up.

-He had been crying. She could hear it in his voice. Apparently Izumi had called him just a moment ago, and he talked to her about his experience since arriving in Hokkaido. She asked him to retell what had happened, listening intently to every word, even as the tears spilled over once more.

-When he comes back and everything is sorted, she serves as an ensemble part of the aliens in Last Planet. (In part 1, she’s also a part of the space police because i said so)

Later on…

-These two do eventually get married and have a daughter, along with a silly orange cat named Mikke.

-Their daughter’s name is Hana! She’s very scrungly and has her own story with her parents that I may or may not release

-That’s it for now! Stuff might be updated later on, but yeah!

-also i haven’t read all of act 12 so please let me know if anything’s inaccurate

[ailendolin]

careful care: Thomas and Francis

I'm so sorry it took me almost two months to post this, anon. I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Warnings: this ficlet deals with a character being forced to write with his right hand even though he's left-handed.

Next up:

Speechless: [Julian] can’t talk because of a sore throat.

Right as rain: [Thomas] says they’re fine right before collapsing.

Bed bargain: [Isabelle] won’t stay in bed. [Thomas] convinces them.

Ask Games are here & here. Filled prompts are here & here on AO3.

————

Ink and Blood

Careful care: it’s hard for [Thomas] to accept help. [Francis] knows which care methods are “acceptable”. 

“Oh my poor, dear cousin.”

Thomas glanced up at Francis through blurry eyes. “Leave me alone.”

“None of that now,” Francis tutted and pulled up a chair to sit next to him. He looked down at Thomas’s hand which was tied to the back of his chair. “I told you this would happen, didn’t I?”

Almost petulantly, Thomas pulled against the rope. It cut into his wrist, aggravating the tender skin, but did not loosen. He sniffed. “I don’t see what’s so bad about writing with my left hand. Everyone always complains that my penmanship is illegible but it wouldn’t be if they allowed me to write properly.”

Francis gave him a long hard look before he sighed in a way that made Thomas think he was a nuisance that Francis was forced to suffer. “You can learn to write properly with your right hand too if you would only put your mind to it and not give up after a few tries, cousin.”

“It’s been more than just a few tries,” Thomas argued, feeling that Francis was being unfair. He held up his right hand to show his cousin the dark ink stains on his wrist and shirt cuff. “I’ve been trying for years – you know I have – and it’s not working! My hand still starts cramping after a few minutes and I end up making a mess of things.”

With that, he pushed one of his pathetic attempts of copying Shakespeare’s sonnets across the table in Francis’s direction. Francis glanced down at it, carefully keeping his face neutral but Thomas could tell by the twitching of his lips that he was trying very hard not to laugh. Something that felt a lot like betrayal settled heavily in his gut.

“You need to be patient, Thomas,” Francis said at last, sounding more than a little condescending. “And keep practising.”

Thomas groaned in frustration and slumped in his chair. The rope tugged painfully at the raw skin around his wrist. “You’re no help at all.”

This time, Francis did laugh. “Oh chin up, cousin. You’re not the first child who has to relearn how to write and you certainly won’t be the last. Many have managed it before you – with practise,” he stressed again and pointedly picked up the quill Thomas had begun to loathe. He held it out to him and nodded encouragingly.  

With a sigh, Thomas took it and tried again. He was barely two words in before he had to stop and shake out his hand.

“I’ll never be a great poet like this,” he whispered dejectedly.

“Nor will you ever catch the eye of a lady if you keep grumbling instead of writing,” Francis said dryly. “Go on, back to Shakespeare and no more complaints until you’ve reached the end of the page.”

Thomas eventually learned to write just as elegantly and precisely with his right hand as he did with his left. It hadn’t turned him into a better poet and it certainly hadn’t been enough to make Isabelle love him but it had stopped his tutor from complaining and his parents from looking at him with disappointment and disapproval written all over their faces. Thomas had tried to tell himself that that was enough but every time he absentmindedly rubbed at the old scar on his wrist, hidden under the bloodied cuff of his shirt, he was reminded of a time when ink had stained that sleeve and hand and he had not yet known what betrayal and heartbreak felt like.

[amplifyme]

I'm back-- catching up over this stop-and-start weekend~. ;)))

A Time To Heal: Diana immediately paying for help, hiding Vincent’s from the cemetery man's scrutiny, and taking him back to her place to doctor him. Looking in his eyes, listening to his heartbeat, staring into his face-- reversing the role Vincent played for Catherine, falling for him the way he fell for Cathy. (Interesting how he shifts between Vincent and Buster in different shots-- darker shadows, darker hair, etc.) I’m still obsessed with her mannerisms and style and personality and apartment-- you could say I’m a biiiiiiiig fan.  

Father realizing their isolation could not ultimately protect; and Mary’s rote “love” statement holds no water when one man is alone. (Except Vincent is not alone, heeheheheheh, and love does have sway where he is, hehehehehehehh.) And I think that’s what I was trying to tickle and tease out of Father’s character: he doesn’t send Vincent away because he does not trust him; he lets Vincent go because he does trust him-- but he does not trust the world, the mercurial side of Vincent’s Other, the inhuman side of humanity. He wants to shield his son from those things; but those things always find a person on their journey to become a man or woman (what happened to Cathy in S1 E1, for instance. What happened to Diana in a good way this episode.) 

Diana’s Diary-- the first time we hear her thoughts! (OCTOBER 10-- that’s just a month away, cool.) “I found Vincent…. The thought of him is too great to hold in my head.” Genius writing for this scene (and also, NAN, YOU GENIUS.) 

Running in as Vincent goes berzerk, her initial raw fear, checking her gun, sitting up longer and longer waiting, watching him cry in his sleep, and finally falling asleep. Mark in and out. Vincent wakes up, asks if she’s Catherine, then falls back asleep. Diana pulling out the gun again. Vincent waking and breaking her door and collapsing again. Diana starting her vigilance again, gun still in hand. Vincent finally waking, fully present. Both he and Diana staring at each other, spooked. Diana finally putting down the gun. Diana offering him help just as he falls asleep again. Closing down her evidence wall, putting her gun away, keeping a more understanding watch. Vincent watching her in return. Both staring at each other. 

Vincent and Diana’s first conversation. He recognizes her from the tunnels, she calls him by his name. Both of them in ripped clothes and messy hair and utter truthfulness. Diana giving him back the book of sonnets and quoting the last piece for her, triggering panic in Vincent. The words living in Vincent’s heart; and allowing Diana to tuck him back in. The path to healing finally opening up. 

Mouse won’t let Vincent be alone. He and Brooke finding him gone. Mouse’s heartbreak. The council meeting. Father spurred on by Mouse’s ignoble intent, rising to action to try to save his son (The Outsiders and the Paracelsus episodes come to mind.) 

Joe confronting Diana over leaving the case. Joe sniffing out her reticence and calling her on her lies. 

Vincent finding Diana’s work wall. “Half truths and shadows”, “Maybe.” Diana penetrating the minds of other people and being afraid of what she finds; and Vincent asking/realizing she was trying to spare him from himself, even if perhaps she didn’t know it. “There was no imagining me”, and Diana agreeing. 

FATHER GETTING IN A CAB WITH JOE MAXWELL. I DID NOT SEE THIS COMING. Poor Joe: giveth and taketh away. 

Vincent: “She led me from the darkness. She sacrificed everything. And I let her die.” Diana reasoning with his guilt and parrying his rationalizations and excuses. “Vincent, what you had with Catherine. I could only imagine what it would be like…” followed up by his “I can only remember.” 

Joe is back and repeating his and Diana’s first meeting; and Joe rambles about Jacob’s meeting while she stonewalls his attempts to reel her back in. Maxwell stooping to threatening and maneuvering to keep Diana on the case. I was waiting for this moment since reading about his confrontation with Vincent over little Jacob in Nan’s AWTN-- oh BOY, here we go. 

Diana’s life keeps falling apart, also including Mark-- remarking on her distance and “glimpses” before breaking up with her. Another journal entry. ‘His sadness… it’s carried over into me.” (NAN, YOU GENIUS.) Packing away the case and wandering Below (and not bringing the wall chunk with her.) 

Vincent dipping (of course) back Below and reuniting with Father. Father’s been preparing for his worst fears and Vincent’s sorry. Vincent reminiscing on the moral of the story with Father like he used to do with Catherine. Father listening to the music in the water like Catherine “taught” Vincent to do with the wind. Never having dreamed about Vincent’s child; Father losing any reservation with reflection; “so let nothing stop you, Vincent. Nothing” is a loaded statement.  

Diana getting attacked and Vincent saving her and immediately insisting it’s not his fault despite enacting the exact same circumstances he had to live over and over with Cathy. Sidestepping that unsolvable issue (and knowing how best to attack an argument), Diana switches to insisting he will fail if he continues alone, then reinforces he is not  responsible for her. “She was my world-- but I could not protect her from everything.” Diana insisting “I’m not Catherine.” Vincent refusing her help even as he sees her feelings. “Remember me as you would a dream.”

A theory concerning the bond: does the bond tie Vincent to the people who need him the most-- Cathy, for example; and did it break because she'd saved him; but a piece of that protection connected him to their helpless son? And because Diana saved him, it didn’t mark her, too? Just a random thought with no real oomph to it; but it'll keep me entertained as the series continues to develop~.

Parallels I've noticed between Diana and Vincent's other love interests: She, like Cathy and Lena, fell for Vincent before ever seeing his face. On a more Nan pertinent layer, Diana and Lena’s parallels go one layer deeper: they both fell in love with his face and his eyes and his hands the first time they met, and sat at his bedside. The difference is Diana already knows him-- feels him before they even met, still keeps a healthy distance even after first meeting him-- whereas Lena erases all distance and caution (as did Cathy, really.)

Now that I’ve lightly touched on fleeting parallels, I of course have to touch on their differences: Diana is shaken, not charmed or animated or enraptured or handwaving about Vincent’s brutality (like Cathy, like Lena in AWTN); and yet, she recovers and doesn’t let that shadow her view of Vincent, like Lisa did. She does not embrace that side of Vincent (like Cathy subconsciously did, like Father gave Vincent license to do in this episode) but she does not deny it, either (like Lisa and Cathy-- consciously-- did.) And immediately her priority was how affected Vincent was from the experience-- “It wasn’t your fault”-- while letting him know she felt the full gravitas of the moment. Exquisite~. 

As a closing question, do you know the origins of the characters' names Above and Below? I was running amok with Father’s quote from the previous episode (“greater love hath no man than this”) as it came seemingly out of left field (though it shouldn't have, really); and tied it over to the biblical/Torah Jacob who was made lame because of an injured hip. Wondered if his name was on purpose or just something I’m overthinking. :DDDDD And I'd be curious whatever the answer(s) is!

*rubbing my hands together*

A Time to Heal. Oh, how I love you so!

"I got sixty-two dollars." Probably the best money she's ever spent.

I loved that there is no hesitation once it sinks in that she's looking at Vincent. Protective mode switched on and she doesn't think twice.

Looking in his eyes, listening to his heartbeat, staring into his face-- reversing the role Vincent played for Catherine, falling for him the way he fell for Cathy.

The moment she lifts her head from his chest and just looks at him, taking in the enormity of what she's seeing? That's the moment she falls, and falls hard. She is so tender with him. The way she brushes his hair back from his face. The way she cleans him up. The way she gently lays his hand down after she's inspected it, and then places her hand on his for a moment. Both times she lays the comforter over him, she lightly touches his head. She's a good soul.

(Interesting how he shifts between Vincent and Buster in different shots-- darker shadows, darker hair, etc.)

Yes! I love the way Victor Lobl directed this one. He and Gus Trinkonis were wonderful directors.

I’m still obsessed with her mannerisms and style and personality and apartment-- you could say I’m a biiiiiiiig fan.  

How can you not love her? Are you beginning to see now why I say she is exactly what Vincent needs at this time in his life? The reasons will become even more clear as you go along. She is about as far from Cathy in outward appearance and way of life as one can get. And she has wonderful windows where Vincent can stand safely in the sunlight. 🥰

Father realizing their isolation could not ultimately protect; and Mary’s rote “love” statement holds no water when one man is alone. (Except Vincent is not alone, heeheheheheh, and love does have sway where he is, hehehehehehehh.)

Every time Father utters that line about love holding no sway where fate has taken Vincent, I yell at my TV, "You are so wrong!" 😁

I love the whole sequence of events as we experience "two people watching each other sleep." I love that when Vincent first regains consciousness, he thinks she's Cathy. Why would he think that if he doesn't already feel some level of familiarity and comfort from this presence walking toward him? Hmmm... And all she has to do is tell him he's safe and she's there to help and he takes her at her word.

I love the match dissolve from Diana watching over a sleeping V in the darkness to him being awake and watching her sleep in the light.

Vincent and Diana’s first conversation. He recognizes her from the tunnels, she calls him by his name. Both of them in ripped clothes and messy hair and utter truthfulness. Diana giving him back the book of sonnets and quoting the last piece for her, triggering panic in Vincent. The words living in Vincent’s heart; and allowing Diana to tuck him back in. The path to healing finally opening up. 

He just trusts her right off the bat, doesn't he? Spills his guts to her and then wonders if maybe he's said too much. And then insisting that she not get involved, even though she's already neck-deep in this thing. He wants to keep her safe, God love him. ❤️

Did you note that when he returns Below and Father asks him where he's been, all he says is "Healing." He's very stingy with any details about where and with whom he was healing. Almost like he wants to keep her a secret from Father.

Oh, and the conversation about her work wall and Vincent asking, "You were trying to spare me from myself?" which by his tone translates to me as, "You think I don't know what I am or the things I've done?" and the way she immediately pulls the drape back. There's no room for empty politeness between them, only brutal facts. That's something he never would've dreamed of doing with Cathy. Or even with Father, in an earlier time.

“There was no imagining me”, and Diana agreeing. 

Just my humble opinion, but she absolutely imagined him. Maybe not the details, but the uniqueness of him, certainly.

Diana getting attacked and Vincent saving her and immediately insisting it’s not his fault despite enacting the exact same circumstances he had to live over and over with Cathy.

And just how did he know she was in danger, hmm? I love how she told him it wasn't his fault and made it very clear to him that she's not Catherine - she can take care of herself. She's not looking for his protection.

A theory concerning the bond: does the bond tie Vincent to the people who need him the most

I've never considered that angle, but I wouldn't give it too much thought. As far as we know, the only true empathic bond we've seen was with Catherine, and later Jacob. When it comes to everyone else, he isn't bonded with them, not in that spooky way he was with Catherine. He's just able to pick up on feelings and emotions when people are close, especially within touching distance. And he's also working with a injured huncher right now, so what he senses probably isn't as acute as it normally is. But there's definitely something developing between him and Diana - maybe because she's an empath too.

Diana is shaken, not charmed or animated or enraptured or handwaving about Vincent’s brutality (like Cathy, like Lena in AWTN); and yet, she recovers and doesn’t let that shadow her view of Vincent, like Lisa did. She does not embrace that side of Vincent (like Cathy subconsciously did, like Father gave Vincent license to do in this episode) but she does not deny it, either (like Lisa and Cathy-- consciously-- did.) And immediately her priority was how affected Vincent was from the experience-- “It wasn’t your fault”-- while letting him know she felt the full gravitas of the moment. Exquisite~. 

I could not have said it any better. You nailed it.

As a closing question, do you know the origins of the characters' names Above and Below?

I don't think that was ever brought up or discussed, but there do seem to be a lot of tunnel folks with biblical names. And I suspect Diana was named with the goddess of the hunt in mind, and Gabriel for the archangel. And of course Vincent means "conqueror." Beyond that, you're free to come up with your own fanon for the names.

Sorry I didn't weigh in on much of the other happenings in this ep. that you mentioned. I share a good deal of your thoughts and speculations and wonder at the episode. But for me, ATTH is all about Vincent & Diana and their immediate and strong connection. Their trust in each other and her instant protectiveness of V, even when it means putting her position with the NYPD in danger.

If there's anything else you would like me to weigh in on here, just let me know.

[sayoneee]

☆ LOVE

ponyboy is kind of obsessed with you (0.4k)

contains : ponyboy curtis x nb! reader. he's mean (kind of)

kashaf’s note : dedicated to someone who doesnt have tumblr,,

HERE’S THE THING: he was neither a poet nor a writer, no matter how desperately he wished he was. but despite not being capable of writing you the sonnets you dreamed of, maybe there was a way he could string together the adequate words to describe you.

you were his sun and moon; all of the stars combined could never even begin to compare to you. perhaps, that’s why, instead of gazing up at the constellations decorating the night sky in awe—like you were, beside him—he was gazing at you.

his name falling from your lips brings him back to reality again, and he can’t help but think about how the softness of your voice makes him melt as much as he wants to deny it. the poets would undoubtedly have a field day with him, he thinks dryly.

“can’t take your eyes off me, huh,” you comment with the faintest trace of laughter in your voice, turning him, “it’s almost like you’re in love with me or something.”

he could almost perfectly imagine your reaction if you knew your puerile words held some weight to them.

he struggles a minute too long to send a riposte back at you, and he’s sure you’ve noticed by the way your eyes widen by an imperceptible fraction.

“don’t flatter yourself, looking at your side profile makes me feel better about mine.” —he forced the words out a little too late and a little too rigidly but it’s not like it mattered. at least that’s what he tried to convince himself.

ponyboy curtis didn’t believe in love—it was just a scam created by card companies to make profit—but maybe falling in love with you wasn’t too dreadful.

not that he’d ever tell you, of course.

regardless, he wouldn’t have to. you’d figure it out in due course; that was something he admired about you—your observant nature, coupled with years of friendship, led to the point where you could read him like an open book.

“that’s an unconventional way to tell someone you like their face, y’know,” you laughed at him.

he’s struck speechless by you, though not for the first time. regardless, he still attempts to save face but fails miserably. the ever so present rosy flush settled across his face and stammering gave him away. and you grin at your effect on him.

“it’s fine though, i like your face too.”

he had underestimated you; you figured it out much sooner than he’d initially thought. nevertheless, he can’t exactly complain when you laugh as you lean up to kiss his cheek.

© sayoneee on tumblr. do not repost, translate, plagiarize or claim any of my works as your own.

[lavandermin]

if all stars fell at once (1) | xiao

pairing | xiao/reader

word count | 3k

genre | fluff, light angst, developing relationship, overall domestic

warning | eventual smut

The memory comes clear as the crystalline waters at the harbor. That day when rain poured mercilessly upon the land— the boy in a mask whose body trembled under an invisible burden. You remember the dark splotches on his body being washed away by downpour.

Blood.

Polearm supporting his body as it heaved, his face slowly turned to face you as an ominous dark mist accumulated around him. And when you blinked, it was as if he was never there; replaced by rain.

Whether it was the haze of sleepless nights getting to you or reality, you still had yet to know. Curiosity was fresh in your mind. His presence… though brief, held immense power and a tainted aura; enough to instill fear in the hearts of any who witnessed them. But you stood there, unwavering and eyes alight with awe and curiosity despite the rain that hailed mercilessly around you.

Weeks continued, and the image of the boy remained somewhere in your subconscious. Days came and went as your mind remained hazed, clouded with the fleeting memory.

The dark clouds overhead brought in strong winds; a sign of a storm rolling in. The laundry hanging outside would surely be swept away at this rate. Quick on your feet, you hurriedly pulled them off the clotheslines. Yet despite your efforts, a couple handkerchiefs you had embroidered were blown away by a harsh gust of wind.

“Ah…!” Despite your attempt, the wind plucked them out of reach. All you could do was helplessly watch as they were carried by devious winds further down the mountain.

Those were for… Ah, I guess I’ll have to redo those, you pondered anxiously. If they were all to be delivered in 3 days, you would have to stay up fairly late just to finish replacing them.

The candle light cracked and flickered as night crept over Liyue. No use stalling. With a sullen crack of your neck, you shut the windows and got to work. The relentless rain was your sole company as you worked through embroidering the replacements well into the night. Despite the nimbleness of experienced hands, numbness settled in after hours of working tirelessly to replace the delicately embroidered handkerchiefs. And with patterns and threads so intricate, they weren’t something you could rush.

The moon came and went that night, having accompanied you behind the storming clouds as it rained and ceased. Yet, late the next day when you returned from running errands, there upon your open windowsill were two neatly folded handkerchiefs safely held in place by a beautiful stone. You examined them— with no doubt, the ones that were swept away.

And as a breeze picked up once more, you didn’t dare look back but hoped the wind would carry your words to the deserving.

“Thank you.”

:

.

.

That was the first time in over a millennia that Xiao was thanked by a mortal for one of his many silent deeds.

———

Soft colors of fading blue and powdery orange iced the sky with the setting sun. You reminisced past memories fondly as you picked a few herbs from your personal garden. The day was slowly dwindling to a lethargic end, but the land ceased to fall into rest to savor most of what the day had to offer.

“Do you remember that, Adeptus Xiao?” you asked with a fond smile. It was met with silence for a moment before a voice spoke up from the roof of your house.

“So, you knew I was here. Mortals truly are something I cannot understand,” he clicked his tongue, shifting to get comfortable where he rested comfortably on your roof. “Or perhaps, it’s that our ties are too strong. Curious…” He pondered to himself, brows slightly furrowed as he contemplated.

With a stretch of your back you stood up, basket in hand. “I know my grandmother’s home is rather quiet here in Qingce Village, so I’ve noticed the roof has become a favorite spot of yours,” you observed with a small shrug he couldn’t see. “Call it a hunch.”

Though he wouldn’t admit it, Xiao knew your guess was right. With your home tucked furthest away at the top of the village, there were seldom any onlookers in the tranquil area. A perfect, stress-free corner for him to visit.

With a huff and trained grace, he hopped off the roof on playful winds and followed you indoors. There was still a cautious air about him but never the same as when you first met him all those months ago.

It seemed like you understood him more than he understood you sometimes, and it puzzled him to no end. Mortals were usually more predictable; working in routine and habits as he had seen of the many centuries that passed. Or… at least he thought. It was no secret that he found mortals to be indecipherable.

In the small kitchen, he was presented with an enticing dish that you laid out; his favorite, no doubt. “Here. I’m heading out to the harbor to run some last minute errands, but you’re welcome to stay here as long as you’d like,” you reassured him with a smile. “Thank you for keeping me company today.”

At your genuine, radiant smile, Xiao couldn’t help but avert his gaze shyly. Truthfully, it always caught him off guard to be thanked for such trivial things that were somehow meaningful to you.

Before you reached the front door, Xiao called out after you. “If you are out late, summon me— call my name. I will guide you safely home.” With firm reassurance, he held your gaze under piercing amber. “Promise me this. Do not be reckless.”

There was no fighting the grin that lit up your face. “You worry for me, Adeptus?” you teasingly prodded, and placed a quick peck on his cheek. “How unexpectedly cute of you.”

At the gesture, his eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his composure returned. Pensively, he folded his arms across his chest, and you swore he could practically be pouting.

“The safety of Liyue is my duty as an adeptus. As a tool to be used, and nothing more.”

There was a brief sorrow reflected in your eyes, and before Xiao had a chance to address it, you were hurriedly giving your final goodbyes with your usual warm energy.

“I promise I’ll be safe.”

Left to himself, he accepted your gifted offering of almond tofu. I love the way your eyes practically sparkle when you take that first bite, you once teased.

The memory picked up the thrumming in his chest— uncertainty accompanied by rose-dusted cheeks.

With each delicate bite, his mind upheld more questions. The feelings that burst subtly in his chest— what were they? He searched his heart for answers to describe it. Peace of mind? Loneliness?

As many times as his mind decided to go through the same painful cycle of thoughts, ultimately he was left with more questions than when he started. There were no answers within him.

Such as the moon replaces the sun and the days dwindle into night, he too would let it be for now.

And as the sun slowly retreated more and more behind mountains and thin clouds, Xiao couldn’t help but wonder why he continued to keep near you. A tie foraged with a mortal that strangely did not instill the overwhelming need to leave.

Even the room he was in caused no discomfort or suffocation. The cycle started once again as he wondered, why? He often resided at Wangshu Inn, but never in a room. The rooftop high above any wandering souls was his claimed accommodation. The balcony just below that was seldom used by guests was the only other space he occupied there— eyes able to survey the land from a higher vantage point.

However, here in this small shelter you called home there was none of that, yet he stayed. Curiously, his eyes wandered the room to take in the oddities and trinkets that were used as decorum. The bookshelf across the room posed with great importance, and as he approached it he took in the vast collection of books and small items that decorated some empty sections.

Gloved fingers grazed over the elegant, gold-foil titles of some of the books. Some he has partially read before, or listened to you read aloud while he rested on your lap under the large tree outside.

He found himself plucking one out tentatively, flipping through some pages of a thick storybook with worn corners. Another book from the shelf— a thin book of floral poems and sonnets. His mind idly worked to put together what these books could possibly say about you.

After neatly putting another book away, a small glint caught his eyes. Toward the end of one of the shelf rows was a pile of three books with a precious stone sitting atop them.

Ah, the cor lapis stone he had used when he silently returned the two missing handkerchiefs to you many moons ago. An unknown feeling settled in his chest, warm & persistent. It flourished— euphoric, almost, and not too unpleasant. He wondered if it was somehow related to similar chest pains he’d dealt with. Could he really call it ‘pain’ if it wasn’t truly hurting him? The feeling was foreign and he was utterly clueless.

He moved the stone to check the book underneath, flipping through the pages curiously. Amber eyes indifferently skimmed through a page his finger landed on, curious to what contents the vague title held.

A romantic novel from the looks of it.

The words were needlessly descriptive, the dialogue a little confusing to understand. Such flowery language was a bit bold and the more he read, the more the imagery they tried to paint became vivid in his mind and—

Xiao quickly shut the book, his face warm as he neatly returned the book to its rightful place. Well, it was an interesting book to have in your possession, to say the least. He didn’t have much experience with what it described, but the erotic imagery the dialogue described still left his face a little flushed and brows furrowed as he huffed in indignance at his flustered state.

Mortals do such things? Well, he knew they did, but he was never one to look into it more since he had no reason to.

He had no experience in such intimate matters, nor did he pay much interest in them with his hands usually full on a daily basis. Yet, somehow the thought of you now caused a swirl of emotions inexperienced by him before. Or rather, if he did, he no longer remembered. New questions piled up in his mind.

He shook his head, practically wincing at the odd sensations that kicked him low in the gut as the heat rising high on his cheeks subsided.

“How bothersome,” Xiao muttered to himself with a sigh.

On that same train of thought, he glanced out the window. The sun was merely a whisper that remained as it tucked itself farther behind mountains and dipped below the horizon.

Gloved hands momentarily clenched by his sides, flexing to ease the small seed of doubt. Mortals were unpredictable and reckless, that much he was aware of. With a sigh he watched as the sky over Liyue settled into the tranquility of night.

Though night had fallen, there was still no sign of you returning.

And so, Xiao set off on his usual routine. Out he ventured to vanquish the scattered hotspots of evil activity that surfaced. Be it from subdued gods or his own karma, Xiao relentlessly made quick work of any and all evil.

It was his eternal duty, as bound by contract from the Geo Archon himself—this he knew. If anyone should have witnessed his swiftness as he worked solemnly, they would’ve noticed how he worked just a little harder to clear out any evil nearing your usual route home.

The moon rose high in the sky, a dusty blue as it cast soft light over Xiao’s masked form. His polearm jabbed into the ground and dissipated along with the yaksha mask he donned for battle. The roads that led back to Qingce Village were all cleared, yet still no sign of you.

Approaching the marsh under blue moonlight, his gloved hands created ripples in the calm surface. The reflection of his concerned eyes stared right back at him through the tumultuous ripples that distorted his reflection over playful waters.

Under the watchful eye of the moon, Xiao diligently washed away the impurities that remained on him from battle. Clear waters surrounding him became murky before clearing once again as the blood and grime was carried further down with the current. Xiao closed his eyes and allowed himself to bask under the moonlight, taking in the rare moment of tranquility.

And then it rang out, soft and clear like a wind chime dancing with the gentle breeze.

Adeptus Xiao.

Shrouded by darkness, he answered your summons. As the thin veil of dark entity surrounding him dispersed, he found himself next to a bridge. The waterfall behind him brought a refreshing breeze, and just beyond him he could see Bubu Pharmacy below as well as the harbor.

“You called,” Xiao inquired. “It’s fairly late.”

He wasn’t here to admonish you, though it sounded very much like it. With a playful grin, you smiled up at him from where you sat on the grass next to the bridge.

The way you carried yourself without a care in the world— it was almost endearing how you looked up at him with such fondness.

“Can I ask why you’re here of all places?”

Your nimble fingers continued their work on the flowers you had in your lap, and you almost looked away bashfully. “I wanted to gaze at the stars for a bit,” you admitted sheepishly. “I finished my errands earlier, but then I ran into Mister Zhongli from the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor and, well… The conversation went on for a while and we ended up here.”

Silently, Xiao took a seat next to you, eyeing the handful of glaze lilies that softly glowed on your lap.

“What did you talk about?” he inquired to fill the silence. He delicately twirled one of the glaze lilies between his gloved fingers.

“Oh… this and that,” you shrugged.

Xiao hummed in response, not wanting to pry into the conversation, until he felt the softness of petals brushing his forehead.

“Mister Zhongli… he showed me how to make this.” There was hesitation in your downcast eyes, and you peered up at him through your eyelashes. “Do you like it?”

“A crown of… glaze lilies,” Xiao noted slowly. Their soft fragrance was delicate and sweet, like the gentle presence of the moon. It reminded him of you. “I’m unfamiliar with mortal customs of exchanges. Is it an adeptal offering?”

You blinked, taken by surprise at the question before sputtering out in a fit of giggles.

“Oh– No, no! This is what we call a gift.”

Xiao furrowed his brows, taking in this vague description. “Hm… I see. What meaning does this gift have?”

You perched your chin on your finger, contemplating. The only ‘gifts’ adepti were familiar with were the offerings that few who went before them brought. Usually, an offering entailed the bargaining of a mortal’s wants and desires to come true. Selfish, wishes he was all too familiar with hearing often.

“Gifts are given to people you consider special,” you started. “To those people who are important to you, usually you put extra effort into the gift. Handmade gifts as well… embody special significance since they hold all the feelings poured into them to be given to your special person.”

The chirps of crickets and running water soothed over the momentary silence as he took in your explanation. Mortal customs were more emotionally driven than he once thought.

“I see. Then,” Xiao delicately tucked the glaze lily he held into your hair. “This is my small offering.”

The rose that dusted your cheeks as your grin lit up your features, it bloomed his chest with that foreign warmth. The weight of reciprocating the gesture without a second thought— he had just openly admitted to considering you a special person. It felt… right.

In the lateness of the cool night, you both sat side by side looking out at the display of glittering stars. He felt as your pulse would briefly quicken under his gloved hand whenever you stole a quick glance at him, and he would offer a gentle squeeze of reassurance in response. Curious, this human next to him— and yet he found himself enraptured by your simple presence.

Across the endless sky, you halted what you were idly chatting about as a speckle of light shot across the sky.

“A falling star… There’s rumors that making a wish on them will help it come true.” Xiao hummed in response, eyes closed in peaceful tranquility. “Hm…”

You pulled your knees closer to you as you contemplated your wish. Xiao watched you with one eye open, observing the way your features subtly scrunched up as you profoundly debated within you what your wish would be.

“So.”

“So?”

“What did you wish for?” Xiao asked quietly.

Mortal desires were usually the same. Wealth, power, lavish items— these wishes Xiao had heard of many times before. Yet—

“I wished…,” you scratched your cheek sheepishly. “I wished for a restful sleep.”

Your cheeks were quick to flush a deep crimson as you heard what sounded like a chuckle next to you. It dawned on you that you had never heard Xiao laugh until now. It was melodic, innocent.

“D-Don’t laugh!” you halfheartedly admonished with a playful huff. “Well, then— What’s your wish, Xiao?”

He pondered for a moment, closed his eyes and spoke soft as the flitting breeze.

“I wish to get to know you better.”

Perhaps he didn’t have all the right words at that moment, but he was bound to discover them sooner or later. Somehow, he was sure you would be the light that guided him the right way to go about these foreign feelings— feelings he was sure weren’t malignant, so he allowed them to persist.

These unsorted feelings for you... they weren’t getting in the way of anything. They were harmless, until proven otherwise.

[pillage-and-lute]

An Ever Fixed Mark (arranged marriage Au)

Part 1 is here, finally! Title a reference to Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116.

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

Read it on Ao3 HERE

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

Vesemir’s slap hit Geralt firmly on the back of the head. Two seconds previously Geralt had been complaining about his upcoming, politically motivated marriage to some nobleman’s son. 

“It’s a good thing, lad. Other witcher schools would kill for something like this,” he said. Geralt knew it was right, legal punishment for those who shortchanged or attacked witchers. It set a precedent, and apparently the earl was very influential. It could change things.

“And there isn’t a fidelity clause,” Eskel said. “It doesn’t have to be more than a sort of partnership.”

“No consummation requirement either,” sniggered Lambert from the other side of the campfire. “You don’t even have to fuck the bugger if he’s ugly.” This earned him a sharp elbow from Eskel. 

“What I don’t understand is what they get out of this,” Geralt said. It had been bugging him. 

“Ah,” Vesemir said, looking uneasy. “It seems that the payment is...taking the viscount off of the Earl’s hands, officially. It seems he’s something of an embarrassment.”

The unease in Vesemir’s voice was subtle, but after so many decades with their teacher, the wolves of Kaer Morhen knew the slight variations of tone and expression. His discomfort was twofold, first, the obvious implication that the Earl was sending his son to live a dangerous life alongside a witcher in order to...deal with him. A death sentence, from father to son. The second was that Geralt, already saddled with a political marriage, was also to be saddled with a nuisance of a husband. 

“But why me?” Geralt knew he was whining like a child, but he couldn’t help it. It was three days to Lettenhove, and then they’d be there at least a week for the wedding and he’d have to act courtly. 

He wasn’t good at courtly.

When he thought about it none of them were. 

“It couldn’t have been me,” Eskel said, a little shyly. He was right. Eskel believed his scars were horrible, made him unlovable and undesirable. Geralt didn’t buy it, but nobles could get a bit stroppy about appearances. And if they humiliated Eskel because of his scarring...no, Geralt wouldn’t let that happen.

“Couldn’t have been me,” Lambert said, mouth full and rather cheerfully. No. It couldn’t have been him either, no manners and no filter, they’d be at war with the entirety of Lettenhove within a day.

“And I’m an old man,” Vesemir said. He didn’t actually wink, but he might as well have. Older though he was, he was still three times the warrior of any young human man walking about these days. But from what Geralt had heard, and it hadn’t been much, the Viscount was young, not quite twenty, and it wouldn’t be kind to marry him to someone so much older than himself. Geralt reflected grimly that he was nearly four times the youth’s age.

Three days of riding passed far too quickly for Geralt’s liking.

Chateau de Lettenhove loomed. It was a fairytale castle built by a man expecting a siege. There were high, rising towers with huge windows and artful buttresses, but to the trained eye of the witchers, it was a fortress. The towers had carved, decorative arrow slits, the windows all had iron grates over them, wrought like lace, and the buttresses could be easily used as defensive positions. All in all, it was a castle that growled, albeit genteelly.

They were greeted first by a footman, and then a line of servants increasing in rank, until a very snobby servant, likely the head housekeeper from the way all the maids scuttled away from her, brought them to an anteroom. At this point courtesy dictated that she bade them sit down on one of the lavish sofas. She did not. She chose instead to turn up her nose and sweep away.

The four witchers remained standing, not looking at one another. Geralt could feel Lambert stewing about the obvious slight beside him. He reached out, still staring straight ahead, and tweaked Lambert’s ear. 

This was about to result in much brotherly retribution and probably a brawl when the housekeeper returned, followed by another woman.

“His lordship the Earl of Lettenhove is attending to vital business,” the housekeeper said, tone of voice implying that the arrival of four witchers who were muddying her nice clean floor were certainly not vital. “I present, her ladyship, Countess Amaria Elizaveta de Lettenhove.” 

The countess curtsied, it was a polite little bob, and she smiled a little dazedly as the witchers all gave their best attempt at courtly bows. A small but significant part of Geralt’s brain was panicking, and it dealt with this new form of terror by imagining that the school of the wolf, seen from the outside plying their newly practiced bows, must look like a line of seagulls vying for a dropped crumb.

Vesemir stepped forward and, in a rather more suave gesture than Geralt had been expecting, took the Countess’ hand and bowed over it. Two bows seemed excessive to Geralt, but since it seemed to indicate that Vesemir would be taking over the speaking for now, he certainly wasn’t about to bring it up. 

“A pleasure to meet you, my lady,” Vesemir said, straightening and releasing her hand. “May I introduce the school of the wolf. Eskel is--”

The countess had waved a limp hand. “Plenty of time for that at the feast, deary,” she said, smiling dreamily. There was something in her eyes that was a little absent, possibly more than a little if her calling Vesemir ‘deary’ was anything to go by. Geralt looked the countess over. He had been given to understand through the brief letters from the Lettenhove estate, that this wasn’t the viscount-Julian, the letters said-’s mother, but rather his step mother. She was a petite lady with mousy hair and rather absent blue eyes. Her dress was obviously of very fine material, rose pink and probably silk, although Lambert would know better than him, but a simpler cut than Geralt had expected. 

His examination, done in a split second, decided that she wasn’t an immediate enemy, but probably not a terrible useful ally. 

“I’m to give you this courting gift,” here she proffered a small but beautifully carved wooden box. “And to show you to your quarters.” She smiled again, and it was warm, but still vapid.

“Custom usually dictates that the fiancé give the courting gift,” Vesemir said, cautiously taking the box.”

“My husband wanted someone else to present it,” she said. “But your grandson can give his gift in person when he meets Julian. Now what...” she trailed off, not even noticing Vesemir’s slight sputter at grandson. “Ah yes, your rooms, right this way please.”

She got lost on the way to their rooms and a shaking footman showed them up to a suite, then kindly took her by the hand and led her away.

They sat, silent, in the nice but not lavish quarters. Four beds in curtained alcoves off to the side, and in the middle a room with a table and chairs, and a sofa and more comfortable chairs in front of a fireplace. It was already blazing and the witchers stared into it for a minute.

“That was strange,” Eskel finally said, and the others just nodded.

“Should I have insisted on giving her our courting gift?” Geralt said after another pause. “I thought they were usually given in person.”

“I think you’re fine,” Vesemir said. “If they broke that tradition they can hardly fault you for doing the same.”

Lambert, sprawled across the sofa, said, “When’s dinner?”

“I think I’m supposed to meet Julian first,” Geralt said. “Someone will probably come get us. 

“When we meet Julian you mean,” Lambert said, sitting up. 

“No, I’ve been thinking about that and I want to meet him alone.”

Vesemir nodded, “Sensible, we don’t know how he will react to one witcher, let alone four.” Then he smirked, although not unkindly, at Lambert. “You will be introduced and have a chance to be nosy later. At dinner perhaps.”

They unpacked their belongings, potion bottles and swords looking out of place along the old but nicely carved furniture. After days of tension on the road as Geralt wound himself tighter and tighter with anxiety for his...wedding, yes his wedding, now this pause was jarring. Eskel tapped him on the shoulder and gave him a look.

Geralt turned around to give Eskel room to work.

On the Path, witchers are rarely, if ever touched. Certainly not in a friendly way if the other isn’t being compensated. It wasn’t therefore, unusual for the wolves of Kaer Morhen to be tactile with one another. Not hugging and cuddling sweetly, but rough housing and wrestling ending in exhausted dog piles. But Eskel had a gift, he had magic hands, literally and figuratively, and he carefully oiled his hands while Geralt took off his travel stained shirt. 

Geralt sunk into himself, half meditating as Eskel dragged the tension from his shoulders and beat the knots from his muscles. It wasn’t a relaxing massage, but it always left him feeling like liquid, if slightly bruised. When it was over and the liquid feeling had left him, or at least subsided enough that his knees could hold him, he stood, clapping Eskel on the shoulder in thanks.

Then came the hard bit.

Geralt needed to be courtly. He scrubbed the bits he could with water and a cloth from a little washstand, but he hoped he could have a hot bath later. Afterwards Vesemir advanced on him and battled the dirt from underneath his fingernails with a stiff brush before attacking his hair with a comb. Geralt sat on the ground like a child, his brothers looking on in amusement as Vesemir sat behind him on the couch and teased the tangles from his hair. He was making faces, he knew, but Vesemir wasn’t gentle, and he hadn’t detangled his hair in some time.

Scrubbed raw, with his hair floating around his shoulders like a silver cloud, Lambert presented him with a doublet. 

It was black, which was good.

That was the only good thing about it. It was most likely a very nice, extremely fashionable doublet. Lambert might take delight in embarrassing Geralt, but he didn’t mess about with clothing. The issue was that it was attention grabbing, it was subtle in a way that seemed to play itself down while actually drawing every eye. It was black, in the same way a raven’s wing was black, every shimmering shade shifting as the fabric moved.

And he would be wearing it. 

He did wear it. 

His hands shook as he buttoned it up. 

He was just examining himself in a slightly tarnished hand mirror when there was a sharp knock at the door. The footman let himself in right after and bowed swiftly. 

“I am to escort the witchers of Kaer Morhen to meet Lord Julian.”

“Just the one witcher,” Geralt said. Vesemir pressed his courting gift, and the little carved boxed nestled on top, into his arms.

The footman didn’t seem to care and simply turned away, leading Geralt through hallways that all looked the same and down two very winding staicases, the second of which was so narrow his shoulders actually brushed the walls. They stopped outside a plain wooden door. The footman bowed and smiled. It looked, Geralt couldn’t help but feel, rather cruel. Then he left. Geralt knocked softly on the door, feeling very large in the narrow, low ceilinged hallway.

Eskel had told him once of a myth he had read, about a beast, half man half bull, hidden away in a maze. Geralt felt like such a beast, too large and rough and probably going to barge in and do everything wrong.

“Come in.” 

It was soft, but not nervous, and Geralt pushed open the door. 

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

Oooh I’m naughty for leaving it there, but it’s almost 2000 words already. @llamasdumpsterfire here it is at last, I hope it lives up to expectations.

[legends-live-in-memories]

Business (Mis)Management

AYO you know the drill. MGI Trope Tussle! 

Fics Masterlist

Timari Oneshot 2.3K words

Summary: 

"Right before her, where her professor usually stood every Tuesday and Thursday, stood a surprise guest lecturer. One problem, though. Marinette hates the guy. She hates him and his stupid well-fitting suit that she dedicated actual blood sweat and tears into making. "

One shot using two prompts for this server event: Day 3:College AU Day 5: "Why'd you do that?" "I- I don't know..."

without further ado: 

It was Tuesday, bright and early at 9:30 am, and Marinette was ready to commit murder. She was sitting in her Intro to Business Management course with her cup of coffee and notepad ready and pencil about to snap in her grip. Right before her, where her professor usually stood every Tuesday and Thursday, stood a surprise guest lecturer. One problem, though. Marinette hates the guy. She hates him and his stupid well-fitting suit that she dedicated actual blood sweat and tears into making. 

Right there, on this awful Tuesday morning, stood one Timothy Jackson Drake Wayne looking all the world like he would rather be anywhere else; stupid rich people were all the same, thinking the world was doing them a favour by letting them grace everyone else with their presence. Marinette also wishes he was anywhere else but life doesn’t work that way. Her actual professor stood off to the side, waxing sonnets about how accomplished the young CEO was and Marinette listened to none of it. Rather, she was silently stewing in her thoughts, lost in how this man became the particularly large thorn in her side.

It was six months ago when she got an email asking for a commission. A commission for the exact three piece suit he was wearing today. He had gotten her contact from another client and his emailed request was perfect and professional. He had asked for the suit, listed all the required measurements and requested any personalizations he wanted. They couldn’t meet for any in-person fittings so it was currently both aggravating and satisfying to see it fit his lean figure so perfectly. The drama didn’t start, however, until two weeks after, when Marinette had sent the finished product to the designated address. While Marinette isn’t one for showboating and bragging about her capabilities, it grinds her teeth when others try to talk down on her skills. 

When Marinette had sent off the suit, and emailed the man that the package was to be expected within three business days, she got a rather crude email in response, labeling her work as ‘tacky’ and a ‘pathetic attempt at wiggling her way into his family’s pockets.’ That had her doubletaking at the sender, making sure it wasn’t some spam mail that she was reading. Nope, that’s his email right there. Marinette remembered a particular twitch she had in her eye the first time she read that email. It was one thing to be ungrateful of a finished product, Marinette was no stranger to harsh critiques and pieces that worked better on paper than as actualized designs, but the accusation of being a gold-digger set off warning bells that threw her back into the tenth grade where she had battles with a rich blonde with daddy issues. At least he had paid her in advance for the suit. Marinette would have been perfectly fine with silently cutting all ties with Mr. Wayne right then and there, and putting the whole ordeal behind her, until he decided that a crassly worded email wasn’t enough. No. He felt compelled to go on national television and insult her suit for everyone to hear. Marinette remembers his words perfectly, as if they were ingrained in her memory forever.

“You’ve seen the suits I’ve worn, I look like I escaped my own funeral. I’ve tried local, and outsourcing designers and tailors and nothing matches my taste. I’m only twenty-three and I dress like I’ve gone through my third divorce—”Marinette had turned off the television to shamelessly cry into her pillow. She couldn’t bear to hear him insult her design over the poorly timed laughs of the ‘live-studio audience’ that particular interview was filmed in front of. 

After that, Marinette had reaffirmed her conclusion that all rich people were assholes best left to their own privileged bubble. 

A solid clap snapped her attention back to the front of the lecture hall, eyes narrowing at the man by the podium. The presentation pulled up on the smart board indicated that he was going to be speaking to them about professionalism and how to engage in buyer-seller conversations. Oh that was bloody perfect. What did this guy know about any of those things? 

The time was 9:45 exactly when the guy decided to start his presentation. 

“Hello, everyone,” his voice was smooth and firm, not wavering while speaking before a hall filled with two hundred students. “My name is Timothy Drake-Wayne but you all can just call me Tim. It’s lovely to meet all of you and I’m honoured to be here speaking for you today.” 

Cue a very predictable, very standard, very boring introduction. Marinette was beginning to tune out at this point.

“To start off this presentation, I would like to talk about misunderstandings in professional conversations.” He started walking across the front of the room. Slow and methodical; he knew he had all eyes on him and he was taking full advantage of it. Marinette wanted to gag. “Additionally, I want to discuss how to avoid them, and what to do if miscommunication occurs.”

Blah, blah blahblah. Marinette didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.

“To start off, I’m going to talk about a situation I found myself in not too long ago.” That caught her attention. “It’s funny now and makes for great dinner conversation but not so much when it had happened. How many of you siblings?”

He paused and surveyed the room. His eyes passed over Marinette and for a brief second she thought he focused on her for a blink longer than necessary. She banished the thought from her mind; she didn’t have siblings so he had no reason to notice her.  

“Now,” he continued, “how many of you have siblings who aren’t afraid to sabotage your work when they’re mad at you?” 

Another pause as some of the students lowered their hands. Some were unsure and Marinette had a weird feeling in her gut. Her instincts were screaming at her but she couldn’t figure out why.

“Don’t feel shy,” the guy raised his hand to join the students, “my younger brother is a menace who can and has attempted to sabotage my business. Just recently in fact.”

Marinette looked around the room to see quite a few surprised faces. She was vaguely familiar with the Wayne family and remembered a few details about the youngest child. He was a menace, that’s for sure. As egotistical as any thirteen year old can be. That feeling in her gut returned with vigor. She was suddenly very alert and eager, almost desperate, to figure out how the ankle biter had sabotaged this man.

“About six months ago my brothers and I were butting heads as usual. My sister was enjoying everything while shit hit the fan from a safe distance. I’m not going to go into much details.” He’s arms were waving animatedly as he spoke. It was quite endearing. NO. Bad thoughts, Marinette. “The point of all this is that I pissed my younger brother off somehow. I don’t know, maybe I breathed too hard on his cat or something.” That got a laugh out of the students except Marinette. Six months. He said his brother had sabotaged him around six months ago. That gut feeling had turned her stomach into a pit, eating away at her nerves.

“My brother had hacked into my email and sent absolutely horrible replies to everyone that was marked as important in my contacts in a poor attempt at pretending to be me. Of course, most of those contacts work at Wayne Enterprises. It took a courtesy email explaining the mishap and a personal visit with an apology gift to clear the air. Now for the contacts who don’t work at Wayne E, that’s where it gets tricky.”

Marinette was holding her breath, wishing for this day to already be over and for the ground to open and swallow her whole. She both hoped she was and wasn’t wrong. On the one hand, it meant that he was truly that harsh in replying to her and she wasn’t among the contacts his brother emailed, justifying her slowly dwindling fury. On the other more plausible hand, it meant that he wasn’t responsible for the crude email. It still didn’t explain the interview he did but…but she never did watch the entire thing. She had started watching the interview already expecting him to tear her down. He never referenced her suit by any specifics before she had changed the channel. That probably meant that she had poorly misjudged him. But she would have been contacted in some way if she was among those people and she hadn’t. So he was still an ass to her. Right? 

“For those who I couldn’t visit in person,” Oh god, he was still speaking. “I sent them more personal emails compared to what I sent the employees. That was really the most I could do and I hoped for the best. I got a reply from most; they were rather understanding, actually, some even claiming that their own siblings would do something like that. It went over pretty well.” He suddenly had this forlorn look as he rubbed his hands absentmindedly against the suit. 

“While I was lucky that most of my contacts were understanding, one important thing to be prepared for is people who won’t be that forgiving. Do you see this suit I’m wearing? I love this suit. I will absolutely get buried in this suit. I had commissioned and received it just before the email fiasco and I, regrettably, never got a response when I tried to both thank and apologize to them. My brother had used my email to accuse them of being a gold-digger of all things. I would have loved to commission them again but it looks like my brother burned that bridge permanently.”

What? No. That’s not true and Marinette felt hot rage flare up in her. Was he really lying to try and save face right now? She felt the strong urge to interrupt him. To march down those steps and let him know exactly how she felt about him lying about emailing her to apologize. But, a treacherous hopeful part of herself whispered to her, she had to be sure. She had to have irrefutable proof that she wasn’t one of the victims to his rabid brother and he was just an ass. 

She couldn’t get to her phone fast enough. She searched for all the emails the two had exchanged, finding the most recent to be his harsh email. She had another niggling feeling, however, and decided to check her spam mail. 

Marinette has most definitely stopped breathing. 

Right there, in bold letters sat a Wayne Enterprises email waiting to be opened and read. She couldn’t bring herself to click it open, ice flooding her veins, freezing her in her seat. She actually misread the situation. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to bash her head on the table and grovel for forgiveness from this very handsome man. She didn’t do any of this, however, managing some degree of composure and sat through the remainder of his presentation. She would bet her left leg it was the best presentation she would have ever heard but she couldn’t recall a single word of it from that point on; too busy digging her own grave and writing her own eulogy. She could never show her face around Gotham again. Her life was ruined.

The sounds of people packing up had her crawling herself out of her own head. She mechanically packed her things up, gazing pathetically at her blank notebook. She made her way down the steps, eyeing the gaggle of students surrounding Marinette’s biggest missed opportunity to date. She was just about to walk straight out the door, resigning herself to her fate when she made a hasty decision. She turned to the dwindling crowd and marched like a woman on a mission. She wormed her away to stand directly in Tim’s line of sight and she braced herself for possibly her dumbest idea yet. She listened to the conversation going on and as soon as it appeared she was not going to interrupt anyone, she shot her hand out and grabbed him by his suit. The act caught everyone’s attention but before she could chicken out, she turned to leave and pulled the businessman along with her, leaving stunned silence behind. 

They didn’t get far out the door when he yanked her arm off him, stopping them in their tracks. He looked angry, confused but also very put out at her. Fair. 

“Why’d you do that?” 

“I— I don’t know.” His glare was intense. Marinette felt her face flush and her knees weaken. She wanted to make things right but it seemed she was only making things worse. She took a breath. Focus, she reminded herself. She just needed to address one problem at a time. “I mean, I do know why but I wasn’t supposed to do it like that. I just needed your attention.”

“Well now you have it. So what do you want?”

“I wanted to apologize. Not about dragging you out here. Yet. But for accidentally ignoring your apology email.” One of his eyebrows rose incredulously as she kept talking, but she ignored it and powered on. “It was, for some reason, in my spam mail and I didn’t see it. But if it’s any consolation, I would love it if you commissioned me for another suit. Or anything else really.” 

“Pardon?” He didn’t believe her, or was at least confused by her, that much she could tell.

“You suit. I made it. Here, look.” She turned her phone screen, showing him their conversations in her emails. At his slightly more relaxed posture she continued speaking. “I’m glad you like the suit.”

“Huh.”

“Also I’m sorry for dragging you out here.” She had curled her shoulders into her ears, still holding her phone out like an idiot. His chuckle in response eased her nerves only slightly. He had a cute laugh. And he was cute too. Bad thoughts! Stop getting distracted!

“Okay, I’ll accept your apology if you accept mine.” The carefree smile he threw at her was disarming. “And I would love to talk more about working with you, Ms. Cheng.”

“Marinette, please, Mr. Wayne.” She could breathe easier now, no longer on the verge of catastrophizing. “If you want to get started as early as possible, I’m free for an early lunch right now.”

“Only if you call me Tim. And lunch sounds great actually. I know a great bistro off campus if you will let me escort you.” He really needed to stop smiling at her like that. Her heart couldn’t take it.

“Sounds wonderful. Lead the way.” He turned and offered her his arm. She was slow to move, still faintly caught in the emotional whiplash of the morning. Her gentle grip on his bicep was enough for her to feel the muscle definition under the suit. It pleasantly surprised her but not nearly as much as his next words.

“Perfect. It’s a date.”

What?

[henqtic]

🛌— “just give me two more minutes.”

A ron one with number 19 from the 50 wordless ways to say i love you list? no pressure !

thanks for requesting bb <33

prompt: bringing them a plate of their favorite sliced fruit. 

OVERWORKED; 

join my sleepover <3

pairing: ron weasley x reader

summary: bringing ron a plate of his favorite sliced fruits after seeing him overworked. 

word count: 506.

“what's this for?” ron asked as you placed down the plate covered in different colors from reds to oranges and greens in front of him on the dining room table. 

the short hand on the clock handing above the walkway was close to touching twelve for the first time in the day when he saw you come down from bed, assuming that you’d just make yourself a late night snack before going back up. 

he acknowledged you with a small smile that you reciprocated before dipping his head back down and losing track of time like he had already done working on the extra things for weasleys' wizard wheezes for george since he now had to do most things on his own without the help of his twin.

of course not wanting his brother to go into another self proclaimed room quarantine where he’d only come out to grab coffee or small food to keep himself alive, he volunteered to help out— not regretting his decision at all but wishing that there wasn’t so much to get through in such a short amount of time.

so, he didn’t see you looking over your shoulder; watching his slow blinks, lingering like small naps were hidden inside of them, bags that had formed under his eyes over the past few days and tired shoulders— the looking that his arms might just give out and allow him to fall asleep soon if not for the bright light above him. 

you didn’t love seeing him like that, not close to it. so, you took it upon yourself to go into the fridge, finding some of his favorite fruits you had both picked up grocery shopping last week and sliced some of them up— strawberries, kiwis, apples, cantaloupes, pulled apart orange pieces and more, assorting them all onto one glass to share. 

“well, you've been working since seven and was too stressed to eat dinner,” you said, moving your eyes pointedly to the now cold plate of food that he promised he would eat after getting through ‘one more’ pile of paperwork.

“sorry,” he sighed, rubbing his hands over his face before picking up a few of the grapes and stuffing them into his mouth.

“don’t worry about it, just thought you needed something to boost your energy if you planned on staying and loner. and i haven't slept much without you there either so if I'm helping i’m gonna need a snack too.”

“i love you so much, c’mon this is the last one and we’ll go back to bed before one. turns out whatever george put in those beguiling bubbles love potions is close to breaking a few laws— y’know it was the one that romilda girl slipped harry in sixth year?”

you laughed, remembering the incident of where he decided to eat them himself and went on a tangent of sonnets and different ways to profess his everlasting love whenever you attempted having a normal conversation.

“then it looks like this is a real important one.”

"sure is.”

🔖—!! @gwlvr @dreamcxtcherr @akaaaaashiiii @malfoysbiitch @haroldpotterson @bookfrog242 @i-love-scott-mccall @wolfstar-lb @harmqnia @eunoniaa @magicchai @ambi-doo12  @ang9lic @daltonacademia @inglourious-imagines @willowmores @arcaneslut @slutfordracoluciusmalfoy @axgelre @beforeoursunsets @selenesheart @o-rion-sta-r @alexavolturisblog @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts @myalupinblack @l0vely-lupin @ameliasbitvh @mauvea @cupids-crystals 

to be tagged in future ron weasley works + other characters in the harry potter fandom and other fandoms i write for, fill out this form <3

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[whatisthiswritingthing]

She’s Faster - Emily Sonnett x Reader

Prompt: Can it be where Emily and the Y/N didn’t know like she had to take her child to a practice because no one could watch her. And then later one Emily gets close to the reader and her child and asked the reader out?

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Y/N mumbled, rushing to the bench, throwing her bag down, hastily pulling her cleats frantically putting them on.

As soon as her cleats were on, Y/N sprinted to the center of the field where Vlatko had just started his team meeting before practice. Vlatko just nodded at her arrival, continuing to speak.

“You good?” Sonnet whispered softly.

Y/N just nodded, shoulder heaving as she released a sigh.

Sonnett gently pushed Y/N with her shoulder, dipping her head to try and get a better read on her face. Y/N pushed back slightly, a small smile coming to her face.

The defender had noticed the younger woman had been more rushed recently, more distracted, and hardly around the team during free time this camp. Mostly coming back and forth to the hotel for meetings and curfew.

When practice and meetings were on, Y/N was focused. The only time she seemed to look relaxed.

As soon practice ended, Y/N was taking her cleats off and rushing off the field again. Tossing a quick good-bye over her shoulder and she left.

Several of the players watcher her leave, all sharing looks, each confused. Y/N was normally very social with the team, bouncing between the different groups of friends, close with several of the players. So, her leaving after the practice so abruptly was out of character.

Emily noticed that Alex watched the other woman leave worriedly, like she knew something no one else did. Once Y/N was out of sight, Alex looked back to the group, her and Sonnett sharing a quick look. That look of recognition on her face still, giving Sonny a small smirk.

The next day at practice, many of the players were surprised to see Y/N already there, off to the far end of the field already ready for practice but not alone. Y/N was passing a ball back and fourth with a boy about six years old. Every watched on confused at the unexpected addition to the field. Alex dropped her stuff and quickly making her way to the pair with a familiarity, smiling.

Emily quickly got ready, glancing over every couple seconds.

“Dude, Y/N has a kid?” Horan asked to the group around her.

Sonnett shook herself out of watching Y/N and the boy.

Several players all shrugging their shoulders or shaking their heads, no one knowing anything.

“Just ask her if you guys want to know,” Alex told the group as she approached.

Emily squinted her eyes at the direct response, the two making eye contact again. What the hell did Alex know that no one else knew?

As Vlatko called the team to start practice, Emily watched as Y/N gave the boy a quick fist bump before ruffling his hair and jogging off. The boy swatting at her hand with a smile.

Vlatko started talking as soon as everyone was together, preventing anyone from asking Y/N about the boy she had been playing with. The entire practice, Y/N managed to be busy and avoid giving anyone any chance to ask her questions.

Sonnett attempted to get close to Y/N as much as she could, only to be also avoided by the younger soccer player. Everyone was confused by Y/N’s behavior and concerned. They all spent so much time together, it was normal to individually feel overwhelmed and pull away. But this was different. Y/N had been off this whole camp.

Finally practice came to a close, Y/N quickly jogged over to the boy who had remained playing by himself throughout the practice.  

Eyebrows shot up when the boy called her name and ran to meet her halfway. Y/N smiling for the first time since practice had started, picking the boy up and swinging him around.

“Auntie Alex!” eyebrows went up when the boy saw Alex approach them.

Y/N let the boy down who ran to the forward, hugging her tight around the waist.

“Hey Kaleb,” Alex ruffled his hair, squatting down to pull him into a proper hug.

Sonnett hung back and debated with herself if she should join, if she would be welcome. She had struggled to keep her feelings at bay for months now, working to get closer to Y/N, been trying to determine how Y/N felt in return. The two had started to get closer, gradually sharing personal pieces of their lives together; a son had never been mentioned though.

“This is starting to look creepy,” Lindsey whispered to the defender, coming to stand beside her.

Sonnett whipped her head to the side, Lindsey just shrugged, shoving her friend forward with a roll of the eyes.

Sonnett stumbled slightly, catching herself and slowing approached.

“Hey Son,” Alex smirked, shooting the defender a knowing look.

Emily stumbled again under the smirk, hesitating at the nervous expression Y/N wore. The boy had inched his way to be behind Y/N’s legs, poking his head out slightly.

Mustering up some confidence, Sonnett closed the distance, squatted down to be eye level with the shy boy.

“Hey little man, I’m Sonny,” she smiled at the boy, who tried to duck behind Y/N more, only to be stopped by Y/N shifting her legs to expose him.

Y/N knelt down as well, soothingly rubbing her hand up and down his back.

“What do you say bub?” Y/N prompted.

“Hi,” the boy mumbled, trying to burrow his face into Y/N’s shoulder.

“This is Kaleb,” Y/N introduced, purposely not stating her relation to the boy. She leaned in and whispered something in the boys ear, who brought his head up and glanced at Sonnett who gave him what she was hoped was reassuring smile.

“Did you have fun watching Y/N play today?”

Kaleb just nodded his head.

“She’s pretty good, huh?” Emily continued to try and engage the boy.

“She’s so fast!” that perked the boy up.

“Guess what?” Sonnett said smirking. “I’m even faster than her.”

Kaleb quickly turned to look at Y/N, shocked.

Y/N laughed and nodding her head. “It’s true bub.”

Kaleb turned back to Emily, still surprised. Emily gave the boy a quick wink.

“I bet you could beat Sonny though,” Y/N tried to detangle the boy from her arms.

Sonnett looked back to the younger woman, grateful for the olive branch that was being extended.

Kaleb slowly pulled away from Y/N.

“Wanna race?” Sonny stood up, extending a hand to the boy.

Y/N gently pushed the boy forward, who nodded and gave her a small smile, reaching out to grasp Sonnetts offered hand.

The two went to the side line, the defender pointing out where they should run to for their race. Y/N watched with a smile, she had been so worried about bringing Kaleb to the practice and how people would react. More so, how Emily Sonnett would react. Y/N wasn’t dense, she knew how the defender felt about her, she knew how she felt in return too. But she knew Kaleb was going to be an important factor in what she would do with those feelings.

Her smile grew, chest swelling while she watched the defender let the shy boy win. Dramatically flopping on the ground behind him on the finish line.

“I demand a rematch!” Sonnett called out, rolling onto her stomach to see Kaleb.

Sonnett stood up, encouraging the boy to race her again.

This time as they called out ‘go’, Sonny gently pushed the boy, giving herself a head start.

Y/N rolled her eyes and laughed as Kaleb ran after Emily, tugging her practice jersey to slow her down. Emily allowing her momentum to slow and the boy to pass her again.

“Talk to her,” Alex whispered, knocking their shoulders together.

“Nothing to talk about,” Y/N mumbled out.

“Talk to her,” Alex repeated, rolling her eyes and walking away.

Kaleb came running back to Y/N, a huge smile on his face.

“Did you see me win?” he called excited when he got closer.

“I did! You did such a good job bub!” Y/N put her hand out for a fist bump.

Sonnett cautiously followed, unsure that Alex wasn’t there to be a buffer this time, nerves returning.

Y/N gave Emily a grateful smile, seeing how happy the boy was.

“Can Sonny come for lunch?” Kaleb asked, tilting his chin up to look Y/N.

Y/N looked down at the hopeful expression on his face, looking up to Sonnett, trying to decide if the blonde would be interested.

“I’d love to come, dude!”

Y/N let out a breath, shoulder dropping. Sonnett let out her own breath, relieved knowing she hadn’t over stepped, happy she could spend more time with the two.

“Alright, let’s roll,” Y/N held Kalebs hand while they walked to the parking lot.

Sonnett made eye contact with Lindsey who shot her a thumbs up across the parking lot.

Lunch had ended up being a blast. Y/N and Kaleb were clearly very close, whatever their relationship was. The boy had quickly warmed up to the defender, telling her all about himself, dominating the conversation. Y/N able to sit back and watch Emily and Kaleb interact, loving how happy both looked.

Y/N didn’t make it back to the hotel until later that evening, just in time for their film session. She entered the room and sat next to Emily, their shoulders and legs brushing.

Sonnett watched as Y/N nervously fidgeted in her seat, playing with her fingers, glancing to the defender only to look away a few times. Finally having enough, Sonny confidently reached over and gently stopped the fidgeting.

“You good?” she leaned in and whispered.

Y/N nodded too quickly, turning to Emily who hadn’t moved away. “Thank you for today,” she whispered just as softly.

“I had a great time today Y/N,” she whispered back, the two making eye contact. The moment far too intimate for being in the middle of a film session. Both quickly pulling away when Alex cleared her throat next to them, smirking again.

Y/N remained tense the rest of the meeting, kicking herself of allowing things to get too close. She had had a great time today with Sonnett, she loved watching Emily and Kaleb together. It gave her hope she could have what she wanted. Y/N knew she couldn’t have it though, not matter how well today had gone.

As soon as the meeting ended, Y/N shot out of her chair and rushed to her room, taking the stairs to avoid being with any teammates.

Alex and Emily shared a confused look. Sonnett thought she had finally figured out how Y/N felt, was ready to make her move, regardless of the relationship with Kaleb. Alex had thought that Y/N was finally going to let the blonde defender in, stop keeping her at arm’s length.

Feeling disappointed, Emily hung her head and shuffled her way out of the room.

“Go talk to her,” Alex pulled her back, handing off her room key.

Emily paused in the room, looking at the key now in her hand. Determined to end this hot and cold between the two of them, Emily made her way to Y/N’s room, letting herself in after knocking on the door.

“Sonnett?” Y/N asked when the defender walked into the room, confused at her unexpected presence.

“I had a great time today,” Sonnett started confidently. “Kaleb is awesome, and I would be honoured to spend more time with him and with you. I don’t know what he is too you, but he’s obviously important to you, so he is important to me too now. Because you are important to me.” She paused to gather her thoughts, letting out a sigh she continued, “I like you Y/N, as in like like you.”

Sonnett cringed at herself, visibly wincing, confident immediately leaving her.

Y/N got off the bed and approached her, reaching out to hold her hand, only to pull away unsure, then reach forward with both hands. If Emily could be confident, so could she.

“I like like you too,” Y/N said shyly, not looking up. “And Kaleb is a, is a uhh, a long story. He’s not mine, but he is mine I guess.” Y/N rambled; eyebrows creased while she tried to gather her words.

Sonnett turned her hands over so they were actually holding hands now, giving them a squeeze to encourage Y/N to continue.

Y/N let out a sigh, rolling her head to stare at the ceiling, frustrated at her inability to express herself.

“Fuck, I like you too Emily,” Y/N finally made eye contact. “Kaleb and I are a package deal though.”

Sonnett released one hand, placing it on Y/N’s hip, tugging her closer.

“That’s fine, I’m ok with that. And you can tell me the long story whenever you feel ready,” Sonnett dipped her head to make eye contact again, making sure Y/N understood how serious she was being. She released her hand, moving it to Y/N’s neck, thumb gently rubbing along her jaw.

Y/N shuffled her feet closer to Sonnett, free hands now grasping the hem of Sonnett’s shirt.

“We can go as slow or as fast as you want, but I want the opportunity be with you, explore this,” Emily moved her hand from Y/N’s neck, motioning between them, leaving her hand on her chest now.

Y/N brought one hand up, holding onto Emily’s wrist. They both inched forward a little more, their chests touching now, Emily gently sliding her hand to rest on Y/N’s trap. Giving it a little squeeze, she dropped her forward head until it touched. Neither knowing what else to say now that their feelings had been expressed.

Y/N tugged on Sonnetts shirt even though they were already chest to chest. Releasing the shirt, she moved her hand to Emily’s face; thumb rubbing her cheek while her fingers dug slightly into the back of her neck.

“Can I,” Y/N started, only to pause, letting out a small breath. “Can I kiss you?”

Giving a barely there nod, Emily tilted her head and they both closed the final small distance, lips brushing briefly. They made eye contact, before pulling each other in for another, deeper, kiss.

“I mean it, we can take this at whatever speed you want, but I want this. I want you. I want Kaleb. I was us,” Emily gave her another kiss, pulling her into a tight hug.

[vcidgalpin]

Heart Monitor PT 2

Stiles Stilinski x Reader (Eventually)

Season 1 Masterlist

Word Count: 1789

A/N: I AM BACK! Sorry I had a lot of stuff going on in my life, but I am here again like 9 months later. I haven't watched season 1 in forever so I hope this reads well. Anyway: Stiles continues to have bad ideas as to how to teach Scott control, and a glimpse into Y/N's past is shown.

Warnings: Mentions of sex

“It’s her,”

“What are you talking about?” Asked Scott in response to my claim.

“Allison. She doesn’t make you weak Scott, she makes you stronger. Like, remember what you said about the night of the full moon? You were thinking about her. About protecting her,”

“Okay and?” He continues to look puzzled as to what I was getting at,

“And remember the first lacrosse game? You said you heard her voice when you were out on the field,” Stiles followed on from what I was saying. “That’s what brought you back. Not to mention, you didn’t try to kill her in the locker room. At least not like how you tried to kill me,”

“Let it go Stiles,” I suppress a lighthearted laugh, rolling my eyes.

“But it’s not always true. Because literally every time I’m kissing her or touching her-”

“That’s not the same. When you’re doing that you’re just another hormonal teenager thinking about sex. See, you’re thinking about sex right now. Aren’t you?” I punch Scott’s arm to draw him out of his daydreaming state, scoffing.

“Perv,”

“Sorry,” He bashfully smiles, rubbing the part of his arm as it heals. I do forget my strength sometimes, but at least he can handle it.

“Now when she was holding your hand in class, it was different. I don’t think she makes you weak. I think she actually gives you control. It’s like she’s a kind of…”

“Anchor,” I interrupt, not really meaning to speak aloud. My stomach starts to churn, and I can feel energy instantly leave my body at the concept of anchors. Feeling a pair of eyes on me, I shake off my intrusive thoughts and take a sip of my water, looking at Scott.

“You mean because I love her,” Water goes down the wrong pipe in my throat as I hear Scott’s confession., and I try to clear my throat. “Did I just say that?”

“You just said that,” Stiles smiles at his best friend.

“I love her,” The smile on his face keeps growing, to the point where it seems painful.

“That’s great. Anyway, moving on-” Stiles tries to move the conversation along, clearly already bored of this lovey-dovey talk, but once again being interrupted by Scott’s daydreaming monologue.

“No I do, I really do. I think I’m totally in love with her,” Okay now I’m starting to feel sick of this ‘puppy in love’ stuff.

“And that’s beautiful. Before you go off and write a sonnet can we figure this out? Because you obviously can’t be around her all the time,” I snort at Stiles’ bluntness but nod along with what he says.

“Okay well what do I do?” A small pout replaces his cheshire cat smile. Stiles starts pacing around a bit before stopping with a lightbulb clearly going off in his head. “Stiles? You’re getting an idea aren’t you.”

“Yeah,”

“Could this idea get me in trouble?”

“Maybe,”

“Is this idea going to cause me physical pain?”

“Definitely.”

-

Stiles leads Scott and I to the school parking lot, stopping close to a few large dumpsters.

“What are we doing here?” I say, looking around us warily, noticing a senior exit his truck, a pack of smokes in his hand, joining a group of some other guys.

“You’ll see, my young padawan,” I shake my head, trying to conceal the smile that broke out without me being able to stop it. “Right, Scott. Stand here,” Grabbing his friend’s shoulders, he moves Scott in front of him, closer to the clean looking truck. “You have your house keys right?” Scott nods and Stiles continues on. “Hold them up. Like this.” Stiles positions his friend’s hand to be holding the key outwards. “Now, whatever happens I want you to think about Allison. Find her voice like you did at the game? Got it?” He nods again. “Good keep holding the keys,” Stiles then pulls his own pair of keys out of his jeans, walking over to the senior’s truck. Wasting no time at all, he drags his key along the side of the truck, the noise making me wince before the shock of what he was doing even hit me. Me and Scott both stand, mouths agape at the horrendous scratch now left on the paint. Stiles quickly pockets his keys, moving back over to us again before saying “Dude, what do you think you’re doing to that truck?” fake shock and blame fills his loud exclamation, and I see the group of seniors start to move towards us from the corner of my eye.

“What the fuck?” The owner of the truck’s face turns beet red in rage, and Scott stumbles back. I catch the smirk plastered on Stiles’ face. When he looks up at me I just send him a look of disbelief, shaking my head, to which he just shrugs. The mob of seniors (that reek of weed by the way) jump Scott in seconds. I can’t help but feel pain hearing and seeing the impact of each punch as he tries to defend himself, arms half covering his face. Stiles’ shuffles awkwardly over to me, trying not to draw unwanted attention, and takes out Coach’s phone, watching the heart rate rise as Scott continues to be pummeled into the ground. I can taste that familiar smell of blood in the air now, making my face scrunch up. It’s hard to see with all of the fast moving limbs gathered in a big pile, but I notice Scott’s face shift, as though he is trying hard to concentrate. He’s listening for her voice. For Allison’s voice. Surely enough the numbers reach a plateau, not rising high enough to where he would typically shift.

“Stop! Stop that right now! What do you idiots think you’re doing?” Suddenly Mr. Harris bellows, walking over to break up the fight. The seniors disperse, being made to follow the teacher as we step forward to help Scott up from the floor. Blood is dripping from his nose, down to his lips, as he brushes his clothes down with his hands, and Stiles flips the phone around to show Scott the screen. A steady, normal heartbeat.

“It worked,”

Mr Harris saunters back over to us, an angry look on his face, but I’m pretty sure at this point that is his natural resting state. His arms cross in front of his chest.

“I assume you can already guess what I am about to say,” His voice is pissed and sarcastic as always. “Detention after school. The three of you,” Stiles scoffs loudly, instantly flailing his arms in shock,

“What? What for?” I elbow him in the side, maybe a bit too hard, as a way to get him to make sure he doesn’t make it worse, like usual.

“Oh I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you damaged another student’s personal property? Or maybe it’s because you stole a teacher’s personal property? Or maybe, just maybe, I like seeing you punished,” He says the last sentence with a smirk, shaking his head slightly as a taunt. “Need I go on?” The rhetorical question is left up in the air and Stiles’ mouth hangs open, and we watch the chemistry teacher grab the Coach’s phone from Stiles’ hand and then walk off, back to the school building.

“Way to go, Stilinski,” I roll my eyes at his sputtering attempt at a reply.

-

Stiles and I sit at one desk, with Scott at the one in front of us, in the otherwise empty classroom. Well, except for Mr. Harris of course, who is sitting at the front of the room with his feet up on his desk, newspaper in hand. I pull out a biro and start mindlessly drawing on the back of my hand, catching myself too late when I realise that I was drawing my old pack symbol (the ‘Healer’s Hand’ - which is a hand with a spiral on the palm. A symbol of protection and healing but also a symbol for ‘eternity’. The second meaning always made more sense to me, as the last thing I would’ve called that pack would be ‘healing’). It’s a symbol that is permanently burned into my hip, which I really wish I had never gotten. To be honest, I never really wanted it that much in the first place. I can feel Stiles’ eyes on the drawing, and I quickly move my other hand to cover up the pen marks.

“What was that?” He whispers to me softly, clearly just curious, but I can’t stop myself from quietly snapping back at him,

“Does it matter?” I pause to breathe, calming myself down before apologizing. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, I just- I don’t really like talking about it, if that’s okay,” Stiles moves a hand to gently rest atop of both of mine, he peers up to look me in the eyes. I push the hair out of my face and meet his warm gaze,

“If you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to, okay? And that goes for whatever. You don’t need to feel guilty or anything for wanting to keep some stuff to yourself,” I let myself smile, looking back down to our hands. Stiles rubs his thumb soothingly along my hand.

“Excuse me, sir, I know it’s detention and all, but I’m supposed to be at work. And I don’t want to get fired,” Scott speaks up suddenly, catching both mine and Stiles’ attention, but not Mr. Harris’. The man continues reading his paper, and Scott suppresses a growl of annoyance in his throat. Scott then whips around to us, and Stiles’ slips his hand off of mine, awkwardly deciding what to do with it. He rests his chin on his hand, his elbow and upper arm supporting him, but his eyes glue themselves to the desk. Scott looks between us, catching the skip of both of his friend’s hearts, but choosing not to say anything about it. Instead he goes on to say “You knew I would heal,”

“Yep,” Stiles replies.

“So you did that to help me learn,”

“Yep,”

“But partially to punish me,”

“Yep,”

“For not being there the other day when your dad got hurt,” Stiles then looks up to Scott,

“You have something, Scott. Whether you want it or not. You can do things other people can’t. That means you don’t have a choice anymore. It means you have to do something,”

“I know, and I will,” After that, I notice Harris placing his newspaper down on his desk.

“Alright, the three of you. Out of here,” We all scramble out of our seats, grabbing our things quickly, eager to get the hell out of there.

Prev

[thearchvillain]

of horsefairs and maidens. part 1

nikolai lantsov x reader

link to part 2

summary: The weather is warm and the air thick with the scent of summer blossoms at the epicentre of horse auctions and races, Caryeva - and Nikolai Lantsov has been bored out of his mind for the past... what feels like an eternity. When even counting how many times his brother has made a fool of himself lost its appeal and became nearly tragic to watch, Nikolai retreated to the edges of the fair only to find that pretty girl Vasily had been dragging around all day hiding on the outskirts, seemingly desperate to escape the supposed Lantsov charm. Or whatever version of it Vasily had offered. "Tomorrow then.", he leaned down beside her, "I'll buy all your father's horses if that's what it takes." Watching her from the side he could just see the tiniest of smirks grace the corner of her lips, "That's an expensive sport you're wanting to try out." "Well, have I ever told you that I have a lot of money?" "Silly me, and here I was thinking you were a mere peasant." "Was it the humility? The rogue charm?"

word count: 2085

warnings: mentions of animal abuse, also Vasily being generally shitty as always

A/N - this is my first attempt at writing this sort of AU/imagine/excerpt, and I’ve gone overboard with the word count (as always), but I hope you will like it! i thought i might fit it into one part, but both Nikolai and the main character had so much to say I figured there would have to be another part thrown in there haha also we have some (briefly) confused!Nikolai, so I hope you enjoy that!

She'd hidden herself well, standing at the very edges of the fair where the trees cast their shadows long and wide in the evening sun, offering a pocket of peace to both the animals and the humans looking for a moment of silence, or cold breeze not laden with the scent of alcohol and sweat and horses.

Nikolai had been watching her for a while, straight-backed and still in her rider's outfit, standing near the rickety fence and looking at the horses not quite suited for the finer crowds that milled around the crown prince back at the heart of the fair. He supposed it was a good place to hide, not so much because of the forest behind them, but because his brother was far too vain to venture this far out.

"I saw you before, you're the girl who's been entertaining the crown prince.", he said, casually, noncommittally. She'd been ignoring the sound of his steps as he'd approached her from behind, drawn in by some sight before her, and even now she didn't so much as glance over her shoulder. Instead, she let out a sound that might have been a snort, but more lady-like, "Well, he's certainly not been entertaining me, so someone had to get the job done."

Nikolai stopped just short of the fence, to her left, and finally when the girl turned her head to see who she was speaking to he could see the brief flash of recognition in her eyes. So she hadn't known who she was speaking to. The surprise stayed there only for the briefest time, then morphed into something that might have been calculation, as if she were weighing her options - to speak of the prince to his brother this way was a dangerous game, at least if one wasn't familiar with Nikolai.

She finally settled on a slight nod, as graceful as it was superficial, "My apologies.", then she cocked an eyebrow, "Tell me, your highness, could this cost me my tongue?"

Cheeky. He smirked, "Only if it's me you're speaking of this way, and even then only because it would be a terrible lie. I'm wonderfully entertaining."

She made a noncommittal sound and looked back at her horses, "Does it run in the family?"

Nikolai felt personally slighted that the giant lump of muscle that was a horse a few meters away from them seemed more interesting to her than he did, but it wasn't like he was going to just back off, "At least give me a chance, it'd be a shame for you to think we're all like that."

"Like what?", she turned her clever eyes back to him and smiled, "You make it sound like I've implied the crown prince is not charming."

"Oh, you haven't. I'm the one implying it.", this seemed to draw out a chuckle from her. Take that, horse. "You're rather good at hiding distaste, I'll give you that."

"Who says I'm not hiding it now?"

"Ouch.", his hand went briefly to his chest in a theatrical display of hurt, "How come you're not nearly as charming to me as you've been to Vasily?"

"Because you don't seem like a jackass. How's that for the capital offence?"

"Personally, I see none, merely a good judge of character."

This time the chuckle she let over her lips was a bit less restrained, and he'd be damned if he didn't take that as a win. Now her eyes slid back to the meadow in front of them, beaten down by horseshoes and boots until it was nothing but mud, and Nikolai watched her watch that same horse she'd been staring at since he'd first spotted her. One could claim it was nothing special if it weren't for its size - he'd be damned if that wasn't the largest horse he'd seen since the army, and probably the roughest-looking.

"Do you have a penchant for the uglier specimen or are you just wondering about his size?"

The girl gave him the dirtiest look he'd been given in a while, "He's not ugly, just old and overworked.", then as if to sound less stern, "But he is a big boy, even for his breed."

Well, that attempt at a joke about his looks fell flat. He wasn't used to that. "How do you know?"

This seemed to be more her tune because she perked up and pointed one long, elegant finger at the horse, "Do you see the way he's walking? And the scars on his flank?", she didn't wait for the answer, he could hear the urgent irritation in her voice, "He's been severely abused - his hind leg has been broken and never set properly, and you rarely see a valuable work animal this scarred from beatings and equipment."

Now Nikolai looked, actually looked, he could see the ridges of old scars crisscrossing his entire body, and something off about the way he ambled around as if to put a distance between himself and the people. "I thought he was a warhorse, that those were battle wounds. Not something his owners would do to him."

He could see her soften a bit when she heard the shock and disgust that laced his tone, her eyes going briefly to him before she looked at the horse again, "Vasily wouldn't even look at him."

"You tried to show him to my brother?"

She frowned at his tone, "I had no choice! My father won't let me buy him, and he's going to be sold for meat if I don't get him before this hell show is over."

"You want to buy him?"

No, actually, this was the dirtiest look he'd received from a woman, "Well, of course. He deserves a peaceful, loving retirement. He's suffered enough."

Now it was Nikolai's turn to look incredulous, "I thought you were letting my brother drag you around like a prized mare because you wanted an actual prized mare."

She sputtered, incredulity lining her features before she finally found her voice, "Excuse me?"

"Not like that --"

"Like what then?"

Nikolai cleared his throat, if only to buy himself time, "Well, this went off the rails fairly quickly."

She turned her entire body towards him now, and he could feel the anger vibrating off her tiny frame in waves, all directed at him, "You were never on the damn rails."

Fair enough. "It says nothing of your character, anyone who listens to his drivel for an entire day should be well-compensated for their emotional trouble."

"I'll need to be well-compensated after this conversation."

"I don't think that old horse will do it though."

She smacked him on the arm. It took Nikolai a second to process what had just happened, as he looked down to his arm where her fist had punched him with all the righteousness of a woman scorned, then back up at her, incredulous once again. "I was joking."

"Try doing it again, but this time make it funny."

When Nikolai didn't answer quickly enough she put her hands on her hips and raised a brow, "Well?"

"Well-- my extensive education in diplomacy tells me I should ease off with the jokes and perhaps try to apologise?"

Her brow somehow went even higher, it made him feel young and squeamish.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply you were accompanying my brother for your gain."

"Oh, please, of course I've been advising him on horses because I want something out of him, why else would I listen to him compare me to a mare and act like he'd written me a sonnet."

"He compared you to a horse?"

"An expensive one, so it's fine in his mind.", she let out a shaky breath, the anger still simmering beneath the soft rosy tint that coloured her cheeks. Nikolai couldn't help but stare, taken aback by the simplicity of her intentions, her irritation - she'd been keeping her cool the entire day, nodding prettily whenever his brother said something, offering him her expertise only to have it thrown back in her face because she was not meant to be listened to, only showed off. And she was not a girl that wanted to be showed off or ignored, that much was clear.

"What?"

She turned to look at him, and Nikolai caught himself mid-stare, too absorbed in his thoughts to recognize that he'd been looking at her a bit too long. "Nothing, I'm just impressed."

"With what?"

"You.", he smirked, "I mean you've been suffering under his charms all day, then mine, and at the end of it you're restrained enough to only punch me in the arm?"

She frowned, her eyes sliding to his arm, uncertainty on her features, "Can I get in trouble for that?"

"Oh no, I'm into it."

She raised a brow, and Nikolai couldn't help the smirk that passed across his lips. Then he said, out of nowhere, "Will you come to dine with me?"

"As you said, your brother thinks I'm his prized mare."

That was only half a no, so he thought he might still have some wiggle-room left there, "Well I think you're far prettier than that. At least a good racehorse."

"Saints I want to smack you again."

Nikolai leaned in, his voice conspirational, "Well, yeah, that was kind of the point."

That chuckle again. He noticed that the feathery hair at the back of her neck curled delightfully when she turned to look at the fair and wondered briefly what she might look like when she let her hair down from her ponytail. His thoughts were interrupted when she said, "I can't. My father wants me to keep him amused, so Vasily might buy from him instead of the breeder from the next town over."

Nikolai frowned, "So he sent you out to entertain the creepier of the two princes like a well-trained monkey?"

"You just physically can't say a sentence without petting your own ego, can you?"

"Oh, you're noticing that just now?"

She leaned her forearms on the fence, staring out at the distance, "Are you really surprised? My sister probably knows even more than I do about the horses, but it was never about the knowledge."

Nikolai wished he could tell her he was, but he'd been made all too familiar with how these things worked in court, why his mother had paraded him around so much, with his pretty golden curls and charming smiles.

"Tomorrow then.", he leaned down beside her, "I'll buy all your father's horses if that's what it takes."

Watching her from the side he could just see the tiniest of smirks grace the corner of her lips, "That's an expensive sport you're wanting to try out."

"Well, have I ever told you that I have a lot of money?"

"Silly me, and here I was thinking you were a mere peasant."

"Was it the humility? The rogue charm?"

He'd just turned his head to look at her, a smirk playing on his lips, ready to come up with another joke to try and get another laugh from her when his brother's voice carried over from somewhere behind her, "Brother. I see you've met my advisor.", there was an edge to his voice, even if he was all drunken smiles, "She's pretty isn't she?"

"The prettiest.", Nikolai replied, pleasantly, even if he knew that wasn't quite the most interesting thing about her, "Come to save her from me?"

"Always.", Vasily's eyes went to the girl, and Nikolai realised he'd never asked for her name, "Did he bore you?"

"Not at all.", the mask slipped back onto her face, as empty as it was pretty, not that Vasily would ever notice, "I see he's inherited your charm."

"Yes, but not quite all of it."

Nikolai cast a glance her way and offered a slight smirk, something unspoken about it, an intimate joke, "I shall leave you two alone, I'm sure you've found another horse to bore her with, brother."

Vasily cleared his throat, "See you at dinner, little brother."

As he walked away, he could hear Vasily ask her for the details of their conversation, the jealousy seeping into his voice like poison. Then something about the workhorse they'd been looking at, wondering why she'd ever want that broken halfbreed. Nikolai knew why his brother had raised his voice when saying that, knew those words were meant for him more than her, but he was too tired to care. Tomorrow then. Hell, he might actually get himself some horses of his own tomorrow.

[blush-and-books]

i’m sorry, but i fell in love tonight

short fic based off of this gifset by @juliesmolinas and the song is there somewhere by halsey. in fact it is mandatory that you listen to the song/read the lyrics/both before/during reading this. yes i said mandatory.

angst with a sappy ending, julie goes through a lifetime of emotions in less than 3k, was originally gonna write when i was in a more emotionally raw state but writing this made me emotionally raw so... enjoy <3

warnings: swearing

Julie made the promise at some point -- she just doesn’t know exactly when.

It may have been when he appeared at her school, all shy smiles and soft glances, professing that she made him a better writer. Or, more definitively, it could have been when she forlornly pulled him into her arms a moment before she was positive that she was to lose him forever. 

All that she knew was her time with Luke was fleeting. So she swore that her butterfly-wing crush was not allowed to fill her chest or dizzy her thoughts; that his lyrics would mean nothing more next to hers than words on a page and his touches would bring her little to no comfort.

Luke Patterson could not complete her. 

The universe wouldn’t allow it -- and neither would Julie Molina. 

But -- either Luke was blissfully unaware of their impending doom or he genuinely didn’t care -- he forced himself through every barrier she attempted to erect. And it was driving her nearly insane, because she made a promise to protect herself. 

Maybe she wasn’t strong enough to do it. Or maybe the universe, despite refusing to give Julie Luke in his entirety, did not want her to be protected. 

It was all in the little things-

When she stayed up with him in the garage, playing him all of the songs he’s missed in 25 years, and he danced around on the slippery floor in his socks and grinned at her with wide green eyes. The neon emerald in the dim light was reminiscent of driving on the highway and passing sign after sign leading to the exits she could have taken, but couldn’t bring herself to.

How New Years Eve arrived and the Molina family gathered in the driveway to light sparklers; Luke’s hand brushing hers as he passed off one of the two in his hands. 

In his head lulling onto her shoulder while she was trying to finish some homework with his help on the torn couch and his lips moving against her bare skin  as he mumbled that she needed to take a break before driving herself insane; followed by her braiding her hair to get it out of her face.

She already had driven herself insane -- but not over her homework. 

(His mouth on her shoulder was the answer to a prayer she never dared to murmur aloud.)

Luke never failed to be present when he was needed. If she was sick or stressed or depressed, he knew when to fuse to her side and when to offer some space. Through careful observation rather than conversation, he knew which of her many sweatshirts were reserved for illness or emotional support. 

In most of those situations, she needed him, too. Her fingernails would curl into his biceps through a cramp or wave of tears and he would wrap her in his embrace and swarm her with warm words that dried her eyes.

She hated it.

When they wrote music, it felt as though they were already reading each other's minds before either of them had spoken a word about their plans. Their journals contained inky black waterfalls spilled from an intimacy that Julie did not want to dissect. 

Again, she hated it. She loved it more than anything and hated that she loved it all -- because it could never be real. 

She would always play second fiddle to death. 

Julie made the promise to herself to not let Luke complete her because, while she had him for now, the night of the Orpheum was a reminder that the universe would not hesitate to snap it’s fingers and eliminate him from existence. 

The universe, being the confusing, stubborn bitch it is, just didn’t get the memo on that promise. 

Because Luke filled every crack and restored every gap in her being, and he shouldn’t.

The hopeless, pining romantic in her that constantly argued with her realist side said they were meant to meet. Even if it was brief and heartbreaking and had the power to hurt her in a way she didn’t understand, it had to happen. If it wasn’t supposed to happen, then how and why did he cross space and time only to fall at her feet?

(Soulmates, a taunting voice whispered. Soulmates.)

((The voice was locked in a closet as punishment.))

She didn’t want to entertain the word. It had too much of a forlorn, wistfully romantic sound to it that Julie didn’t need to associate with Luke when she spent most moments with him at this point convincing herself that she wasn’t in love.

Until tonight.

It is past midnight, which is when anyone’s mental state starts to alter. Things that would be labelled as bad ideas in the daylight could very possibly become fair game when shrouded in a darkness that made everything private. The two of them, Luke and Julie, Julie and Luke, are nestled together on the piano bench as her fingers tiredly press each cut of ivory in a working melody.

“I have an idea,” Luke says, gently shifting his left hand to cover hers on the keys. “Why don’t we press pause on this song for a minute?”

Then, she finally looks up at him. Her eyes probably have crescents like the dark side of the moon crossing her skin, and her hair is all over the place, but he’s staring at her in one of the rare ways that she hates.

She hates it because the look convinces her that she completes him.

This time, however, there’s a hope. A hope, and a hesitance, and she’s simultaneously extremely nervous and beyond curious as to what his plans are. 

“Did- Didn’t you want to finish this tonight?” 

Regret strikes across his face, but he recovers. The softness is back. “Yeah, I just think we need a change of pace.” Right hand on the back of his neck: A telltale sign of a confession of some kind. She’s seen it more times than is healthy. “There was another song I wanted to show you, actually.”

“Oh.” She blinks, he waits. “Yeah, uh, I mean, yeah. Show me. What do you have so far?” He clears his throat as he thrums through the pages to find his target. “The whole thing.”

Julie doesn’t have time to react -- although she’s already in a panic -- before the leather-bound book is being awkwardly shoved into her hands, and the first thing she sees at the top is Luke’s nearly illegible scribble of Dark Room (song for Julie).

“Luke-”

“Just read it.” His voice is significantly raspier than it was a minute ago. “Please.”

She can’t. If he feels the same way and the confession is undeniably in front of her, then what is she supposed to do? Would she rather break Luke’s heart now to save them both down the line, or delay the misery a little longer?

It’s not that she doesn’t want it -- she does. But she doesn’t know if she’s emotionally equipped for any of the options that are offered to her. The destination of any path she chooses leads to a world of heartache.

So, she does the only thing she can think in the moment: She reads the song.

Instantly, the lyrics are blurred from the tears in her eyes because she sees the words “love” and “together” and her greatest fears and grandest wishes are coming true. The sonnet proclaims that she’s his light that illuminated his once-dark forever, and that he was hers when they didn’t even know each other, and that he will be hers wherever he ends up next.

He just wanted her to know that he would have waited another lifetime in the blank, limitless limbo he was in for 25 years if he knew she would be there when he was set free.

And, in the moment, Julie allows herself to acknowledge that her promise is broken.

She’s fallen in love. 

And, apparently, he has too.

(Maybe they can claim just one night. The universe owes them that much, doesn’t it?)

“Julie?” God, he sounds so worried. A shaking finger trails up her jaw to catch falling tears, and his contact makes her gasp. He pulls away and shoves his hands together to fidget in his lap. “Julie, are you- Fuck, I’m sorry, I just fucked this up, didn’t I? I fucked it all up. Fuck, I-”

When she chances a look up at him for the first time in the couple of minutes that she’s been staring, hopelessly, at the song in her lap -- he’s got his face covered by his hands pressing roughly into his eyes, and he’s turned to face the piano instead of her.

He takes a deep breath, and it sounds… 

Stuffy. 

Three more tears leak from Julie’s eyes. More build up every minute as her right hand runs along his shoulder, “Luke…”

“No, Julie, please just drop it.”

“Luke.”

“I clearly misread a lot of stuff, and I’m tired, so maybe you can just go to bed and forget-”

Her hand wraps tightly around his upper arm like it’s done so many times when she has been in distress. “Luke.”

There’s a crack in her voice from sheer desperation. She needs him to look at her, so that she can wipe his tears and smile through the sobs and tell him he didn’t misread a single thing. She would wait a lifetime for him to come out of the dark room, she loves him too, and she’s going to forget all about it. 

And ask him to do the same.

At least the scratch of his name catches his attention long enough, because he angles back towards her, and swallows thickly before meeting her eyes. Salty teardrops linger against his eyelids and eyelashes; the red rimming illuminating the oceanic green to look like a gemstone. Her grip relaxes.

“Yeah, Julie?”

She attempts a smile. “The song is beautiful, Luke. I love it.”

I love you.

“That’s it? It’s beautiful, and you love it, but you don’t… I’m not in your dreambox, huh?”

He clearly hasn’t dug through it in awhile. He’s everywhere. Discarded guitar picks and notes he’s left in her school journals and plenty, plenty of songs.

It’s funny, because she told him her dreambox was for things that didn’t make her sad. Luke was a double-edged sword -- making her happy every day in a new way, and making her cry into her pillow at night.

How does she explain this? There’s a whirlwind of responses running through her brain and she can barely coherently comprehend any of them. 

“No,” she finds herself sighing as she raises her hand to his cheek, followed by her other hand so that he can’t try and turn away. “No, Luke, no… You’re wrong.”

“What do you mean ‘I’m wrong?’”

Her bottom lip starts to shake. “You think I don’t love you back.”  Both of them feel their breath catch at her use of the word out loud. It feels like a secret that shouldn’t be repeated. “And you’re wrong.”

“... I’m wrong.”

“Of course you’re wrong! You really think I don’t love you back?”

“Why are you crying if you love me?”

“Because we can’t do this!”

He scoffs, and Julie’s heart is racing in her chest as he pushes himself off of the piano bench and her hands fall from his face. What has she done?

“That’s bull, Julie.” His fingertips tug at his hair. “You don’t need to make a big dramatic show to convince me it’s wrong just to let me down easy. You aren’t going to talk me out of this.” Dead-on, he stops pacing back and forth, and looks her in the eye. “I love you.”

Listening to him say it, the way his mouth moves and his voice ticks with conviction at each syllable, is what makes her break. 

“And I love you too.” 

He reels back. He probably wasn’t expecting her voice to raise from their odd, in-between whisper and normal volume.

“But don’t you get it? Luke, we aren't in some magical place where we can meet each other in the middle. A place like that doesn’t exist. You’re dead, and I’m alive, and any future here ends with both of us losing each other.” 

“Julie-”

“You said you would wait another lifetime, right?” Using his own lyrics against him. She watches his hands twitch before nodding; the movements of his head barely visible. “Then wait. Another lifetime, another two -- the fucking universe clearly didn’t want us to have this one, so we’re stuck waiting for the next one.”

Even through his clear and fighting need to argue, to talk with her about this, he stiffly nods his head. It’s obvious that she has thought way too much about this from the way she’s barely choking out each word before crumbling into tears before his eyes -- but then again, he’s thought about it too. 

Callused hands are running along her neck to tilt her face up out of the blue. She was too busy crying to notice that he had crossed the distance between them to stand right in front of her and assure that she was meeting his eyes.

“Luke-”

“No, Julie, it’s my turn. Please.”

She won’t argue with him. So, with a tender swipe of his thumbs under her eyes, he proceeds.

“Look, I get it. You think I don’t get it? I fucking hate being dead, for so many reasons, Julie. But if I never died, I never would have met you.” Her lips part, and maybe he thinks she’s going to protest because he smoothly lifts a finger in front of her lips that barely makes contact. 

(Julie almost presses her lips into it.)

“And you’re right. I wish there was somewhere that we could meet in the middle, but we don’t have that. I wish so many things, Julie. But none of them involve a life where I don’t have you.”

She whimpers, because listening to the man that normally chains his emotions in a cage bare his soul to her at nearly one in the morning is a seriously more out-of-body experience than she expected. She knew, deep down, that she loved him. But she never allowed herself to feel the all-encompassing warmth that she feels now.

“But hey, Julie, look at me,” he coaxes her with a tone that drips with affection. The pads of his fingers are nearly kneading into the back of her neck. “Like you said: The universe didn’t want to give us this lifetime. They couldn’t let us have all the fun, right?” Both of them let out a watery chuckle. “But they still brought me to you, didn’t they? They let me know you in this lifetime, even if we couldn’t have forever. I said I would be yours wherever I am. So even if this,” he gestures to his ghostly form, “isn’t forever, even if we don’t have this lifetime… You know I’ll love you forever, right?”

It was a monologue straight from one of her dreams that left her waking up with a manic smile and tears running down her face. 

Unable to form any other response besides an unaware nod, Julie waits for him to continue.

“And maybe, the universe will give us the next lifetime, or a whole new universe, or… Just somewhere where we can get forever.” 

Abruptly, his hands slide from her neck and grasp her hands like he needs to hold on firmly enough to believe that she’s still real in front of him. Julie is still speechless and teary, and in the most sentimental gesture, Luke kisses the back of both of her hands. 

“We’ll get forever, Julie.” His warm breath puffs against her skin. “I promise you.”

And, well, if he promises forever in the next life -- then why can’t she take what she can get in this one?

--

tags: @bluefirewrites @willexx @unsaid-emily @lydias--stiles @moreflowersthanweeds @pink-flame 

[pinkhairedlily]

Chapter 8 - Student Council President Sakura

SCPS AO3 | PREVIOUS CHAPTER

“Oh, hello there Sakura.”

She almost lost her balance when she saw her next customers. Standing beside Kakashi with her arm entangled in his was a brunette, a spitting image of Dr. Aki Nohara, a giveaway that this was her sister. Sakura’s surroundings dimmed out of focus, and her hearing became muffled as if she was submerged underwater.

“Couldn’t mistake that green eyes for anyone,” Kakashi continued. “I’ll have a caramel butterscotch with extra whipped cream – make it super heavy – and Rin –“

“That’s supposed to be my order, you dummy,” the woman replied beside him. He chuckled in fascination and tightened his hold on her arm. “Besides, you don’t like sweets.”

“You’re still on a specialized diet so allow me to eat and drink whatever you want while you stick with – “ Kakashi glanced at Sakura, and she immediately mustered a tight-lipped smile. “One iced americano in your smallest size please. Thanks, Sakura.”

She took in a deep breath, suddenly aware that she wasn’t able to acknowledge her teacher and his companion, but so many things have been running through her head – like how did he know it was her? Why was he with Rin? Did he propose already? She hasn’t even confessed yet.

Somehow, in the dragging silence in her ears, she heard Sasuke cleared his throat. That was enough to break her from the spell, and she put on her bravest mask. “Hi Kakashi-sensei. Nice of you to drop by! I’ll have your order ready in a jiffy.”

Kakashi turned around and waved lazily at Sasuke. “One of my students is here too. Are you on a red eye advance study?”

“Can’t sleep so might as well have caffeine.”

“You’re too young to have this energy.”

Rin jokingly slapped Kakashi on the arm. “You talk as if you’re old already.”

“But aren’t I?” The pair slowly drifted away to find a table, but Sakura noticed the flash of recognition when Rin took a long good look at Sasuke, but her friend stared at them like he was throwing sharp draggers.

“He looks happy,” Sakura noted as she fixed their drinks.

“I want your favorite coffee,” Sasuke quipped out of nowhere.

“There’s a thing called palpitations. It’s caramel macchiato.”

“Might do me some good while I wait for you to finish your shift.”

Sakura sighed, feeling the tiredness come upon her all of a sudden so she relented. “Just take it to-go. I want to get out of here.”

She quickly asked permission from the manager, saying she felt sick and fatigued, and with her clocking overtime in the past few weeks, her request was immediately approved without deductions. The mixed winter and spring air hit her lungs as soon as she stepped outside. Sasuke waited for her across the street, a gesture that implied she could go to him or separate ways right now. As she vied for time to decide, she took one last look through the window.

It was a foreign sight. She has never seen Kakashi’s attention torn apart from his books. Even if he was talking, there would be an open page on his side, stealing glances on passages when the conversations got boring, yet there he was, fully attuned to whatever Rin was saying with no book around him…like she was his favorite book and he enjoyed reading every letter of her.

And Sakura realized she could never be the story he would even want to pick up.

She felt the tears coming so she started her pace on the same road. Across from her, Sasuke got the signal and went the other way.

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

The last term of their second year came like a bazooka. Sakura threw herself on her pet project as a sort of coping mechanism. The announcement was done during the general assembly which did not generate the intended buzz or reaction. After all, it was a tricky topic to handle and many facets of which were still stigmatized when talked openly in public. Naruto, ever the people magnet, broke the agitated atmosphere in the auditorium with a slow clap and was soon joined by many others.

The council created a Google form which allowed students to anonymously register, and they get assigned a schedule on the day their contracted psychiatrist comes to visit. All they had to do was provide their designated client number. The council further complemented this with short programs that serve as mental health breaks for the student body. Sometimes, this would be as light as a block screening of a coming-of-age film or heavy like a conference with faculty and teachers and questions and concerns are remotely flashed.

Then came Valentines’ Day, and the council organized this some kind of literary showcase that presented the opportunity to mingle woes of personal sadness and griefs with confessions that would have been left unsaid. Naruto and Sasuke both helped in constructing the makeshift stage in the middle of the soccer field that would be used later that afternoon.

“Cookie points for my crush,” Naruto grinned as he hammered away. “Thanks for picking the poem I will be reciting tonight, grumpy. Didn’t know you were into literature.” He jokingly elbowed the raven-haired beside him, and he got a death glare in return.

“Do it properly. Look at that nail sticking out like your porcupine hair,” Sasuke grumbled. “And yes, I’m not as uncultured as you are.”

“But I still don’t understand it though.”

“Ugh, just use the internet to search its meaning, idiot.”

“Meanie!”

A fellow runner peeked into their work area and knocked on wood. “Hey Uchiha. Some girl is looking for you.” Her face expressed grimace, having done this for more than five times already within the span of an hour. If it wasn’t Sasuke, it was one of Naruto’s fan girls or boys.

Sasuke went to her and fumbled around for cash in his pocket. “Next time someone looks for us, tell them we went home for the day. Here’s money for your date later. If you have anyway.”

“Whatever grumpy.” The runner replied, still half-angry, half-frustrated, but she took the money all the same and told the girls that ‘They told me to tell you they went home for the day so shoo shoo.’

Naruto laughed at Sasuke’s successful attempt at bribery. “Look at that rich money. I wonder whether Sakura will give us chocolates.”

“Have you seen their office?” Sasuke flipped open the curtains that will be hang as backdrop. “Their desk is filled with chocolates from her admirers – platonically, romantically, whatever. Some people from other schools dropped by too. You got serious competition.”

Naruto chuckled nervously. “As if I do not know that already. Haven’t you told me before- she likes everyone and everyone likes her.”

Not really true at all now, Sasuke thought to himself. But ignorance is bliss, Naruto.

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

The three sat on the grass beside the stage, having full view of the student body listening to the reciters. Throughout the program, Sakura went through each package given to her, visibly stressed with evident signs of sleepless nights under her eyes.

“Before I forget, happy Valentine’s day you two. My council-mates told me you didn’t get any chocolates,” Sakura gave each of them a pouch of small chocolate bars. Sasuke didn’t have to guess if it was store-bought or homemade based on the cuts on her fingers.

“Sakura, stop eating. I almost gagged at the seventh chocolate,” Naruto complained. He tried to get the basket of sweets from her, but she just moved it away from his reach.

“Everything tastes bitter,” she muttered under her breath. “I need sugar. My energy can’t keep up with the countless interviews. I understand that the school board liked the exposure, but the burden falls on me. At least have a teacher back me up?”

“Heard Kakashi-sensei volunteered to accompany you in interviews?” Sasuke was too late in shutting Naruto up, but the most that question got out of Sakura was an eyebrow raise.

“I need more sweets.” She proceeded to jam the rest of the Hershey’s kisses in her mouth.

“Okay, we have a submission from Uzumaki Naruto,” the announcer said. “Shout out to our rookie MVP!” A round of applause. “And who might be the recipient of this poem? We heard through the grapevine that he hid from his admirers all day. I know several people are waiting to confess to him!”

Sasuke instructed him earlier to send the poem anonymously and address it to Sakura, but the dumbass blonde mistakenly exchanged it. He rubbed his forehead in annoyance, but he can’t bring it up right now.

“Just read the poem!” Naruto shouted on the side, clearly embarrassed now. Sakura looked up at him, genuinely curious now, and her sticky chocolate-filled mouth was on the edge of firing him questions.

“Sasuke and I sent in poems! Just to support your program, nothing really too deep into it ehe.” Naruto glanced at Sasuke with slightly widened eyes. “Right, Sasuke?”

“Sonnet 18 by William Shakespeare,” the person started.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day

Thou art more lovely and more temperate.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimmed;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,

Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,

When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st.

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

Sakura slapped Naruto on the arm. “Didn’t know you read Shakespeare! What a romantic!”

“Isn’t it a tragedy?” Sasuke remarked, a look of disgust in his face when Sakura mindlessly offered him a toblerone. “No sweets for me.”

Sakura guffawed at Sasuke’s remark, and her laughing was a rare sight recently. She was in too deep in her student council functions that they barely see her. And when they did, she’d be a little bit closer to fatigue.

“What’s funny? Who’s Shakespeare? Let me in on the joke!”

“Let’s call on Kakashi-sensei, our very own student council advisor and youngest teacher in the university. He’ll be reciting a poem by Pablo Neruda. A man of culture, we see,” the emcee announced.

Sakura stopped laughing as soon as she heard his name. If Sasuke could glean into her thoughts, she’s probably making up excuses to escape right now.

Kakashi stood in the middle of the stage, holding an open book. “Let me just ramble on here for a bit. Neruda is a Chilean poet and a politician, but just as much as he is a revolutionary, he is a romantic and a worshipper of ideals and ordinary things. He often compared his muses to earth and nature – basic providers of our existence. It’s interesting to see. Now, this poem is what I would have wanted to say to someone who is fundamentally part of my existence, but she won’t listen to me.” Kakashi smiled even more at the onset of outburst of giggles from the students. “So you’re gonna be the audience whether you want it or not.”

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.

Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.

Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day

I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,

your hands the color of a savage harvest,

hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,

I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,

the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,

I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,

hunting for you, for your hot heart,

like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

A thundering applause followed Kakashi’s poem and random shouts of, “Drop her name sensei!” “Good luck to your love life!” “Happy for you, sensei!”

As the lights went out on the stage, Sakura fished another pouch from her vest pocket, and Sasuke knew at once that it was Kakashi’s. She popped a bar into her mouth, staring blankly ahead.

“God, it’s so bitter.” Her lips started to quiver, and she started to cry.

Naruto threw a worried glance at Sasuke, but his expression must have given something away because the blonde didn’t prod, and he looked as if all the puzzles fell into place.

Sasuke just didn’t expect to be confronted about it as soon as the program finished. He was carrying blocks of wood to the shed when Naruto dropped the question – a question he already knew the answer to.

“You like Sakura.”

Sasuke inhaled sharply and halted his steps. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He stacked the wood against each other and turned to face the blonde. “Besides, shouldn’t you be worrying about exams?”

“What exams? We’re exempted from it,” Naruto bristled.

Sasuke smirked. “No, you’re not. You didn’t qualify for finals.”

“Oh shit.”

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

“What do we get in return?” Sakura asked as she munched on her bento box. Shouts of the practicing dragonboat team filtered through their space.

“But last time you volunteered!” Naruto said.

“We’re friends so my services don’t come free anymore,” she chided back.

Naruto glared at Sasuke. “If she’s not gonna do it, you’re gonna do it.”

Sasuke nonchalantly shook his head as he skimmed through Naruto’s notes. “What she said.” They weren’t notes per se, but doodles of Sasuke and Sakura and interestingly, projections of different batting stances. “I’m also not gonna forgive you with the duck butt hair.”

“But you have a duck butt hair!” Naruto crossed his arms and huffed menacingly. “Ramen?”

“Same old, same old.” Sakura finished her lunch and started to sip her cranberry juice. “Give us something new.”

“Ramen and…..karaoke?”

Sakura brightened up at the prospect. “Deal.”

“At least add snacks to your place,” Sasuke interjected. “And not just ramen. Put some nuts or fruits in your fridge.”

Naruto grumbled but raised two thumbs up in defeat. “Deal.”

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

Sasuke has thin patience when it came to teaching Naruto, Sakura observed. She didn’t know how these two managed to do the supplementary math lessons when she wasn’t a part of their group yet. She didn’t mind teaching, but Naruto’s short attention span was a devil of its own. He would be attentive to her for 15 minutes and then drowse off so Sasuke and her agreed on non-negotiables.

“No ramen break for you if you don’t finish this set of problems,” Sakura told him.

“You’re demon spawns,” Naruto cried out in defiance.

“If you don’t get a passing score on this sample test, no kani toppings for you.” Sasuke raised the stakes.

“Demon spawns,” Naruto repeated.

“You won’t call us demon spawns if you see your name on the list of passers.” Sakura started the stopwatch on her phone. “Now go.”

This took her mind off things, from Kakashi’s public confession to the blank career form hidden within the pages of her history textbook. It was a good distraction until the penultimate exams day. Naruto came in with a bandana on his forehead with FIGHTING written in the middle of it. Sasuke, as usual, breezed through it, already finished by the thirty-minute mark.

And she? Well, she liked exams. The time limit and the pressure allowed her the reprieve to shut the rest of the world out so she relished answering each number until the bell rang. It was a moment where she can focus fully on the paper in front of her, the sound of her pen scribbling, and her mind working full force to cull out the answers in her memory. Her utmost concentration on questions suspended her own questions on her feelings for a teacher, on her parents’ divorce, on her future.

When the school plastered the results on the bulletin board, she couldn’t help but release a satisfied chuckle. She turned to Sasuke who was surprisingly stoic about the results. “First place! The bonus point really helped.”

“Why should I bother with a teacher’s middle name for the bonus question?” Sasuke grumbled back. “Congrats. Stop rubbing it in my face already.”

Naruto was too busy pointing his name on the board and bragging about it to the student body, most especially the freshies. When he found them on the back of the crowd, he rushed to them and placed his arms around their shoulders “Drinks on me!!!!!”

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

“He really shouted drinks on me in the middle of the school, sauntered in here like he’s loaded, and ordered two pitchers of iced tea.” Sakura kept bringing this up since they entered the karaoke room ten minutes ago.

Naruto was preoccupied with inputting song numbers on the machine to respond to Sakura’s banters. “Technically, they’re still drinks!”

Sasuke was on the phone with the kitchen, and from what she could hear, he was ordering almost everything on the menu. When he sat down on the adjacent couch, Sakura leaned forward to him. “Are you gonna finish all of that?”

He jutted his index finger to Naruto. “No, but he will.”

The first notes of Michael Jackson’s Thriller wafted through the room, and the blonde made a quick impression of the artist’s famed moonwalk.

“Why are you opening with that?” Sakura cried out in amusement. “It’s not even Halloween!” Sasuke watched Naruto try to dance with a straight face, but she thought he was itching to face palm the whole time.

Naruto kept beckoning Sakura to join him in the middle of the room, but she was busy laughing at him and taking videos. “I’ll send these to Haru as a pick-me-up. I think this is the best remedy.”

Next was Sakura’s pick – Heaven is a Place on Earth by Belinda Carlisle. She couldn’t contain her laughter in between verses when the two boys finally heard that she was tone deaf. Naruto joined her with the other mic, trying to drown out the off-key notes. By the bridge, Sasuke stood up with them, a glass of juice in his hand, and mouthed the words.

“You know this song!” Sakura said excitedly.

“I don’t live under a rock!” He yelled back amid the loud music.

“OOOH BABY DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT’S WORTH OOH HEAVEN IS A PLACE ON EARTH. THEY SAY IN HEAVEN, LOVE COMES FIRST. OOH HEAVEN IS A PLACE ON EARTH!”

“Okay who’s next?” she asked when the next number flashed on the screen. Sasuke silently took the mic from her and faced the monitor with a hand in his pants’ pocket.

Naruto gripped the mic harder when the song started. “I’ll be your second voice, grumpy!”

She immediately went to the front and started recording. “One for the road.”

“No videos, Haruno,” Sasuke warned.

“Come on, it’s my remembrance,” she whined. He wasn’t able to clap back when the lines started to move.

“Turn around…” Naruto sang.

“Every now and then, I get a little bit lonely and you’re never coming ‘round,” Sasuke’s baritone voice filled the room like an empty coliseum.

“The fuck. You can sing?” Sakura gasped out loud. “How can you have that voice and not sing - like you know, every day?!”’

Sasuke gestured her to stop as he belted, stoic-faced, through the chorus with Naruto singing like a slaughtered pig in the background. Sakura stopped recording and joined them for the rest of the song.

Two hours and three pitchers of orange juice later, they finally settled on the couch and munched on Naruto’s leftovers of fries, buttered chicken, nachos, and calamari. On the karaoke monitor was David Bowie singing Heroes.

“Can’t believe we’re already seniors two months from now.” He stared at the ceiling, his eyes following the tag game of disco lights. “Elections of officers will be tomorrow which means Captain Haru will be formerly stepping down.”

Sasuke reached out and shook his hand. “Good luck next captain.”

Naruto immediately pulled out from his grasp. “What do you mean next captain?”

Sakura chuckled and patted his back as assurance. “Everyone knows it’ll be you. Have you seen how your teammates look at you when you’re discussing strategies?”

In the dimness of the room, she saw the flush on Naruto’s cheeks, and she found it amusing how he cannot take compliments.

Naruto scratched the back of his head. “Well, everything is possible, right? That said, I still haven’t filled out my college form, but I’m really set on getting an athletic scholarship and eventually be part of the national team! How about you grumpy? Changed your mind yet?”

“About what?” Sakura glanced at the silent raven-haired guy beside her. To be able to see this much of him was a nice privilege.

“I’m moving away after high school.” Sasuke fiddled with his half-empty glass, his eyes trained on the slushing juice. “I already sent applications to some universities in Europe.”

“We also have good medicine programs here. I don’t get why you have to move away so far. I’m so bad with converting time zones.”

Sasuke scrunched his nose in annoyance. “Are you dumb? The schools you listed are also out of this district.”

She seemed to be moving farther and farther from their exchange. Like an outsider peeking in, she understood the frailty of the moments in front of her, and by the time the next two months set in, the stopwatch would have started running its last lap. The bonds she has made so serendipitously were in danger of being cut off by dreams. She breathed in, engulfing the noise and scent of this room, panning every color and shape assembled like supercut in her head, praying that someday if she would lose herself, she’d come back here right at this frozen memory and relive the wonderful indecisiveness of adolescence and the chance to say I don’t know without repercussions.

“Sakura to earth?” Naruto’s voice.

“Idiot. It’s earth to Sakura.” Sasuke’s voice.

She blinked fast, returning to the moment that wasn’t finished playing out yet. She quickly brushed her hands on her eyes as if something got into her eyes, hoping they don’t see the small droplets of tears that have formed. “Oh uh, I have a list of prospects, but I’m not quite sure what to take.” The form was still blank actually.

“That’s a usual problem of anyone who’s too good at everything,” Sasuke replied.

“Are you complimenting me?” I wish I was.

“Should I take it back?” He proceeded to gulp down the remnants of his glass.

The monitor suddenly turned off, indicating their time has run out. “Hey guys, for our last term, let’s make the most out of it, all right?” Naruto asked. “I’m so happy we became friends.”

“No hugging please,” Sasuke said, but it was too late. Naruto’s arms were too strong to pull away from so the two allowed him a few seconds of skinship.

Naruto’s words struck a chord in Sakura; it was a resolve she tried to form and disfigure for several months now. Before they could stand up to fix their things, Sakura blurted it out loud before her courage took the best of her.

“For our last term.” She flexed her fingers and curled them up against her palm, placing weight on her lap as she ground her fists onto it. “For our last term, I’m gonna confess to Kakashi.”

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