#and would’ve should’ve could’ve is looking back so many years later and seeing it all with painful clarity

[butimnotseventeen]

I know they’re not written about the same situation but the Enchanted to Haunted to Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve pipeline fucking wrecks me

[imawkwardlysoc]

things left unsaid

Song- Unsaid Emily from Julie and the Phantoms

Paring(s)- tom kazansky & child!reader, pete mitchell & kazansky! reader

Warning(s)- Mentions of a character dying, angst, gn!reader

Wordcount- 972

Summary- It's been fifteen years since the reader has last seen their father and fifteen years later, they see their father buried six feet under the ground.

*Fifteen Years Ago*

“Dad, really? You can’t be serious! You can’t do this to me.”

“I’m damn sure I can. You’re wasting a perfectly good opportunity.”

“What opportunity? Going to Stanford to become a lawyer and be depressed for the rest of my life?” I questioned my dad. “I got offered a better opportunity than Stanford.”

“So you’re just throwing away your college career to travel around the world and play music?” He asked.

“Yes!” I exclaimed. “Why aren’t you happy about me getting this deal?”

“Because you’re too young.” He looked at me.

“I’m eighteen years old,” I let out a laugh. “I already graduated high school. I’m taking this deal whether you like it or not.”

“Y/N, just listen to me!”

“No,” I grabbed my bag. “I’m not. See you.”

Walking out of the house, I heard my mother calling my name, wishing that I would come back. That was the last time I ever came back to that house.

*Present Day*

“Y/N, Dad passed.”

_______

As I pulled up to the cemetery, the sky had a purple/blue violet hue. Driving through it, there were barely any cars there. I could easily see where his plot was just from the flowers that were placed on his grave. Parking the car and turning it off, I let out a shaky breath and looked over at the plot.

“Come on Y/N, you can do this,” I motivated myself.

Getting out of the car, I started to feel my legs shake a little as I walked closer to the plot. Kneeling down in front of the headstone, I traced over the engraved words that were on there.

Tom “Iceman” Kazansky

1959-2019

Devoted husband, father, and naval aviator

Blinking, I felt the salty tears run down my cheeks as my emotions started to come out of me. All of the memories that I had with him entered my mind.

Why was I so stubborn? I could’ve listened to him. If I did, I would’ve had more time with him. I would’ve been by his side when he took his last breath. 

But I didn’t.

I decided to be a stubborn young adult and not follow my father’s wishes. Despite where I got in my career by releasing two number one albums and winning many awards, they weren’t worth it. I would trade all of those to have him back. To have my father back.

“I’m so sorry,” I sobbed. “I should’ve listened to you. You’re so fucking disappointed in me.”

“He’s not.” I looked over my shoulder and saw his wingman in his dress blues. “He’s pretty damn proud of you.”

“Mav.” I got up and hugged him.

“Hey kiddo,” he hugged back. “How are you?”

That’s where I broke down more. Pulling me closer to his chest, I started to sob more into his chest.

“Why?” My voice croaked. “Why did he have to leave? Why did I leave?”

“Because you’re just like your father, stubborn as hell,” Mav let out a chuckle to lighten the mood.

“I should’ve just gone to Stanford and become a lawyer,” I waved my hands in the air. “That would’ve meant that I would’ve had more memories with him.”

“But you would’ve been miserable,” my father’s wingman told me. “You should just see his face when he sees you perform.”

“What?” I looked at him.

“Yeah, he’s been to all of your concerts ever since you released your first album,” he nodded his head. “He dragged Slider and I to them most of the time if we’re in the same area.”

“Would’ve been nice to know that earlier.”

“I know but he made Sli and I promise not to mention it to anyone, even your mom and siblings.”

“Wow, can’t believe that he was there at all of my concerts.” I let out a laugh while shaking my head in disbelief. “I left so many things behind that day. My old life. My family. So many things I want back. There are things I left unsaid.”

“And you can get them back,” Mav gave me a small smile.

“How?” I questioned.

“Let’s start with your mom and siblings,” he replied. “One step at a time.”

“Thanks Mav.” I hugged him.

“It’s no problem,” he hugged back. “If you ever want to talk, ask your mom for my number. It was nice seeing you again.”

“It was nice seeing you too.” I gave him a small smile. “Let’s grab a coffee or something if you're available.”

“I should be in a week or so.” He nodded his head. “I’ll let you go now.”

Thanking him one last time, I got into my car and I saw him getting on his motorcycle. Letting out a laugh and shaking my head as I saw him drive away, I put my car in drive and headed out of the cemetery. Following the direction Google maps has given me, I pulled up to the house that I’ve haven’t been to in fifteen years. Walking up to the door, I rang the doorbell and waited for it to open.

“Hi Mom,” I greeted my mom as she opened the door.

“Y/N!” She immediately wrapped me in a hug.

“I’m back,” I started to sob again.

“You’re back,” she wiped her tears as we let go of the hug. “Come in.”

Walking into the house, some things have changed. More pictures were added, some furniture was changed but yet, it still had the same vanilla cinnamon smell I grew up smelling.

“Y/N!” I saw my younger brother and sister run up to me.

“Wow, you’ve grown,” I gasped at the sight of them.

“You’re back!” They hugged me.

“I’m back. ” I told them and looked at my mom who had a smile on her face. "Forever."

“Welcome home.”

[yourdadsghoulfriend]

Is it too late to request your All of Us Strangers rant? How much did you cry when watching it???

I cried 0 (zero) times. I looked like this tbh.

It was a stale, “gay is okay,” storyline a la “Love Simon,” that would’ve made a bigger impact had it released 10 or 15 years ago. To that end, it felt more like a gay movie for a straight audience. Sure there were boundaries pushed, but rather than anything meaningful, it felt like hollow attempts at pandering.

The novel the movie is loosely based on, “Strangers” by Taichi Yamaha, has a similar plot about a lonely writer who visits his childhood home to find residents that look eerily similar to his late parents, who perished in a car accident when he was 12. Convinced they are real, he revisits them often with gifts and offerings. While his parents are free of malicious intent, his girlfriend suggests they may be unintentionally sucking the life force out of him. Despite recognizing that his declining health is a result of the unnatural balance of the living consorting with the dead, he can’t help but continue to return to his parents.

While the novel and movie explore similar themes of grief, the supernatural, and reconciliation, there are little more than those similarities. I don’t mind the change of tone and artistic liberties the movie took from the novel; I lament missed opportunities for critical cultural storytelling.

How many more gay white man coming out or coming of age movies do we need?

Deriving the movie from a novel written by a Japanese man, this could’ve, and I argue it should’ve, been done with an Asian cast. It should’ve explored queer culture from a point of view seldom seen or talked about. It should’ve explored Eastern themes of homophobia, the struggles of family from the Eastern collectivist culture mindset, and what that looked like in the 80s. Especially how embarrassing and messily they shoehorned in with the briefest of mentions of the AIDS crisis, which, low-key key, I thought was offensive.

Speaking of messy, the damn logic of the movie is barely there. Is Adam seeing ghosts, or is it a pocket dimension of the past? We see him pass his house in the beginning, the daughter of the owner staring out the window, but later, his late father comes and takes him back to the house, so it is more like a pocket dimension. Later, Adam and his parents went to a modern restaurant, and the waitress couldn’t see his parents, so were they ghosts? There are so many moments like this where the universe's rules are broken unto themselves.

Oh, Jesus, and that reminds me of the bullshit twist with Harry. So he’s been dead the whole time, yet he can give Adam drugs that Adam physically feels in the club? He can order drinks at the bar so other people can see him, and he can levitate objects? He can interact with other living humans, and no one is the wiser he’s dead? He can see the ghosts of Adam’s parents, and they see him, but neither knows the other is dead? It's dumb and lazy writing. And what? What’s the moral once we discover he died after Adam turned him away? “You never know the battle other people are fighting” or some variation of an empty platitude? I say it again, 👏🏽dumb 👏🏽lazy 👏🏽hollow 👏🏽PAN👏🏽DER👏🏽ING. If you wanted audience sympathy, write your characters better. Write their struggle better. This easy way out of killing a character is so early in the 2000s that I couldn’t believe how utterly devoid it made the final movie feel.

To that end, there were so many more plot holes it was like looking at Swiss cheese. Or so many boring, obvious filler shots of Adam looking pensive as if reflecting on something profound. I think my eyes did a somersault how far they rolled back into my head.

I’ve already spent too much time writing this, but here’s the takeaway. The magic of media and the human experience is that we can consume the same thing and walk away with polar opposite takes. I’m no media expert, just a humble consumer. My opinion is my own just as much as anyone else’s is theirs. If they felt something that pulled at their heartstrings, I love that for them! The human experience is to connect with others, tap into deeper meaning, understanding, and form connections. But no media is above criticism; to me, it doesn’t meet that mark, and that’s okay.

In the dawn of today’s AI age, where studios are fighting to create devoid of creation by using AI images, voice bots and audio, actors’ images, and scripts, I feel it’s more important than ever to develop a sense of literacy and criticism. In our current political climate, it’s crucial to demand more opportunities for marginalized groups to have their voices heard and their stories seen. I believe in demanding better rather than settling for mediocrity. I do not suffer fools, and I pay no time to pander, so personally, I wish I remained a stranger to this movie and all its wasted potential.

[ceruleanmusings]

Big Time Secrets - Lucy & Mason

going a little bit different with this one. the guys are involved peripherally but i wanted to give a better insight to their relationship with one of the girls on the show.

@partiallypearl @raging-violets

---------

Big Time Rush’s and Camille’s shouting faded down the hallway once they streamed out of Lucy’s apartment. Lucy and the Mason girls stared at the open doorway; bewilderment written all over their faces. Save for Jazz, who snickered while pulling the bowl of popcorn onto her lap.

“So…you knew they were figure skating the whole time?” Lucy asked, head slowly turning to face the giddy girl.

Jazz snorted, stuffing popcorn into her mouth. “Of course I knew.” She tossed a piece into the air and caught it with a triumphant smile.

“Why didn’t you say anything? Because of you, I had to deal with an axe-wielding maniac all day!”

“Because Knight asked me not to and I prefer that my boyfriend can trust me.” She tossed more popcorn into her mouth. A second later an explosion of popcorn flew around the room due to the pillow Lucy threw at her knocking the bowl out her hands. Unperturbed, Jazz’s smirk, if possible, got wider.

“I don’t see what’s so funny about it! They ruined my choreography!” Sammi said with a huff. Perched on the arm of the couch, she crossed her arms, thin bangles slid down to mid forearm. “Do you know how many hours I wasted for that showing? Camille at least kept her lines clean but Kendall; I swear, he forgot everything I taught him! I can’t put my name on that! No ma’am! Samantha Mason Does. Not. Lose!” The bangles on her arms and the hoops in her ears shook with the force of her ensuing clapping.

“And you thought Logan was bad?” Jazz asked, giving Sammi a look. Jerking her thumb in Sammi’s direction, she added, “Try having to deal with that every day for the last two weeks.” It all came out afterward that Sammi had Kendall and Camille’s skating instructor. While she was more adept at roller skating, she had figure skating for a few years in her youth before switching over. James, Logan, and Carlos didn’t take it too well when learning that both Sammi and Jazz kept the secret from them, yelling about breaking a “No Secrets Between Friend Groups” code.

Jazz threatened to break something of theirs in return and it wasn’t related to a code.

“Besides, this is kind of your fault,” Mel pointed out from where she was tucked in the corner of the couch. She dug her elbow into Sammi’s leg only to flinch when Sammi reached out and flicked her behind the ear.

“How’s this my fault?” Lucy asked.

“If you hadn’t brought up that game of secrets in the first place none of this would’ve happened,” she said. “Then I wouldn’t have had to deal with Gustavo and Aunt Kelly, the cookie monsters. Emphasis on monsters.” She patted her arms as she spoke, plumes of flour bursting and curling into the air. “We could’ve been writing The Guys’ last song but noooo, they needed to get more of those cookies. I was in the zone, too.”

“You really should’ve seen that coming though,” Sammi said from where she sat poised on the arm of the couch, one leg over the other, ankles crossed. “Remember Christmas ’00?” At Lucy’s raised eyebrow she explained, “She straight up stepped on Jazz and knocked Mel into a chair to get first dibs for our Christmas cookie swap.”

“Yeahhh, I got my first set of stitches that year,” Mel said, lifting the hem of her jeans. A crescent-moon like scar webbed around the curve of her kneecap. “Who knew a Barcalounger had so many sharp parts. I think Jazz still has her shoe print on her back, too.”

“Wow. And I thought the guys were crazy,” Lucy muttered beneath her breath, tucking her hair behind her ear. Then she shrugged in nonchalance. “But the cookie insanity thing wasn’t my fault. Besides, why didn’t you just ask Mickey to make them? It would’ve saved you the time.”

“Because she was busy going to camp,” Mel said. With a swing of her head, she turned an accusatory glance the silent sister’s way.

Sitting on the floor, Mickey’s head bent over a popsicle stick bird house. But with a tall ceiling and thin walls, it resembled more a little pavilion than a bird house. Silence stretching, she slowly looked up only to jump at the four pairs of eyes set on her. “What?” she asked.

“Well, unlike the rest of us, sounds like you had a fun day,” Lucy said.

Frowning, Mickey eyed the gleam in her eye. “It was okay.”

“Easy for you to say when you roasted marshmallows and had sack races and did arts and crafts,” Jazz said. She idly pulled a kernel out of her thick hair and popped it into her mouth.

“All you did all day was sit back and watch all this blow up. With popcorn,” Mickey pointed out.

“But I didn’t get marshmallows out of it.” Pressing her finger into Mickey’s forehead, she pushed her sister’s head backward with a poke. “Besides, you and James looked awfully cozy cuddled up on the floor.”

Lucy, Sammi, and Mel reacted all at once: “What!?” “Excuse me?” “Say what?”

“Back up.” Sammi held her hand in the air, as if pressing a large pause button. “I need context.”

Huffing, Mickey relayed the story: how James talked her into making gourmet corn dogs for an apology to Carlos, how he talked her into pretending to be Heather Fox’s agent on the phone to figure out where she was in town, and how he talked her into helping him and Carlos turn the Palm Woods into Camp Wonky Donkey and to play games with them in an effort to get Carlos and his camp crush back together. All because she had to abide by the “Don’t Break Carlos” Heart’ code.

Mel shook her head. “That’s crazy.”

“I know,” Mickey said.

“No, I meant that they went to a camp that’s actually named Camp Wonky Donkey,” Mel said with a snort. “Was Camp Lame taken?” She and Jazz snickered, reaching over the table to slap a high five.

“Anyway, in the end Heather ended up writing a note to tell James she liked him and not Carlos which was…eh.” She made a face and waved her hand, batting away the thought and the returning annoyance of reliving witnessing the moment. “And then Lucy ran up and you know what happened.”

“Which reminds me…” Lucy’s words stretched out as a sly smile came to her face. “You never told us what your secret is.”

Mickey blinked. “Huh?”

“Everyone’s been spilling or keeping or trying to crack secrets all day. The ice skating, the cookies, the camp thing, sneaking around. You’re the only one who hasn’t said anything. So out with it.” Leaning forward, she sat nearly nose to nose with Mickey while wiggling her eyebrows. “What’s your secret?”

“I don’t…” Mickey gulped, forcing the lump in her throat down. “I don’t have one.” How did this suddenly become about her? She’d been doing nothing but minding her own business.

Leaning back, Lucy rolled her eyes. “Everybody has one.”

“What’s yours?” Mickey asked, irritating sparking inside her. That felt too familiar.

Lucy laughed. “Oh, I don’t keep secrets. There’s no point. Besides, everything you need to know about me you’ll find in my music.” Her head tilted to the music equipment spread around the room, from the piano, to the various microphones, to the range of acoustic and electric guitars leaning against one another.

“That’s a bit of a cop out don’t you think?”

“Don’t change the subject. C’mon, Mick, what’s your secret?”

Thundering footsteps and thumps on the wall grew. Mickey sighed. Saved by the bell! Shouts and grunts accompanied the rolling thunder, with a loud whooping leading the way. One wouldn’t be wrong for assuming a train had somehow made its way through the halls of the Palm Woods but it, in fact, was just the boys and Camille running along the floor for another lap chasing Carlos around. They looked worse for wear this time around, with Logan having to carry Kendall along on his back instead of letting him hop around on his foot. He used one of his crutches as an extension to poke at Carlos. James looked as if he’d been through a shredder, his clothes hanging off him in tatters, and Camille came up last, dragging her leg behind her with her once free hand stuffed in a vase.

Lucy pointed at the empty doorway. “How…?”

“It’s best not to ask,” Sammi said with a wave of her hand. “You’ll never get a good answer.” Releasing a long sigh, she slapped her hands on her knees and got off the couch. “Let’s go help them.”

“Why?” Jazz and Mel wore identical confused expressions, noses wrinkled. Mickey suspected half of it was due to, for once, not being involved in their issues and the other half was due to Sammi being the one to suggest helping them. She tended to stay away from their “white boy shenanigans” as much as possible. Unless she found a way to get something out of it, anyway.

“Yeah, I really don’t want to be dragged into anything else today,” Lucy added.

“You can’t be dragged into something you set in motion. And it’s the ‘I Will Take Responsibility for My Actions’ code,” Sammi shot back.

“Oh my gooodddd!” Lucy’s head tilted back at her exasperated exclamation. “Fine! But after this, I’m making my own code. It’s the ‘No One Makes Binding Codes Ever Again’ code!”

“Orrrr!” Jazz popped out of the chair, eyes lighting. “We can make a bet with Mr. Bitters that he’s the one who has to clean up everything they destroy.”

“I like that one better,” Mel said with a wicked grin.

Their bundle of friends moved past the door again, this time with Carlos struggling to run with Camille grabbing his ankle and James holding him in a headlock. Logan, now running much slower and panting, pulled up the rear with Kendall still on his back. Sammi, Mel, and Jazz hurried out the room after them. Mickey started to follow but Lucy stopped her, standing in the doorway.

“You don’t exactly like me, do you?” Lucy crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side, scrutinizing Mickey through squinted eyes. “That’s your secret, right?”

Figures Lucy wouldn’t let her off the hook. Still, the accusation had her heart drop and all the saliva get sucked out her mouth. Her eyes darted around, looking for an exit, but Lucy had her cornered on her own turf. “It’s not…that. Well, not exactly…” She fiddled with the hem of her bright yellow Camp Wonky Donkey t-shirt.

“Thennnn what?” An elongated squeaking sound came out of Mickey’s mouth as she struggled to find the words. Lucy, despite looking amused, rolled her eyes. “Don’t act all innocent now. I can handle it.”

She probably could. Very little seemed to faze her and maybe that was the problem. That her choices and actions didn’t seem to bother her, no matter how much they messed with someone else. Did she not care? Mickey looked just past Lucy’s head when she spoke, voice quiet but firm, “I don’t particularly like that you mess with my friends’ feelings.” Lucy moved to reply but Mickey kept on, her words building atop of one another, nearly colliding in her haste. “None of this would’ve gone on if you didn’t purposely bring up a game that would cause…this.” She gesticulated wildly around the room.

“I didn’t know it would cause this.” Lucy mimicked her gesticulation. “Trust me. You didn’t deal with Logan. No one would willingly want to.”

“It’s the guys,” Mickey said, exasperated, as if the two words held all the explanation in the world. (Which they did.) “They can’t play a video game without getting into some sort of death match. Getting them to spill secrets about the horrible things they’ve done to one another? That’s not opening a can of worms, that’s throwing a grenade on it. And you pulled the pin.”

“It was just a game.”

“It’s…it’s not fair to others to have them messed with for the sake of someone else’s entertainment. Feelings aren’t a game.” Not to me.

The longer Lucy stared at her, the more Mickey’s skin prickled and itched. Right when she felt ready to jump out of it, or form some sort of apology for something she probably didn’t need to apologize for, Lucy slowly nodded her head. “Alright. Fine. I get it. You may have a point. For the record, I was just—”

“Trying to make things interesting?” Mickey asked wryly.

“No. well, yeah, but no. I was just…trying to make…friends? Small talk and all that stuff…” She made a retching noise and Mickey nodded. Boy, did she understand that. She and small talk were mortal enemies. The accompanying awkwardness could kick rocks as well. “I’m still new and the guys are…well, the guys. And Camille’s great but kind of…all over the place? So I thought if we could get to, well, the good stuff first it’d make being new…easier.” Mickey stared. Lucy Stone was…unsure? She’d come in with such an aura around her, shaking up the guys’ worlds so bad, it was hard to grasp that even she had been worried about something as normal as making new friends. Mickey bit her lip. Maybe she’d been too hard on her? With a loose shrug, Lucy went to leave only to stop and lean back in the doorway. “Oh, and don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me!”

Even with the smile Lucy flashed at her, Mickey’s stomach turned at the following wink.

That secret was easy to keep and, maybe it wouldn’t be true after some time.

But if Lucy ever found out her real one, the one she was just coming to grips that existed, she wasn’t so sure that one could be kept quiet.

[fenharel-babe]

The image of Vivienne caring for my Lavellan in the winter palace once Solas removes the anchor. She’s in her private room, only Vivienne is there since she’s the main person taking care of her recovery process. She knows Bloom is completely drained of magic, and she notices something Bloom must’ve been hiding. She sees Bloom’s tranquil mark on her forehead and almost breaks down at the thought of her friend, who she let into her heart, was tranquil at some point in her life. She suddenly understands why Bloom struggled with her magic in the beginning of the Inquisition, and she understands her embarrassment and almost envy when looking at Vivienne and Dorian and Solas in the battlefield. Bloom was once a powerful apprentice at her Circle, Vivienne learned that at some point, and it always confused her as to how Bloom struggled with her magic in the Inquisition and didn’t know terms she should’ve learned in the Circle, but now she understands.

Bloom had talent and so much ability, and yet it was taken away by people. Horrible people hurt her friend. And she’s furious. She wonders why didn’t she tell her? She could’ve helped her! Taught her more spells and would’ve helped all her emotions and be there for her. But then another terrible realization hits her.

She was scared of her. Bloom was her friend, a close one though they didn’t always agree, but she was scared of the way Vivienne would see her. She wonders if Bloom thought Vivienne would see her as below her, unworthy of her attention or time because she was tranquil. She wondered if Bloom believed Vivienne would’ve made bad assumptions and accusations for why she became tranquil. And that hurts worse.

She has seen her friend smile, cheer up the others, help her brother when he has his moments of need (like a good sister would), spend time with the soldiers and actually listen to the people around Skyhold, she has seen her friend cry when Solas left her the first time, and she has been helped personally with Bastion. She has seen her in many, many states. But on the inside she was suffering, something Vivienne could tell easily (even the others could), but MORE than she thought. It wasn’t just the inquisition constantly haunting her. It was the past people that hurt her, and whatever she and her brother had experienced.

She’s furious, angry, but when she looks back at her sleeping friend, who she’s desperately trying to heal, her face softens and she casts a glamor spell back on her. She won’t let others find out since she hid it on her own for all this time, and Vivienne knows there will be scandals and people out for her all over again if they knew. But she does have questions for her friend, wondering how she got her magic back and how is her magic ability after the two years of Vivienne’s absence.

But those are for a later day. She needs to be healed and helped first. Vivienne’s curiosity and fury can wait, but her friend cannot.

Yeah….it’s a nice little wholesome moment for Vivienne and my lavellan….

[electricbluebutterflies]

forget

Pre-series Marc/Layla // in which Layla does not know how to let anyone worry about her at all ever. PG-ish and also on ao3.

Prompt: "How long did you think you could hide that?" (as usual thank you @apple-grass-and-smiles for giving me such a good squirrel pile)

She takes a knife to the shoulder and somehow it counts as a good day.

Layla has the pain tolerance one would expect from someone who winds up in dangerous situations as often as she does, a comfort level with the sight of her own blood that can only be explained by experience and a tendency towards self-neglect that the handful of people who love her have given up on trying to avert. The knife incident is not what she expects – low-tech fights in backyard botanical gardens are not a normal feature of her life choices – but she doesn’t even notice until she’s out of there, until there’s enough blood to ruin one of her favorite shirts.

She’s more distressed about that than the flesh wound, really. It’s that kind of week.

It’s not bad by what may or may not pass for her standards, not deep enough for permanent damage, just deep enough that it’ll probably scar if not handled carefully. And, well, she would not describe bandaging herself in a coffee-shop bathroom as careful. Just enough to make the bleeding stop, and adding a jacket over the look will keep anyone from seeing her damage, and it’s all perfectly under control.

By the time she gets home, three days later and proud of herself for completing the job as cleanly as she did, she’s forgotten it even happened. The damaged bloodstained shirt was thrown into an airport trashcan, the wound doesn’t hurt, she hasn’t changed bandages since she changed continents, and-

Her ability to forget lasts long enough to put her bag down and long enough to be reminded that between clashing schedules she hasn’t seen her husband in close to two months and they have definitely missed each other. It’s still so strange to have something to come home to, as many years in as they are, and to be twirled around and kissed like she’s the only real thing in the world, and they may never get more than this but it is still enough they are enough they are-

He gets her out of her jacket and his hand pauses on a patch of skin her tank top doesn’t cover and oh shit there go her plans.

“How long did you think you could hide that?”

Layla is an unfortunate combination of travel-tired and turned on, and she decides the correct response to visible disapproval is to tear off the bandage and show the damage. “It’s nothing. Starting to scar already.”

“The hell-“

“We can talk about me kinda getting stabbed after-“

“We are not-“

“Stop. I’m not breakable.”

She knows she is, by comparison. She’s not totally sure what the limits of Marc’s… arrangement are, but she knows there are no marks on his skin, voluntary or otherwise. She’s watched a dozen times he should’ve died and he always walks away fine because that demonic vulture isn’t done with him. But her more certain mortality doesn’t make her weak, she wants to say. She walked away. There were no bodies left in that garden. One more scar should not be the end of the world.

But it’s enough to distress him, enough to change the way he looks at her as he traces the new mark on her skin. It’ll fade, in time. She’ll forget it ever happened. He never will.

“It’s nothing,” she says again when the quiet is too much. “I was trying to get out of there. Otherwise everything went fine. And I could’ve taken the bandage off and you wouldn’t have ever-”

“I would’ve noticed.”

The hell he would, she’s tempted to say. Not so immediately, at the very least. Maybe after they’d managed to wreck each other, maybe looking at her body in that haze, but not before showing how much they’d missed each other. She’s realistic, not delusional.

“Stop worrying about me and go back to making out with me,” she breathes, in no mood for any further escalation.

To her pleasant surprise, he does.

They’ll deal with it later. There’s always later. It doesn’t matter more than

[bi-lullaby]

I love talking about SPN with you! Tough challenge if you're up for it: rank all 15 seasons from your personal favorite to least favorite, no ties allowed :) Have fun!

Oh dear. What a predicament you’ve put me in!

1. 1 (solid choice, me thinks. The vibes are Unparalleled. Introduced me to the LOML, Dean. Their early dynamics? Figuring out who they are, who the other is, who their family is? ugh. My heart. Also super interesting MootW episodes, charismatic, the cinematography deserves it’s own spot in the list, we feel like the Winchesters: operating from a shadowed world that’s interwoven with ours but also separate)

2. 2 (still the same vibes of the first but also angrier? there’s findings and secrets and an overachieving trama of trauma and family and grief and deep wounds from the past and revenge and worry. love it)

3. 4 (It makes me angry, sad, happy, hopeful, devastated, all of that at once and then more. I feel it’s one of the most fundamental stories to the plot of everything that comes later and it sets what came before against a solid background of the whole angels/demons/apocalypse/vessels/fate narrative, sets up a lot of the lore, it’s just genuinely good and enjoyable. Great television.)

4. 5 (The world is ending and we have no hope to stop it and yet we will? ugh. Also the reconnection of the boys. Fighting so hard for a goal that seems impossible and finding their way back tot he other. I feel this is when Cas becomes more friend than ally, which is lovely. The longing, the grief, the guilt, the horror, the hopeless and yet that doesn’t take away their fight in the end. Also In the End and Dark Side of The Moon are just. Spectacular. This one gets me every time)

5. 3 (so much angst. so much uncertainty. The unknowns. I feel this one isn’t higher only bc I watched already knowing the outcome or most of it in a way, bc I knew Dean would be alive and well for years to come bc I started when spn was further along, but for fans who watched on time? must have been a punch to the stomach).

6. 8 (I hadn’t realized how much I loved season 8 until today lol, lots of annoyances and grievances but still I enjoy and analyze it to death. I love love love Purgatory, the dynamics of the Purgatory Trio, BENNY, Kevin as a bigger character, the animosity between Sam and Dean (srsly, I think all the fics I have written mention/deal with this issue bc I’m just fascinated by both their headspaces in this and how it impacts them going forward. The trials are interesting although I felt they were a bit mishandled, and of course the many fallouts from it.)

7. 9 (same initial comment as season 8 tbh. I feel like early seasons dean is hanging on by a thread to the very end of his rope (trauma, pain, grief, etc etc) but he is hanging in there, ya know? And he wants to fight and he knows his whys. then as the years go on and the losses pile on and the pains and the more and more he’s backed into impossible corners he loses the will to hang on and I think this season is the one where we see in look at that rope and go “and why the fuck am I holding on to this?” and it’s painful and heartbreaking but also makes you cheer him on and wish for him to fet through this. I like the Bunker being a more established home base for them. I enjoy Abbadon and Metraton as antagonists although I do feel they ended up… Underwhelming? Underexplored? And Dean’s is one of my ‘favorite’ deaths the boys had. It’s so impactful and poignant.

8. 12 (I almost put it lower but alas, so many Dean/Dean-Mary dynamics moments I could not. Not the biggest fan of the BMoL but I see where they were going. I think bringing Mary back was a move that could have gone horribly wrong and in a sense I feel like it maybe wasn’t the most thematically consistent? but it allowed for fun explorations of many characters. Also, Regarding Dean is off the charts good.)

9. 6 (ohh the drama. the fallout. the would’ves should’ves could’ves. I have a love-hate relationship with soulless!sam that tends more towards love but overall a great one. I miss Lisa, there, I said it. I loved them together. I wanted them to remain that way. I loved seeing Dean be turned into a vamp, also.)

10. 10 (not much to say. I adore MoC and all about it, but I do wish some things were better handled/had more impact/were more thought out/better shown etc. Overall, great idea, not my favorite execution).

11. 11 (again, love parts, don’t love others so much. I will say, in my “dean lets go of his rope” analogy, this one is where I think he’s slowly starting to climb out of the hole he’s fallen into and see “his whys” more clearly again).

12. 7 (idk why people seem to hate 7 so much? I can’t say it’s supper impacting but it has it’s positives. And Bobby’s death! It’s so impactful, it’s genuinely a mark of splitting eras in my mind.)

13. 14. (Michael!Dean my dearest of dears. You were not here for long enough. Makes me angry and a little bitter but also great moments).

14. 13 (if you put a gun to my head I can’t recall season 13 specifically? felt like a “bridge” season ig, and I just… Don’t enjoy Jack. I know many people do, and you do you, absolutely! But he just felt like a shoehorned in deus ex machina wrapped in Cas’s more cute mannerisms and I just never connected with him or really enjoyed him as part of the family or the themes that followed his appearance).

15. (will never accept, will never like, will never enjoy, the ending is responsible for 97% of the hate for the whole season but tbh the forced “ohh look we’re meeetaaaa! it’s the lasssst sssseassssonnn” in your face level of annoyance didn’t make it all that great either. No but srsly don’t even get me started on the ending. I could spend an hour just incoherently babbling and crying and still not get my dislike across correctly).

This was quite tough, really. Thanks for the brain teaser, dearie!

[jimskeen]

An essay on regrets, of which I've had too many.

I spend a lot of time – perhaps too much time – thinking about mistakes I’ve made in my life. The honest mistakes I can forgive; it’s the mistakes of character than I cannot let go.

The earliest one I can remember – and the one that gnaws at my conscience the most – occurred in elementary school. I was walking down a hallway with a friend when Beth, a gangly, freckled redhead with a short bob haircut, was walking towards us. My friend started called Beth “Godzilla” and pressed himself against the wall as he passed her. Me, being a total jackass, did the same. Later in class, our teacher said that Beth was in the office, crying. She told us about how it was tough for Beth because her mother had passed, that she and her dad were just getting by, that Beth often had to make her own clothes. I’ve been walking on this planet more years than I care to reveal, and I can tell you without a doubt I never felt so small in my life.

Looking back at this episode I’m appalled at my gall to judge someone else’s beauty. Who the hell am I? Cary Grant? Brad Pitt? Oh, hell no. I’m reminded of the lyric from the Sparks song Johnny Delusional: “Some might find me borderline attractive from afar

But afar is not where I can stay and there you are.”

Is being thick headed at times a character flaw? Surely a lack of courage is, and also, I think, not being in tune with those around you. My next big regret was not being alert to the feelings of a girl, Samantha Wilson, in junior high school. We sat together in the back of math class, talking when the teacher wasn’t looking, passing notes, having a laugh, and, occasionally, I’d help her with math problems. What I didn’t notice, and didn’t realize until decades later, was that she “liked” me in that junior high school way of early romance. I liked her too but was too afraid to say anything. And so we sat, side by side, each in a state of what we thought was unrequited love.

I have many other regrets – not studying harder (or at all) in school, taking way too long to finally go to college, not asking the Army recruiter about journalism jobs (picking military police instead, leading to yet another regret – being a terrible MP), and, well, too many others to mention.

So many cases of “would’ve, could’ve, should’ve,” what comedian Gary Gulman calls the Holy Trinity of Regret.

So, what to do with all of this regret? Well, I’m trying to do what pro football players do after losing a game – look at the film, analyze the mistakes, and try not to repeat them.

When we first see a person, all of us make snap judgments regarding their physical appearance. We make judgments about their looks, whether they appear to be someone of means – in short, whether they would be a good mate (in the reproductive sense of the word). That’s buried in our genetic code. But after that quick evaluation, we need to look deeper, or at least I do. You might be doing that already, being of better character than me. The world is rich in differences of appearance, and I should try to marvel at that, rather than being a boorish judge of looks.

As a professional wordsmith, I need to remember that words are powerful tools that should build someone up, rather being used as a weapon of thoughtless, cruel abuse. I am a craftsman of words and, if I may paraphrase Stan Lee’s Spiderman, with great power comes great responsibility.

In short, I’m trying – perhaps not always succeeding – to be a better person.

I’m also trying to be thankful of where this meandering path through life has led me. I’m in a very happy place. I have a wife whom I adore – which I will tell to anyone who stands still long enough for me to do so. The two of us have three lovely daughters and six great grandchildren. Despite all the regrets, would I change anything that could result in losing that? No, of course not.

For my family and friends, perhaps I should embrace the Edith Piaf song “Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien.”

Non, je ne regrette rien (no, I regret nothing)

Car ma vie, car mes joies (because my life, because my joy)

Aujourd’hui ca commence avec toi (today it begins with you)

For your listening pleasure, Edith Piaf and Sparks

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ixdvm8-MdUs

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rCxLpte5loY

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v5jtqCo43WM

#Regret #Sparks #EdithPiaf #kindness

[wewaitinthatspace]

right where you left me

Radha remembers the day he left. Remembers his slight steps next to his Dau’s firm ones stepping onto the chariot. Radha remembers the way he smiled, the sadness in his dark eyes when he gave her his beloved bansuri, “Keep her for me until I return.”

He never returned.

The bansuri stayed wrapped in a yellow piece of cloth beside a mor pankh that had fallen off his head while dancing. It stayed in the farthest corner of her closet until she pulled it out. Once in a while. It never lost its shine.

The news of her Kanha becoming Dwarkadhish, Mathurapati hadn’t been a surprise. She had known of his plans. His purpose. She had been happy, so happy that he was alive. She had been afraid, had prayed day and night to her Narayan. And it had been fruitful. Her Kanha. Alive. Happy. King. He will return.

So there she stood, on her veranda, every day, cradling the bansuri, eyes on the dust road that led to Mathura. He will return today. Now. Come right up the road that led to her house and ask for his bansuri. And her. But of course, he didn’t come. And then one day she knew he never would.

He got married instead. To a princess- Rukmini. Apparently, she had written him a love letter and such was her devotion that he had swept her off in his chariot- enraging a hundred kings. She had called and he had come.

Radha and Vrindavan were sent sweets. They had tasted bitter and turned to ash in her mouth.

Radha had called too, many times, every night. She had cried, and prayed, and begged, and bargained. He had never come.

The days turned, wrinkles marred her skin, and the bansuri shined and shined. The dust on Radha’s road remained still.

Then he came, once, when they were older. Old. Bones cracking, hair greying. He strode right up the dust road and knocked on her door. And he smiled- the same as he had all those years ago. His eyes were the same, and the way he laughed upon seeing the shock in her eyes was the same. He cried the same too, slow tears seeping out of his eyes. And later, Radha would know he hugged like he always had.

She gave him his bansuri. Shining. And he smiled again. Dimly. Then brightly, “I said I’d be back.” She laughed and handed him his makhan.

“Bhog nahi lagaugi, Radhe?” he said as if he had never left and the space between them marked by years of separation wasn’t there. Or never mattered. So she dipped her fingers in the bowl and scooped a handful. It was sweet. Her makhan always was. He was looking at her expectantly. She gave in and fed him his makhan, “Kyu aaye ho?" (why are you here)

“Kaise na aata?"(why wouldn't i come) he said, “I promised, remember?”

“How are your wives?”

He looked at her knowingly, unapologetically, “They are good.”

She could not look away from him, “Abhi kyu?” (why now)

He was looking at her as if he wanted to memorise every piece of her, every crinkle, every strand of hair. She felt young again.

“Abhi kyu kya?” He was being obstinate. (what, why now)

“Why have you come now, after all these years?”

He looked down at his lap, rolling the bansuri in his slim fingers.

“I wanted to see you,” he met her eyes, “I wanted to see you one last time. Before the end.”

“The end?”

“Don’t you know?” he laughed morbidly, “Gandhari’s curse- the end of the great Yadava’s- Krishna’s entire dynasty.”

And of course. She should’ve known he’d be here.

“I’m sorry, Kanha.”

“No, Radhe.” He clutched her hand, “ I am sorry. So sorry.”

He looked at her with such regret in his eyes that she knew he was sorry. For everything. For more than the curse and what had caused it. He was sorry for leaving her in their Vrindavan all alone, for not being everything they could’ve been.

A younger Radha would’ve felt grim satisfaction in his admittance, his regret.

An even younger one would have been angry at his small words of apology for all her devastatingly large heartbreak and pain.

But now, Radha only gathered him in her arms and let them be Radhakrishna in Vrindavan again, one last time.

companion fic: i jump from the train, i ride off alone

[tariah23]

I know that I’ve talked sm shit about naruto over the years, (I pretty much have the authority to. I’ve been with it since 2005… god that’s a long time. I was like in 4th, 5th grade when it came out… Naruto pretty much ran the entire 00’s after it came out like bro, you literally couldn’t escape it. It was a fun time though since the series was pretty exciting and it still holds up pretty well despite there being so many issues (not surrounding the story itself since it was always pretty solid (later Shippuden got a bit messy but other than that, yeah.) but mainly with the characterization of certain characters and how Kishimoto ignored a lot of them in favor of his focusing on the Shakespearean ass romance between Sasuke and Naruto lmfao. In a goddamn shounen of all things. It might just seem like memes to people who only know of Naruto the series, the lore, and notable characters from a more surface level point of view but speaking from a person who, like I’ve said, has been a fan since 2005 uhh… their relationship is… lmfaooo. There was even an old article or something where Kishimoto said himself that he would’ve liked to make their relationship more… official but it’s a shounen. And his editors…! Funny that this probably doesn’t even get talked about as often despite how bizarre it is lol. I’m getting off topic but I never shipped anyone from the series I was too little to care about that kinda stuff back when I was watching/ reading the series. It’s more like they were always kinda meant to be like it’s so natural? So that’s how I’ve always viewed them I guess. It’s so fun to make fun of them lol. I’m all over the place, man. I’m not trying to sound like a fujo or whatever but they were definitely in love lol. I used to draw ship art of them for fun (never seriously but I don’t mind it at all since look at how Kishimoto wrote them lmfao. It’s like… yeahhhh they should’ve married each other. I don’t even think Sasuke came to Naruto’s wedding. Probably didn’t want to see him getting married off to anyone else because Kishimoto likes to make everything between them dramatic as hell. It’s actually hilarious. But getting back on topic! Even now, Naruto still has such a strong pull on it’s fans, especially long time fans) but it’s just… it’s one of those things that I’ll probably always love even if I step away from it for a gazillion more years. Sorry for talking about Naruto I just get the urge to love it all over again every once in a while since it’s more than just nostalgia for me. Look at me. Am I cringy 😔? Sorry for talking about naruto should be my personal naruto tag now….. I’m being so annoying about this lol. I wanna draw naruto stuff uhhh… I haven’t drawn any naruto art in years… prob since 2014 or so… I still love the unfinished naruto comic that I drew from 5th-7th grade… there’s like 20+ pages if I’m counting the front and backs of loose leaf school paper lol. I remember the kids in my class would go “you’re drawing naruto?” *proceeds to pass my shit around the whole class while I anxiously wait for them to give me my art back orz…* it was worn loose leaf so they could’ve easily torn my comic by accident.

[ahtsumu]

long shots ; miya osamu

pairing: miya osamu x f!reader

synopsis: miya osamu is the teacher’s assistant for food chemistry i. you can’t stop thinking about him.

tag(s): college!au, slow burn, TA!miya osamu, grad student!reader, fluff, reader is a go-getter!! ; warning(s): profanity, suggestive themes, talk of insecurities and imposter syndrome ; wc: 5.6k

a/n: happy birthday to @starrysamu​! i love u. pls excuse any errors. i’ll weed them out later! btw this fic is not a sugar daddy au LOL

HIS NAME IS Miya Osamu and he always looks like he has it all figured out. Comes in every class with his black hair perfectly tousled, the sleeves of his dark button-up rolled to his elbows, a cup of coffee in one hand and the strap of that black messenger bag in another.

“He drives a BMW, did ya know?” Isla says in your ear one morning. Your only friend in Food Chemistry I gives you a pointed look before sitting back in her chair in the lecture hall with a smirk on her face. “Saw it this morning. Bet he’s loaded.” The two of you watch the subject in question walk across the classroom and settle in his seat at the table in the corner.

“Shut up,” you whisper with wide eyes. A grin–– far from innocent–– makes its way onto your face. “Imagine being Miya Osamu’s sugar baby.”

“He’s not old enough to be a sugar daddy.” Isla looks at her nails disinterestedly. “And that’s too many AUs in one. He’s already the TA, for god’s sake. This isn’t some shitty Wattpad novel.”

A light giggle slips out of your lips. “I can see the title already. My Sugar Daddy is the TA?!”

Now, if anyone had been listening in on your conversation, they would’ve assumed many things about you. The first being that you’re both gold-diggers. This is untrue–– at least, in your case. Isla, you’re not so sure about, given how your friendship only goes back about one month. But she tags you in memes on Instagram so maybe it’s as real as real gets. Their second assumption would be that you have a big fat crush on your TA. That one’s complicated, mostly because it’s true, but only kinda. It all started in the second week of school when Isla caught you staring at Osamu and slipped you a post-it note with both your initials encircled in a heart. And, because you’re shameless with a good sense of humour, you made a show of kissing it while she was looking. And thus began your meaningless but incredibly entertaining, satirical, co-written fantasy about Miya Osamu.

It also didn’t help that on the first essay you got back, Isla’s paper had been marked up with “are you sure?”s and “this is a jump”s, while yours had “excellent reasoning” and “insightful analysis”. You’d even gotten a little comment at the bottom: y/n, fantastic work. you should speak up in class more often. –– OM

But Miya Osamu doesn’t play favourites because the next week you’d gotten another essay back, this time with another comment at the bottom: y/n, not your best work. you could’ve done better by connecting your first paragraph with the second using grant’s reading. conclusion lacked punch, too. all the best. –– OM

Every time you’d read the words scrawled in blue ink, you’d felt a pair of eyes on you. But you chalk it up to Osamu being a careful grader. A good TA. Someone who cares about his students.

Isla calls bullshit on that. You’re not really sure how to feel about her stance.

The classroom door opens and shuts again. You don’t have to look at your phone to know that it’s nine on the dot. Instead, you and Isla straighten your backs, pull out your notebooks, and focus. Your no-nonsense professor says “good morning” in her usual perky manner before jumping right into her keynote presentation.

“Did you all find the reading okay?” Professor Lee asks an hour into the lecture.

A chorus of “yes”s fill the air. You bite your lip, wondering if revealing that you didn’t understand shit will out you as the class idiot. Or maybe your silence is telling enough–– maybe the people in the seats beside you have noticed the grimace on your face and are having thoughts like ‘gee whiz, am I glad I’m not dumb like her’. Heat rushes to your cheeks. Sometimes you really wonder if you’re smart enough to be here. Occurrences like these do nothing to dispel your insecurities.

You vaguely hear her ask something like, “Any thoughts about the reading?” It’s not that you’re actually dumb. It’s just that this class is ridiculously hard for an introductory course, even for a graduate programme. From the start of the semester til now, fifteen people have dropped the class. There’s just twenty of you left. Guess a ridiculously hot TA can’t save a course’s drop-rate.

Before you can make your mind up on what to say, your professor moves on from her question.

As you look off to the side of the room for a break from your thoughts, you find a pair of blue-grey eyes pointed in your direction.

Everything about you, from the expression on your face to the way your muscles tense, makes you look like a deer caught in headlights–– even though he was the one caught staring in the first place. So maybe your shamelessness works on a scale.

Miya Osamu lifts one corner of his mouth.

And as if the exchange hadn’t happened at all, he looks back down at his laptop and continues typing.

The rest of the lecture goes through one ear and out the other.

“Everyone, I believe Osamu has something he wants to say,” Professor Lee says as everyone begins packing their bags.

The raven-haired TA slides out of his seat and sits on top of his desk. “Yeah.” Osamu clears his throat and crosses his arms over his chest. You notice how the muscles in his arms bulge from the movement.

“Whipped,” Isla mutters, grinning mischievously.

“Him for me,” you whisper back, though your eyes do travel back to his face where they should’ve been all along. Osamu catches your gaze and holds it. And then he looks away again.

“Now, I know you’re all Nobel prizewinners in the making,” he begins, garnering a round of snickers and giggles from your classmates. Most people say that cliques dissolve in college. That there’s no such thing as popularity amongst graduate students. That much, you agree with. But no one ever said anything about popular teacher’s assistants. Especially smart, attractive, witty teacher’s assistants like Miya Osamu. “But in case you didn’t understand the reading or would like to develop a deeper understanding of it, don’t hesitate to email me. I’ll try to host a review session all of us can attend.”

Professor Lee smiles appreciatively at Osamu, adding, “That’s a wonderful idea, Osamu. Guys, please take this opportunity if you struggled with the reading. I know eighty pages is a lot, but our next three classes are structured around the concepts in the reading and the mid-term next week will almost exclusively be about it, too.”

Well, shit.

To: m.osamu@hqu.edu

Hi Osamu,

I was wondering if I could get some help with the reading from last class. To be frank, I couldn’t make it past page 15 and I’m lost like a snot-faced five-year-old in a shopping mall on Black Friday. Sorry. Thanks in advance!

Regretfully,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: m.osamu@hqu.edu

no problem. is 5 pm tomorrow at jack’s okay? we start on the concepts from the reading next class so i want to get you up to speed asap. let me know. thanks.

OM

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

It’s five minutes to five when you pull into the parking lot of Jack’s Diner. The shiny, retrofuturistic eatery is a university favourite but the empty parking lot tells you it’s completely deserted right now (and rightfully so–– who eats dinner before six?). The black BMW parked a few spots from your car, however, says that you’re not alone.

Osamu’s figure comes into view as you reach for the handle to the front door of Jack’s. The twenty-six-year-old sits by himself at one of the bright red tables in the back, typing away on his dark grey laptop.

His head lifts up at the sound of the opening door. Osamu calls out your name and waves you over.

“Hi,” you greet with a smile, sitting down across from him.

“Hey.”

You look around before leaning forward on the table. “Is anyone else coming?”

“No.” Osamu sits back in his seat. “I thought about hosting one big group, but then I realised that it’d probably be stressful for the staff here.” He nods his head in the direction of the kitchen. “And I had a hunch that everyone would have different questions. Forcing everyone to review concepts they already know is a waste of time.”

At first, you nod. That makes sense. But then you furrow your brows. “So how long have you been here?”

Osamu blinks. He hadn’t expected you to ask about him. “Hmm? Oh.” He taps his phone to check the time. “Just a while.”

Quirking a brow, you ask, “And how long is ‘a while’ to you?”

“Seven hours,” he admits, chuckling lightly when he sees your jaw drop. “A lot of people had questions. They just don’t act like they do. Anyway, time flies. Really, it does.” Quickly, he clears his throat and sits forward. “So, about your email.” He grins. “Not sure if you meant it to be funny, but it was.”

“I’m glad my distress was entertaining for you. Do you TA just to watch grad students suffer?”

“Perks of the job,” Osamu says. His grin widens when you giggle. He’s never heard you laugh before and he realises at that moment that it’s really nice. And then that same grin falters. Gracefully, of course, and imperceptibly to you. But not to him. Is it okay for him to be… thinking things like that? About a student? But you’re not really his student since he’s just the TA. Right? Osamu ignores the weird feeling that comes over him and clasps his hands together at the edge of his laptop. “Back to your email. Can ya tell me what you’re confused about?”

Three hours and two Impossible Burgers later, you suddenly understand everything about food molecules so well that you wonder why you’d even been confused in the first place. But besides that, you’ve also picked up things about Osamu. As a person and not an idea. Not that you’d been actively searching for fun facts about your TA. But they’d stuck to your brain like gum at the bottom of a desk. He likes to slip sarcastic quips into a conversation every now and then. Eats burgers upside down (“The right way,” as he’d said, smirking). Is friendlier than he looks.

“You’re really good at explaining things,” you comment as Osamu shuts his laptop closed.

“Well, I kinda have to be,” he says. And maybe it’s the mental fatigue catching up on him or the fact that he’s real fond of the reason why he can break big concepts down into morsels but suddenly, the rest of his thoughts spill out his mouth like wine. “I have a twin brother with potato salad for brains.”

“Oh?”

And before he can stop himself, he tells you about Miya Atsumu, the pro-athlete you’ve definitely heard of but never gave too much thought. And then you hold onto the fact that they were both on the volleyball team and you ask of which school, so then he tells you about Inarizaki, the high school he attended, and then his decision not to go pro to go to college, and then––

“Sorry,” he laughs, cheeks turning pink. “You probably didn’t need to hear all that.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say–– and you mean it. “Your life is interesting.”

Osamu leans back in his chair. “Well, I’m sure yours is, too.” He holds your gaze like it’s the key to your presence. It’s an invitation. The kind that comes from people who don’t really know if they want you around but also don’t want you gone.

You take it.

Osamu shouldn’t–– he really shouldn’t–– but he wonders about the things you didn’t tell him the entire drive home.

Isla laughs when you tell her about what happened at Jack’s. You lay in bed with your phone next to you on speaker, your face turned on your pillow so that you’re staring out the window at the city below.

“He wants you,” she sings.

“Or he was just being nice.”

“Methinks not!” Isla giggles. “He’s intrigued, girl! You’re like that cute little new mystery in his life and he just wants to get to know you.”

“I think he was just being polite.”

“Or he’s crushing on you!”

“In your dreams.”

“You mean yours? Boo, you’re no fun today. Usually, you go along with the jokes.” Isla’s tone is playful on the surface but full of implications.

A few silent seconds pass. Yeah, you think, agreeing. I do.

“Girl,” Isla drags out the word in a high pitch, saying it like a scientist says ‘eureka’. “You’re not playing along anymore because it’s real now. You're actually catching feelings!”

“Am not!” you laugh.

“The Y/N I knew would’ve said ‘nah, bitch, he’s catching feelings’ and I think that says all there is to say.”

“Okay, I think he’s cute but it’s not a crush,” you concede, grinning. “And he’s the TA, Isles. It’d never happen.”

“Not while he’s still a TA in a class you take.”

“Isla.”

“Ask him out once this semester ends! Unless you’re chicken.”

“I’m not asking him out.”

“Knew you were––”

“Have you seen me? He’s asking me out.”

Miya Osamu walks through the door at eight-fifty as usual that next morning, dressed in his usual button-up, holding his usual cup of coffee. But this time, as the rest of his tall frame passes through the doorway, Osamu’s eyes subtly scan the faces in the lecture hall, lingering for just a while over yours. The corners of your lips turn up. You hope he saw that.

“Bitch!” Isla whisper-screams. The students sitting around you turn around at the noise and grin at each other when they realise it’s just Isla being… well, Isla. She shoos them away jokingly.

“What?” you whisper back.

“Care to explain why our TA was literally eye-fucking you?”

“That was hardly eye-fucking,” you retort. “Maybe like an eye-handshake.”

“Yeah, a naked eye-handshake where his thang is handshaking your––”

He does it again the next class.

And the next.

And then he doesn’t. Miya Osamu walks through the door to Food Chemistry I at eight-fifty in the morning in a navy blue button-up with a cup of coffee in his hand and looks through the rows of seats in the lecture hall for your face, only to find it missing.

He debates pressing the matter.

To: m.osamu@hqu.edu

hey osamu,

i wasn’t in class today because i’ve been sick with the flu (no big deal, just feel like i’m dying). a classmate sent me pictures of the slides from today so i think i should be fine, but is it okay if i email you with any questions? thank you very much!

miserably,

Y/N

MS Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

From: m.osamu@hqu.edu

y/n,

of course. sorry to hear that you’re sick. let me know if i can do anything to help you. the midterm is next week. get well soon.

OM

PhD Candidate

College of Agriculture and Life Sciences

Haikyuu University

“You writing that the midterm is next week did not offer me any peace of mind, by the way,” you say, spinning around in your chair as Miya Osamu enters your pod in the library.

He offers you a wry grin. “Hello to ya, too.”

“Was that an accent?” You thought you’d heard one at Jack’s, but you couldn’t be sure because it’d been so spotty.

Osamu slips into the seat beside yours and pulls out the laptop in his messenger bag. You catch a whiff of his cologne–– something spicy and woody, but clean. It suits him. “Nice catch. Yeah, I speak a regional dialect. Took me a while to smooth it over but it still resurfaces every now and then.”

“Why?”

“It just didn’t seem fitting for a PhD candidate, I guess,” Osamu explains, opening the slides from the class you missed. A day after your initial exchange, you’d emailed him again (with a much clearer mind) and asked if he could go over the slides with you in person.

i literally feel like i’ve been given the homework from russian lit, you’d written. except the russian has been translated to hieroglyphs and my task is to choreograph an interpretive dance based on the hieroglyphs.

Osamu had snickered when he saw your email. that doesn’t even make sense. must be the fever talking, he’d been tempted to write. But that strange feeling had come over him again, the one that’d screamed at him to keep it professional, goddamnit, so he’d played it safe instead and sent is eight pm at the main library okay? He hates that you’re getting a watered-down version of his personality. Osamu swears he’s a lot more interesting when he’s not, well, a TA.

“I think it’s fine,” you say, smiling. “I like it. It’s you.” And suddenly, you’re wondering if it’s okay to be complimenting your TA. If it’s okay to say that you like things about him, or if that crosses some grey, unclear line. Is it weird to treat your TAs like they’re your friends? It’s not like TAs are real teachers. Right?

A grin–– wide and genuine and almost excited–– grows on Osamu’s face. He rubs the back of his neck as his eyes flit over to the laptop screen. “Thanks. Really.”

You nod. But you feel like there’s more that he might want to say, so you wait.

“I got a lot of shit for it when I came here for my master’s, y’know. Not to my face, of course, but people would refer to me as ‘the guy with the accent’. A professor once said it made me seem crass. Said it’d hold me back in my career.”

“So you changed.”

“Adapted,” Osamu corrects. “It’s hard to admit but conforming is sometimes all you can do when you don’t have the power to change the system. Can’t really make everyone suddenly respect a dialect.”

“And after you’re finished with your PhD, you’ll go back to speaking in that dialect?”

Osamu looks out the window and smiles, probably imagining the plans he’s already made about the future. “Yeah.”

“What if you have to speak the standard language at your job? Like, your boss is all, ‘hey man, if you don’t speak––”’

“I’ll be the boss.”

“Oh?”

And with a little more prodding, Miya Osamu tells you about the restaurant chain he plans on opening after graduation, the slides about food additives left completely untouched.

The librarian knocks on your pod a few minutes before eleven to tell you they’re closing.

“Shit,” Osamu murmurs, running his hands through his hair. You’re still laughing about something he’d said before the librarian interrupted him–– one of his stories from high school–– and he thinks that you’ve completely forgotten that the reason you came to the library was to catch up on the material you were already behind on. And now you’re behind on that. But you look so carefree right now and, actually, you’re very pretty and you’ve got such a good heart and it’s a lot for him to process but he knows he just wants to see you happy a while longer. So Osamu just slumps back in his chair and laughs along with you.

He says your name as his chuckles grow softer. “It’s pretty late. How’re you getting home?”

“I’ve a bike,” you reply. It’s good for the environment and is a pretty solid form of exercise if you do say so yourself. Sometimes you just don’t feel like driving. 

Osamu presses his lips in a thin line. Would it be too much to offer you a ride? “I can drive you home. It’s really not safe for you to be alone outside, especially near midnight. You can get your bike tomorrow. Or I’ll get it for you.”

He drives fast. Not the unsafe fast that speed demons drive at, but the kind of fast where you know he’s got some edge to his character. You bring it up to him–– especially since it’s nighttime, for god’s sake, he could hit something–– and all he does is remind you how there are lamps as bright as the sun lining the entire road to your dorm. And the fact that you live in the least accessible dorm on campus.

“A twenty-minute drive?” he’d exclaimed when he saw the GPS monitor.

“A bunch of roads are closed for construction. It’s a ten-minute bike-ride because I can cut through campus.” And suddenly feeling a little burdensome, you’d added, “Sorry. I can still bike––”

“No.” He’d held his hand out in front of you, gesturing for you to stay in the passenger’s seat. “It’s not a bother at all.” Because it wasn’t. Osamu was… happy. Not that he’d admit that.

“So this BMW,” you start in a teasing tone.

Osamu smirks. “A gift.”

“Can I guess from who?”

“Sure.”

“Atsumu.”

His brows rise. “Colour me impressed.” He hadn’t expected you to remember anything he’d said about Atsumu. Or maybe he had but told himself otherwise to lower his hopes.

“I’m smart like that.”

He snorts. “Not if you keep distracting me and using your review time to…” hang out with me, get to know me, tell me things about you… “…goof off.”

You grimace. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

Osamu makes a turn down a familiar street. It dawns upon you that you're ten minutes away from your dorm and suddenly you wish he’d just make the wrong turn at the next intersection so that you could talk to him some more. It can even be about the health benefits of fish or the molecular makeup of kale–– you don’t mind. You just want to be around him longer.

“I think you’re really smart,” Osamu says quietly. “I think you’re not processing the readings because you’re distracted, or just not fully applying yourself. Obviously, last class’s slides are a different thing, since you were absent. But you really are smart. I’ve seen your papers.”

You bite your lip to hide your grin, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. “Thank you.” You look out the window, too jacked on dopamine to think straight. “I think I still need you, though.”

And that innocuous little sentence floats right out your mouth into the air, settling between you like a little wedge before either of you even realise it. Neither of you says anything. You marinate in the awkwardness before stuttering out a clarification. “To, um, to explain things. Y’know, since you’re, uh, so good at… explaining things.”

Osamu clears his throat and chuckles stiffly. There’s a slightly pink tinge to his cheeks. “Thanks,” he says, looking straight ahead. He can’t even look at you. Fuck. It’s so awkward. “I’ll try to keep… explaining things.” Fuck. What does that even mean?

A few uncomfortable minutes pass in silence. The night can’t end like this, you think. It can’t when everything else had gone so well. You still have to see him for a few more months. “Did you know,” you start, catching Osamu’s attention, “that Jack’s Diner has a location in Italy?”

“Oh?” he asks, making the final turn to the street where your dorm is. He actually hadn’t.

“Yeah. I asked the owner about the chain a while back. Have you ever been to Italy?”

Osamu shakes his head. “I’ve been to Paris, though. To see a friend. He’s a chocolatier.”

Now, if Osamu had been your friend, you would’ve said something like well, let’s go to Italy together, except he’s not. He’s your TA and you’ve been reminded that enough tonight. So instead, you say, “When you open that restaurant of yours in Italy, let me know.”

“That’s gonna take a while,” he laughs. He appreciates how you said ‘when’, though. And he tucks that little bit of confidence you have in him somewhere deep in his mind so that it doesn’t get lost.

“Isn’t that just seven hours?” you shrug, grinning. Osamu’s BMW pulls up outside your dorm and parks as he marvels at what you just said. You’re amazing. You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to face your driver.

“Thank you for driving me,” you say, offering him a smile.

“Yeah,” he replies.

You stretch out your hand. With a puzzled look on his face, Osamu grabs it and shakes it. Firmly. You can’t help but notice how nice his hands are. Calloused for sure, but they feel nice.

“Goodnight, Osamu.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

He watches you jog into the building before driving away. And it’s like you’ve possessed his car or something because the smell of your shampoo and perfume is everywhere and it’s too much but it’s also not enough at the same time and he can feel your palm against his as he spins the steering wheel to make a turn and for the first time in his life he doesn’t turn on the radio to fill the silence in his car. Osamu replays everything you said in his head.

But he especially thinks about that part where you said you need him.

Weeks melt into months. You turn in essays after essays for Food Chemistry I, each coming back with detailed commentary in an all-too-familiar blue scrawl. All your other classes go well–– extremely well, actually. You might just end the semester with a 4.0 if Food Chem doesn’t fuck you over. Isla still tags you in memes on Instagram. You still tell her about everything that happens with Osamu.

Speaking of.

“That’s the wrong equation,” he says behind your ear as he settles in the seat beside you. The sound of his low voice so close to your ear sends a small shiver down your spine. “You gotta switch the hydrogens.” Osamu knocks on your skull lightly. “What’s goin’ on up in there? Ya got somethin’ on your mind?”

You laugh and elbow him in the side. “Shut up, ‘Samu.” He’d told you during one of his office hours that he’d gone by that nickname because he had a teammate with a foreign name in high school. It sounded so cool, he’d said, grinning.

I think Osamu sounds pretty cool already, you’d teased.

And he’d replied, Let’s trade. I like yours, you like mine, why not share?

You teeter on the line between friends and less-than-friends and, oddly enough, more-than-friends. Sometimes you still play it safe. Sometimes he pauses between texts and real-time conversations, no doubt to scrap an instinctive reply for something more “professional”. Sometimes you say things that make him look at you with the ghost of a smile at the corners of his lips. Sometimes he calls Atsumu to scream about you.

“S’not a no,” Osamu points out. He’s dressed in a black sweater and grey trousers today. You’re suddenly reminded of how the weather’s been getting colder when someone opens the door to the university café and lets in a gust of chilly autumn air.

“Okay,” you admit, setting down the pencil. “I just… don’t really feel prepared for this next test.”

Osamu frowns and looks down at your worksheet. “Your process is correct, though.”

“Right, but… I don’t know. I’ve just not been feeling great about myself lately,” you laugh, looking down at your feet. “Food Chem’s the toughest class I’ve ever taken. And remember how I completely embarrassed myself in that class discussion last week? It’s not really making me feel like I belong here.”

“Imposter syndrome,” Osamu remarks.

“Correct-o.”

He says your name softly and puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Maybe you’re not the smartest, but you’re definitely smart. And you belong here. I’ve seen your papers. They’re just as great as anyone else’s and I don’t hand out compliments for nothin’. You’re gonna do some great things but ya can’t improve if you ever give up.” Osamu searches your eyes for a sign of your understanding.

There’re a lot of things you want to say but you don’t know how to put them into words. “Can I hug you?” you finally ask.

Osamu doesn’t even think about it. “Of course.”

He feels you smile against his chest and wonders if you can feel his heart beat faster.

Isla camps out in your dorm as finals come around the corner.

“I don’t understand shit!” she wails, throwing her notebook into the air.

“Isles, it’s okay,” you laugh, slipping out of your chair and walking over to her nest in the corner. “You gotta chill, dude.”

“Not fair! I didn’t have a hunk holding my hand through this course all semester,” she retorts, humour glittering in her dark eyes. “I had the Organic Chemistry Tutor and his accent’s cute enough but, girl, you had Miya Fucking Osamu!”

“You’re literally the worst.” You giggle and sit down beside her. “Tell me what you’re confused about. I’ll try to explain it to you.” The way Osamu does.

You text him that you’d channelled his brains later that night.

His reply comes seconds later. all you, einstein.

From: osamu

good luck on the exam

you’re going to kill it

To: osamu

would u like to divulge any… information about it? 😏 😏 😏

From: osamu

bye

To: osamu

i was kidding :(

From: osamu

fine. tip #1: write your name

To: osamu

not very helpful. 0/10

From: osamu

keep running your mouth and 0/10 is what your score’s going to be

i’m kidding

you got this, y/n

“Holy fuck,” Isla groans as you cross the street to head to lunch at Jack’s. “If you don’t see me next semester it’s because I’ve gotten my grade back and decided to drop out.”

“What would you do?” you ask, amused.

“Maybe move to New Zealand. Raise some sheep. Marry a hot, blond shepherd and fuck off to a cliffside cottage.”

“Solid plan.”

“What about you?” she asks.

“What about me?”

“Remember that conversation we had at the start of the year? About your man?” The two of you reach another red light for pedestrians.

“We’re friends. He’s not my man,” you laugh. Though it pains you to. Something about being Miya Osamu’s friend doesn’t really sit right with you, but you don’t know how to not be his friend. You don’t know how to move out of the corner you’ve backed yourself into.

“But you wish he were! And now you can finally hit him with that ‘Hey, Osamu, I’ve been madly in love with you since the start of the semester, wanna fuck like rabbits and then open that store in Italy?’ and he’ll be all––”

A throat clears behind you. With wide eyes, the two of you turn around.

Holy fuck.

Miya Osamu stands behind you with his hands in his pockets and an enormous smirk on his face.

“He’ll be all what?” he asks, eyes fixed on you.

Isla murmurs an excuse and starts walking on her own to Jack’s.

“Um.” You swallow nervously and shrink in your coat. “You heard all of that, right?”

“Yep.” Osamu grins. He grins. He’s grinning. He’s smiling like he’s won the fucking lottery and you honestly don’t know what to do with that information.

“So, like,” you look down at the sidewalk and kick at a pebble, “what are your thoughts about that?” God, you could die. “‘Cause I know you’re a TA and it’d probably look pretty bad and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you because I like you and it’s cool if we just…”

Osamu interrupts you with a laugh. “My thoughts,” he says, “are that I want to kiss you.” His fingers lift your chin up. “What are your thoughts about that?”

Well, shit. “I think that’s pretty cool, yeah,” you breathe, eyelids fluttering shut as his face comes closer to yours.

He tastes like mint. And his lips move softly, slowly against yours like he’s savouring the moment. And then you feel his hands snake around your waist to pull you closer–– closer because you both are tired of forcing the distance between bodies that want to be near each other, closer because he’s thought about kissing you just like this for so long, closer because you remember the last time he’d touched you was three days ago and it was just a brush of his fingers against your arm and that feeling of wanting more haunted you for the entire night. But holy shit, Miya Osamu is kissing you. He’s kissing you.

And then he pulls away. His dark eyes flit over yours. “I,” he breathes, “I need your course load next semester.”

“What?” you ask, disbelief written all over your features, chest rising and falling as you try to steady your breathing. You just kissed, for God's sake, and he's––

“I need to know which courses not to apply to TA for,” he grins, cupping your face in his hands. “Can’t be teachin’ in a class with my girlfriend as a student.”

“So we’re official?” you ask, beaming.

“If you want,” Osamu replies with a smirk.

You grab the front of his coat and tug him down for another kiss. “Hell yeah, I want to be official.”

[ianfm]

closed starter for Bo Turner ( @urdamage​ ) location: bo & ian’s apartment 

Ian woke up with the worst taste in his mouth. In fact, it was his morning breath that actually got him out of bed that morning when he did. The mix of wine coolers, weed, and Wednesday’s leftover wonton soup they’d consumed last night coated Ian’s unbrushed teeth with a poisonous film of last night’s debris. Fortunately for him their night of over indulgence seemed to do the trick. Once Ian was out of bed it only took him one glance at his partner to know that he’d have a little time to get ready for the day. Ian pulled off the date from their daily calendar and smiled even with a headache forming behind his eyes from last night’s antics. April 1st always held a special place in Ian’s heart and he was quick to grab a pen and scribble out the holiday noted on the calendar. Ian’d never celebrated April Fool’s Day in his life and his pointy little handwriting wrote his own amendment to the calendar. Bo’s Birthday. 

Using yesterday’s date Ian scribbled a quick note to the birthday boy and set it gently beside his partner making sure he didn’t wake him. Wear something colorful. - C Along with the note Ian set out the rainbow paper crown Ian had made for his prince to put on. With those preparations in place Ian quietly got himself dressed by throwing on a polo of Bo’s perfect for the occasion and a pair of jeans. As much as he wanted to stay in his birthday suit he wanted Bo to feel special and lately special things called for getting dressed. As he brushed his teeth he looked at his reflection in the mirror. He wondered if the man in his reflection would be able to keep it together today. He wondered as he scrubbed his canines if he’d be able to put aside the pain in his eyes for one day and find the warmth they once held so easily. Things were still tough and if Ian was honest he dreaded Bo’s birthday this year. Bo’s birthday’s were always tough. He understood the deep seated pain that his partner associated with the day and this year more than ever he knew this birthday would hurt. This time last year Ian had been seeing Delilah and as that was drawing to a messy close he hadn’t had much time to celebrate his best friend.  A new sketchpad and a phone call or two was all that they’d shared for Bo’s birthday and if he could’ve turned back time he would’ve and spent the day enjoying his best friend as he should’ve been. So much had changed for the both of them this year and he hated that he’d fall short this year as well. 

Ian spit the toothpaste into the sink and ran a comb through his hair not wasting much more time on his appearance than that. He didn’t wake up hours before Bo and he knew he had an hour (at best) to get his preparations in order. Unlike his boyfriend, Ian wouldn’t be transforming the apartment into a Halloween extravaganza, he didn’t have a full of presents for him, Ian didn’t even think they’d have birthday sex today but he was putting his best foot forward with what he had. Ian hung the paper chains he’d been working on in secret while Bo was away in their bedroom door frame. He blew up as many balloons as his lungs allowed and scattered them around the floor. Ian only had one present for Bo but it was neatly wrapped and set off to the side to be opened a little later. Nothing Ian did was very impressive as he made due with what he could out of Bo’s art supplies and things they had but he hoped it was enough. 

He still wasn’t cooking like he used to but he got out a frying pan this morning after putting on one of ABBA’s album to further set the mood. Ian was still getting used to his hand and the limitations he was working through but it was important that he cooked for Bo today. He wanted to prove that he could still do some things after months of barely accomplishing the bare minimum. Ian had coffee going and bacon sizzling and soon the tiny apartment was filled with the smell of Ian’s cooking. As he poured the first of his pancake batter (which he colored rainbow for the occasion) he wasn’t thinking about how this was the first time he’d made pancakes since the attack. Instead he was too busy thinking about making Bo one of his favorite foods and he found himself smiling down at the bubbling batter as he waited for sleeping beauty to make his appearance. 

[ragingbookdragon]

I’m Only A Crack In This Castle Of Glass (Hardly Anything Else I Need To Be) PT. 6

Batfamily x Batsis Story

Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst Tags!: @itsnottilly @cloudyskylines @starflyer-104 @iwillstaywiththemforever @justine-en @weirdgirlfromtx @notsostraightweeb @candlestudy @willowoo @peterxwade24 @the-atlantic-french-fry @bad-bouquet-of-emotions @vvipgot7be @pure-princess-97 @atomicsoulhumanspy @foreverthefloor @natatawa-ako (I discounted the names of those whose blogs I couldn't tag! Y'all gotta get that figured out on your end!)

Author's Note: And here we are with the long awaited PT. 6 after like...five days of hiatus. FLASHBACK TIME. Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

The silver doors closed in his face and Wally couldn’t find it in himself to turn around and face the family behind. She wasn’t wrong for being upset and hostile, but something deep down inside naively assumed there would’ve been a teary reunion at the end of the night.

He hung his head and sighed heavily, turning around to pay the piper. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I thought…I thought I could—”

“How could you keep this from us!” Dick interrupted, angrily thrusting the letter towards Bruce. “We could’ve done more to find her! Released some statement about this! Told her earlier that she was wrong!”

Bruce’s face still held that indomitable impassivity as he responded calmly, “Dick, it would’ve caused more problems for us all if we’d released something pertaining to the information on the letter.”

“And making up some bullshit about (Y/N) fucking off to Europe was the betteroption?” Jason retorted, pointing at his father as he accused, “All those letters and pictures she supposedly sent were bullshit too, weren’t they?” He scoffed. “Of course they were. She’s been living here for the last three years.”

Tim, who’d been silent as his brothers delivered their harsh criticisms, murmured, “Bruce has a point guys.”

“Seriously?” Jason replied, eyes wide in shock. “You’re defending this?”

“Putting out the information in the letter would’ve made it seem like Bruce was irresponsible and inattentive to us.”

“But we—”

“Jason, Child Services would’ve conducted investigations into the manor.” Tim leveled him with a serious expression. “They could’ve taken me and Damian if they found things not to their likings.”

Jason went silent in agreement, but his pursed lips told Tim that he didn’t like it, and the rest of them matched the stillness.

Wally collapsed into the seat beside Dick. “I’m sorry, Dick,” he murmured remorsefully. “I thought I could help fix things.”

Dick was silent for a long time, then he sighed and shook his head. “It’s not your fault, Wally. You did the best you could.” He turned his blue eyes onto the speedster. “If anything, it was ours for cornering her.” He rubbed his temples. “I should’ve listened to you the first time when you told me to meet in Central instead of doing…this. She might’ve felt less threatened if we hadn’t ganged up on her.”

Wally looked away, the memory of (Y/N)’s disappearance still fresh in his mind and replaying as if it was still happening.

***

He could count on one hand how many times things had actually unnerved him to his core, and this one by far topped every instance of dread filled panic. And it certainly wasn’t the ecstatic atmosphere of Wayne-Family-Pizza-Fridays that was drilling him so hard—it was the confession that kept slipping onto his tongue, forcing him to swallow it down to avoid ruining everything.

“Wally, you good?”

His eyes darted to Jason’s, who were uncharacteristically concerned, and he gave a tight smile. “Yeah man, just chilling.”

Jason snorted. “You look like you’ve got a stick up your a—your butt,” he finished when Alfred’s glare hit him.

“Sorry, just thinking about some things.” He took a piece of pizza from one of the boxes, handing it to Cass who silently held her plate out, then proceeded to get himself one. “Don’t let me stop the story,” he quipped, and Jason shook his head, but went back into some story about kicking Two-Face’s ass the other night.

Maybe he should tell Dick later? Wouldn’t that be better than telling the whole family? A frown etched onto his face as he chewed, but it all tasted bitter. (Y/N) didn’t want to be found and she seemed pretty adamant about it as well. Maybe she was right? Maybe they did ignore her a lot. Bruce doesn’t exactly have the best track record of keeping up with all his kids, I mean look at Jason. And then everybody else gets sidetracked in their own lives and things just get forgotten along the way. Was she one of those things? Their own sister? No, they couldn’t—

Laughter exploded across the table, Cass pressing her face into Tim’s arm to stifle her giggles, Stephanie cackling at Tim for snorting soda out of his nose, and that just set everyone off again. Dick and Damian pointing at Tim while their faces turned red from laughing so hard, Jason was crying at that point, and surprisingly, Barbara and Bruce had their heads in their hands. The only one not laughing was Wally.

“I know where (Y/N) is.” He blurted and the table went dead quiet as everyone stared at him.

For a full minute, no one said a word.

“What did you just say?” Dick asked and Wally swallowed, looking at him.

“I…I know where (Y/N) is.” He looked at Bruce and that weighted stare made the words fall right out of his mouth. “She’s been living in Central under the alias Melisandre Hale. Has been for the last three years.”

“What,” Dick started, but shook his head like he couldn’t comprehend. “What are you talking about, Wally? (Y/N)’s in Italy.”

Wally shook his head. “No, Dick, she’s not. And she never was. She left three years ago and has been living a completely different life up until now.”

“Until now?” Jason repeated. “What do you mean until now?”

“Dick and the other Titans came to hang out in Central two months ago and Melisan—(Y/N)mentioned herself. Rather curiously I might add.” He shrugged. “Now that I think about it, that was her way of dipping a toe into the water to see the ripples. To see where she was in the grand scheme of things.”

His eyes drifted to Dick’s. “When I showed you her picture you offhandedly commented on how similar they looked to one another and that night—”

“You went to confront her,” Dick finished, eyes flashing, and Wally wasn’t sure if it was from anger or sadness or some other heavy emotion the eldest brother was feeling about his baby sister. “…How’d she react when you did?”

Wally sighed, slouching in the hardwood chair. “Not in the positive, Dick.” He glanced at Bruce. “She doesn’t want to be found. And she certainly doesn’t want to be met by anyone. Especially…especially anyone here.”

“(Y/N)’s our sister,” Tim retorted. “What do you mean she doesn’t want to meet us?” he was already rising from his seat and that seemed to spark every brother to do so.

Wally’s hand shot out, wrapping around Dick’s wrist. “Dick, I’m being serious. Don’t corner her. Let me handle this.”

Dick tried to pull away, but he held tight. “You will handle this. We’ll all handle it together.”

“You don’t understand, Dick. If you want this to play out the way you’re planning, you need to come to Central alone with me.” He gazed at the others. “We need Dick to do this himself and then we can see about bringing her back here.”

Jason scowled. “With all due respect Wally, she’s our sister. Not yours.”

And with that, Dick pulled away firmly and Wally watched as the lot headed for the cave, the young women and Bruce still seated at the dinner table. He groaned and put his head in his hands, knowing this was going to come back to bite him in the ass.

“Wally,” someone said quietly. “Is she okay?”

He looked up, meeting Bruce’s eyes. His mouth opened, ready to lie, but he sighed and shook his head. “No,” he answered honestly. “(Y/N) isn’t the shy girl I remember. Especially when I confronted her. She was…cold and indifferent.” His mouth drew into a taut line and he stared at Bruce. “This isn’t going to end well, isn’t it?”

Bruce wiped his mouth on the napkin in his lap then stood from his seat, pushing in the chair behind him. “No, Wally. No, it’s not.”

***

He shook the memory away and instead of looking at any of the brothers, he looked at Bruce. “So, what do we do now?”

“We go find her and bring her back to Gotham, that’s what we do,” Jason griped, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No,” Bruce said firmly. “If (Y/N) wants to stay here, then we’ll let her.”

“WHAT?!” all three of the boys around him shouted in unison, their eyes practically bulging out of their heads.

He merely looked on. “We’ll wait for her to meet us halfway.”

“And what if she tries to leave again?” Dick questioned angrily and Bruce turned his slate gray eyes to him.

“We’ll know.”

“How?” Tim asked. “If she left the first time, what’s stopping her from leaving again?”

Wally cleared his throat and if he were a lesser man, he would’ve cowered under their withering glares as he admitted, “Actually, I tagged (Y/N) with a bug.”

“You did what?” Jason questioned, brows furrowing.

“I tagged a pocket in her purse with a bug when she wasn’t paying attention earlier in the car.”

“And you’re sure she won’t just throw that purse away? She left the house with money and a suitcase of necessities. A purse doesn’t seem that way.”

Wally snorted and crossed his arms. “(Y/N)’s purse is a Givenchy black bag that she found at a thrift store for thirty dollars. She might be a different person after living on minimum wage, but deep down she’s still a billionaire’s daughter who can’t help but love expensive things.” He grinned rather cockily. “She’s not going to get rid of a two-thousand-dollar purse she found for thirty. Even if she throws away everything else she’s got.”

He shifted his gaze to Bruce. “I think waiting for her is a good option, but you might want to do something more.”

“Like what?” Tim asked.

Wally shrugged. “Write her personal letters. The semester ends in three months and she won’t leave before it does, or she’ll have to pay those classes off.” He stared them down. “You’ve got three months to wear her down into staying on grid before she goes off again.” His eyes hardened. “And you know as well as I that if she goes off…we won’t find her ever again.”

[aminiatureworld]

Injury II

Characters: Kaeya, Ningguang, Xiao, Zhongli, gn!reader

Word Count: 5,650

Warnings: Various injuries, blood, burns, minor villain death

Premise: Sometimes the pain of others can hurt even more than one’s own. In which the reader is injured.

Author’s Note: Okay so after the mind numbing fear of my computer almost dying and now maybe emitting a weird smell I’m five seconds away from pure panic. But the show much go on! Even if my word document keeps blacking out.

This is my first time writing for Ningguang! I hope I do my girl justice, she’s voiced by my fav VA, she’s a total powerhouse, I love her so much. 

I tried to make all of the injuries personal to each character in some way. Funny enough Zhongli’s was the hardest to figure out. I eventually settled upon the act of you being injured causing Zhongli’s personal angst, rather than the cause of the injury. I hope it came out well!

Kaeya

Kaeya didn’t often let himself fall into fear. Not since he’d been young did he feel that he could indulge in such a sentiment. True to his vision he’d frozen that part of himself, and now when panic seized him he could feel nothing but stone cold determination, and the need to continue forward without hesitation. Fear was hardly alien to him, he could conjure up the emotion all too well, but it had been dulled and replaced by cynicism and coldness. And occasionally guilt.

Looking back on it Kaeya wasn’t even sure why the two of you had strayed so close to Dragonspine, so close snowflakes were congregating in your hair.

You’d called him a winter fairy in jest at the time, wondering if he wasn’t truly the ruler of that mountain of frost. He’d laughed then, before threatening to take you away to his fairy court. “That would be quite an easy task.” You’d replied. “You’ve already captured my heart after all.”

The two of you were strolling on the rocks that lined the river which separated Dragonspine from the greater Monstadt area. Although adventurers usually roamed the area in the daytime it was now evening, and the lack of people certainly made up for the cold in Kaeya’s mind. He could only be his true self around you after all. Otherwise it was the charming and slick Cavalry Captain, a man who always knew what to say and never harbored any doubts in his mind. Not that he wasn’t still charming around you, he loved seeing you blush from his effusive praise, loved the way you buried your head in his shoulder if the flirting and the teasing ramped up enough. But there was a sincerity to his words that one couldn’t find normally in Kaeya, and he loved to show you bits and pieces of his soul, relieved to finally have someone to talk to.

“Watch your step.” You warned, grabbing onto Kaeya’s hand as he slid a little ways along a rock.

“Thank you darling, although I daresay I’m more worried about you. After all who’s the snow fairy here and who’s the wind sprite, liable to blow away at any moment?”

“So cheesy.” You mumbled, shaking your head, though Kaeya could’ve sworn your cheeks were slightly redder than they were a few moments ago. Laughing he wrapped his arm around your waist. You snuggled into his fur lined coat. “Cold.” You murmured, though you made no move to disconnect yourself. Kaeya smiled and brought his other hand around you in a soft embrace.

“Sorry my dearest, but you’re in love with an icicle.”

“Only terms of magic.” You shot back. “Otherwise you’re a nice warm fire. And don’t you forget that.”

The two of you headed a little ways down, closer to the river. A small group of frost flowers had made it to this side of the banks, and you were adamant on picking some. “They’re so beautiful!” You explained to Kaeya. “And incredibly strong, I can’t believe they managed to grow in that permafrost. They’re simply lovely.”

“Just be careful.” Kaeya commented, standing a little ways back. He didn’t like getting near the river, a river so cold it was always at nearly freezing at the bottom. Cold water and a vision of Cryo didn’t mix well.

“I’ll be fine.” You hopped to your feet, a bouquet of pale blue in your hand. You were smiling from your victory, face full of light and happiness.

It was an expression that changed swiftly as you lost your balance and plummeted into the freezing waters.

Immediately Kaeya leapt down from the rocks he was standing on, kneeling near where you were standing a moment ago. The river wasn’t very fast, bogged down by its width and how far it was away from the waterfalls in the warmer parts of Monstadt. Still it cut off very quickly, having barely the semblance of a beach before opening into a deep chasm, and anyone who fell in it would quickly fall into cold shock. Already your limbs had started seizing, and you were hyperventilating hard. Your arms felt like dead weight, and every second that passed your head dipped lower into the freezing water.

Kaeya gingerly put his hand out to make a platform of ice for him to stand on. Whatever happened he couldn’t fall in as well, it would mean the death of you two. Fear had reared its ugly head again and Kaeya twisted those feelings into action. No matter what he had to act fast and sure. Hesitation was fatal.

Plunging his hand into the water, sucking in a deep breath as the ice that still coated his palms and fingers made contact with the freezing river Kaeya hauled you up onto the icy platform. Taking off his coat he wrapped you up. Removing your gloves so the frozen water wouldn’t be in contact with your already freezing skin Kaeya cursed as he ran towards Springvale, the nearest place he could think of. He’d lugged you onto his back, and could feel the freezing water through his shirt. As he ran he kept up a stream of slightly shaky conversation, rattling off what little he knew of hypothermia.

“It’ll be alright darling, I promise it’ll be alright. You’re just going through shock right now, okay? You’ll be alright, I promise. Just stay awake a little while longer. I know you must be tired from all that excitement, but just stay awake a little longer, just a little longer and then you’ll be nice and warm, just stay awake right now okay?” His voice became more and more desperate as his fear started to tumble out of his grasp, but he kept moving. He wouldn’t lose control of himself now, not until you were safe.

Finally he arrived at Springvale and you’d been rushed to the village doctor. Kaeya was told to go and wait somewhere else, and preferably change out of his freezing cold shirt, but you’d grabbed his hand as he turned to leave and after that he refused to budge, instead borrowing a shirt from the village. He’d reimburse the people who let you two borrow their clothes later.

The entire process was a terrifying one, as you were slowly brought back to warmth. Kaeya took the opportunity to learn as much as he could, noting that you shouldn’t massage limbs back to warmth for fear of heart attack and – much to his chagrin he later joked when the situation was far enough in the past – alcohol was too much of a depressant on your system and could lead to death. All throughout he kept talking to you, even though there were times you didn’t seem to hear, times when he thought his heart would split in two.

Still it was evident you were going to survive and when you’d finally finished being warmed up Kaeya thought he could cry in relief, if only he’d been numbed from such an act for so many years. You’d run into some sort of rock in the water, and the long gash down the side of your leg was later determined by the doctor to reveal torn muscle. It’d take about a month and a half for you to recover. Kaeya thought he should’ve felt worse about it, but in the moment he felt nothing but relief, utter relief in the knowledge you were going to be fine. Utter relief that came with having almost lost you.

Kaeya had carried you back to Monstadt, much to your consternation. All the ways back you mumbled about how his penchant for drama seemed to have increased tenfold. Kaeya simply shook his head, not bothering to ask how you would’ve gotten back otherwise with your leg in the shape it was. Still it was a relief to both of you to see the city walls. Even more of a relief when you finally arrived home, safe and sound.

“I’m so glad you were there.” You confessed as Kaeya sat you down on the couch, propping up your leg and pulling a chair up next to you. “I don’t know what I would’ve done had I fallen and you weren’t there.”

“You probably wouldn’t have been there in the first place.” Kaeya remarked, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. You brought your hand up to his cheek and he leaned into it slightly, grateful for the contact between you two. It’d been hours but the panic that he’d felt still tugged at his consciousness, as if any moment you might slip away again and leave him panicked and alone.

“Were you afraid?” You asked.

“Of course I was afraid.” Kaeya’s reply came swift and sure. “I was terrified, terrified in a way that I haven’t been in years.” Kaeya’s eyes clouded over, as if reaching deep into his memories. He brought your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles and then your palm. “I thought that you might die, and in that moment I was ready to curse the world all over again.”

“But I didn’t die.” You said solemnly.

“No, you didn’t.”

“And that’s because of you. Because you reacted quickly, because you had the magic with which to do so, and most of all because you never hesitated. And because of that I’m alive and well now. Injuries aside I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Kaeya knew you were right. You were alive. You weren’t going to go where he couldn’t follow. The fear coiling in his stomach began to subside. He’d been so afraid, yes, and in that fear he’d managed to find the strength and determination to save you. But now you were safe and he no longer needed to rely on that strength; he could give into his relief. Realizing this, realizing how frightened he’d been and how that was now part of a past he could move forward from, could truly forget, Kaeya could only marvel at his relief. Only then did the tears begin to fall.

 Ningguang

If there was one thing Ningguang wasn’t expecting out of today it was your leg collapsing and her winding up in the waiting room of the Liyue hospital, mind replaying the last week or so, wondering where she might’ve realized something was wrong.

It seemed like the kind of thing Keqing would make a joke about. Here Ningguang was, the Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing, the most powerful woman in the trade capital of Liyue; here she was, her world completely gone awry, completely shattered by your injury.

A stress fracture, the doctor had said. It was the kind of injury that developed slowly and came about after weeks instead of in moments. The initial strain was usually something mundane, a sprain, a bruise, maybe you’d walked on your foot for too long. But after sometimes weeks of ignoring pain and swelling your body couldn’t take it any longer. Ten weeks, that’s how long you would be laid up. And Ningguang couldn’t help but feel every one of those ten weeks was her fault.

She should’ve noticed it. That train of thought continued all throughout the process of you being treated at, and eventually discharged from, the hospital. You weren’t just one of the people she worked with daily, weren’t just her closest colleague. You were the person that Ningguang loved more than anything in this world. How could she possibly not have noticed the signs?

Ningguang found herself obsessively trying to connect the warning signs that must’ve been there. She knew that your foot had been aching for some time, but though she’d been vaguely concerned she’d said nothing other than a simple “be careful”. She’d never thought to check after you later, sure that it was nothing. Now she felt nothing but shame, both that of a personal and of a greater kind. How could she manage looking after all of Liyue if she couldn’t even look after you?

You noticed Ningguang’s silence as you two made your way out of the hospital and towards the apartment you shared. Although Ningguang was perhaps seen as a reticent individual you’d found her surprisingly open, always ready to discuss things that were of interest either to you or to her. She wasn’t the kind of person to walk along in silence; not when she was around those that she cared for, not unless she was thinking about something important, not unless…

Finally you two arrived home. You collapsed on the couch, tired and ready to either read or nap. Ningguang was preparing some tea and a various array of fruit, not that there was much food in the lavish apartment you two shared. Considering the workload between the both of you it was perhaps unsurprising that there was nothing much to eat. That would have to change, Ningguang noted; she’d make sure that you were recovering in the most comfortable way possible. It was the least she could do.

“Are you feeling well?” Ningguang asked, placing the food and tea on the table in your room. You nodded.

“I feel fine, although I’m not looking forward to the walk to the Qixing headquarters. I have to admit dear this might be the only time I’m a bit glad that I don’t have to make my way to the Jade Chamber every day.” Ningguang smiled at that, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She sat silently, sipping her tea slowly. Your expression clouded over. “Hey, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Oh it’s nothing my love.” Ningguang spoke up quickly, leaning over and kissing you on the cheek. “I’m just sorry to see you like this.”

“Well you can’t blame yourself. You know that, right?”

Ningguang found she couldn’t bring herself to lie to you. Your gaze, though soft, seemed to pierce right through all her excuses and all her bluffing. She sighed softly. Maybe it would be better to be upfront about it, clear and concise, how one should always be. At least then she could apologize properly.

“In truth I do blame myself. I can’t believe I was so neglectful of your health, so blind to your pain.” She shook her head, staring at the hand that was holding yours. A disconnected part of her thought of how well the two fit together, fingers intertwined softly, your palm warm and comforting.

“If you were blind to this then so was I.” You spoke softly but firmly, refusing to sugar coat your words. Ningguang admired you for it, even if she didn’t believe you, something painfully clear in the expression on her face. “You cannot blame yourself.” You continued, “I won’t let you. I don’t want you beating yourself up for something that neither of us predicted. If you feel the need to blame yourself for this you must also blame me; I was the one walking on the injury without paying enough attention.”

“But – ” Ningguang paused, realizing the truth behind your words, slouching slightly she sat in deep thought. “I… I realize there’s not a lot of logic behind my thinking.”

“Well feelings are hardly logical.” You pointed out, squeezing her hand. “And because they’re illogical they don’t go away quickly. But I at least want you to try and combat your guilt with what I’ve told you. Because just like you hate seeing me in this cast I hate seeing you in pain.”

Ningguang nodded, heart filled with a deep sense of love and tenderness. Leaning over to give you a kiss she smiled softly. You did too. For a moment you two basked in each other’s presence and happiness, before you smile turned mischievous.

“Although… I won’t object to a little pampering.” Ningguang chuckled, shaking her head. But her smile was real this time, and you wouldn’t ask for anything more.

“You’re lucky I love you so much.”

“I know I am.” You replied. “And you’re lucky I adore you.”

“I am.” Ningguang’s reply was just as sure, was full of quiet but strong emotion. She was lucky. And she would never take you or your love for granted. No matter what.

 Xiao

By the time he’d met you Xiao had long come to the conclusion that he’d never find it in him to like humans.

Humans were dirty, they were untrustworthy and full of darkness, they broke things without thinking about it, mangled their own people, their own families and friends and countrymen. Humans slaughtered one another without thinking of how it might stain them, and when they weren’t killing they were stealing and lying and ruining the land around them. How could he, a being designed solely to destroy the darkness in the world, ever find in himself the will or the ability to look past all that?

When he’d met you and had fallen in love in earnest this view had still changed ultimately very little. But even if you’d admitted that what he said was mostly true, you’d found that you still wanted him to learn to care at least a little bit about humanity. I mean you were ultimately one of them at your core. It didn’t feel right to prop yourself up as the one great exception, not when there were other people who were certainly like you in mind and in morality. Xiao silently disagreed with this analysis; to him there never was and never would be someone like you, in all of Teyvat. Still, he felt compelled to try, though  more for your sake than for his, and as the weeks had gone on he’d begun to look at humanity not with any sort of respect or hope but with a sort of begrudging curiosity, and an admittance that maybe, just maybe, there was a bit of that light you saw in it.

What a fool he’d been.

Although Xiao was aware of the growing threat of treasure hoarders across Liyue – so widespread that they’d even managed to eat away at the tranquil lands surrounding Jueyen Karst – he’d never considered them a serious threat. So when the two of you accidentally ran into a group of them while exploring some of the older Liyue ruins Xiao didn’t bother to do much more than wrap an arm around your waist, sure that even the most idiotic of treasure hoarders wouldn’t be so foolish as to pick a fight with either an adeptus or their beloved. You seemed unfazed at any rate, explaining that the two of you were simply passing by and had no desire to pick a fight; if they’d be so kind the two of you would be on your way.

Perhaps the treasure hoarders were well aware of the fact that you could report them to the Liyue Qixing. Perhaps they were simply in a bad mood. Either way your words apparently did nothing. Xiao was becoming tenser and tenser, feeling as if something catastrophic was about to happen. That moment came to pass when one of the treasure hoarders pulled out a knife and threw it, lodging itself with deadly accuracy into your torso.

At that point Xiao felt himself overcome with a supernatural sort of calm, a calm which raced to cover up the anguish and rage that was coursing through him, threatening to burn him from the inside out. He only paused to make sure you didn’t hit the ground hard, before summoning his spear. Ignoring the cries of the treasure hoarders he made quick work of disposing of them, for what was a measly human, a piece of trash, when compared to that which had slayed countless demons? A small part of him cried out against the act, pointing out the fact that every time he wielded his polearm to kill it might bring him closer to the precipice, the fact that you were hurt mattered more than revenge, the fact that he was going to regret killing in front of you. He ignored it. At that moment there was nothing in his mind, it was as empty and staid as a clear pool of water. The only ripple in it was the way you’d jolted back in surprised, and the way you’d let out a cry before crumpling.

Xiao didn’t look back to see the havoc he’d wreaked. Instead he ran to your side. Peeling off his gloves, worried that they might bring infection, he pressed his bare hands to your wound, desperately trying to staunch the blood that was spilling out, ignoring the shocks that jolted through his hands, the result of the dagger somehow being infused with electro. The feeling of blood, your blood, beneath his fingers was nauseating, and for a moment Xiao felt his head filling with static as the pure panic that he’d felt began to overcome the initial rush of adrenaline. Snapping out of it when you let out a groan of pain Xiao looked into your eyes. They were clouded, and for a moment the adeptus was afraid you might be on the verge of passing out – had you really lost so much blood? Holding you tightly, one hand never leaving your wound, Xiao summoned a burst of air. His thoughts were still too chaotic to be processed, there was only one thing connecting them all. Let them live. If there’s any justice in this world, please let them live.

Verr Goldet had grasped the situation as soon as she saw Xiao appear on the balcony, face contorted in fear. Taking you to her room, she’d instructed Xiao to get one of the doctors from Liyue while she and the resident apothecary took care of you. Xiao did the task without thinking, and once he’d arrived with the doctor he refused to leave your side. Xiao knew death better than most adepti, certainly more than most humans. It was cold and unfeeling, and had a nasty habit of leaping onto people when they least expected it. It didn’t matter to him that all three, Goldet, the apothecary, and the doctor, said that you would be fine; Xiao was going to be there the entire time.

Eventually you managed to rouse yourself from the pain induced stupor, and when you did you saw Xiao first, eyes wide with fear and relief, tears threatening to spill down his face.

In the end you’d been lucky. Although the dagger had ruptured your spleen Xiao had acted quickly enough to avert catastrophe. You were going to survive, though it’d be 12 weeks most likely until you were completely recovered. The moment of crisis having passed the two of you were finally given a moment alone.

“Are you alright?” Xiao immediately asked. You didn’t make a move to answer, instead cupping Xiao’s cheek before moving to take his hand. At that moment how Xiao remembered. Oh; the blood. Quickly moving away he ran to the nearest basin of water, scrubbing furiously. As the water turned red a faint smell of iron filled the air; it was the most disgusting thing Xiao had ever smelt, and he scrubbed even harder. You waited silently as he finished cleaning his hands and disposing of the water. Finally he came back to sit next to you, still hesitating a moment before placing his palm in yours.

“I… I don’t understand how you could ever like humans.” That was the first thing Xiao could think of. “They betrayed you. Without even blinking. That man, all those men and women, they would’ve ended your life without even thinking about it. They would’ve killed you and lived without ever having such a thing weigh on their conscience. Humans never think about the weight of their sins. They just keep committing atrocities.”

“And what about you, Xiao. Will their deaths weigh on you?”

“As much as all the others.” Xiao wished he could be matter of fact about it, but he found that trait of his had somehow disappeared. Instead an emotion washed over him, so unfamiliar and unexplainable it seemed to choke him. “Perhaps more.” He managed to get out, before beginning to cry in earnest.

You would’ve died. If he hadn’t been there you would’ve died. For you he gladly shouldered the weight of human life, would do so again and again if only to ensure your safety. And yet it was such a heavy weight, and no matter how many Xiao killed it wouldn’t heal you.

“I’m sorry.” He choked out. You shook your head.

“Xiao I always knew that you weren’t going to be able to see humans as I see them immediately. And I know that you have a relationship with death and killing that most humans, most beings, will never have. I’m not going to blame you, nor will I turn on you. I cannot pretend that what happened didn’t make me angry. In retrospect it made me incredibly angry. It’s also true that – had you not been there – I would’ve raised my own weapon in self-defense. But now I’m going to ask you for one thing, and one thing only.”

“What?”

“Help me recover. Help me recover and let me help you recover. If there’s one thing I don’t want to happen now it’s for you to turn away from me and from everyone else, to let yourself be consumed. I want you to have somewhere you can let your feelings exist, and I want somewhere I can feel happy and comfortable as myself. You make me feel that way, so even if it’s selfish I don’t want you to turn away. And I don’t want you to grieve for me. Injured as I may be I’m not dead.” There was a pause as you let yourself catch your breath, having gotten more and more excited as you went on. “I realize that’s more than one thing.” You concluded, a bit sheepish.

Xiao said nothing for a while before leaning towards you. “May I?” He whispered. You nodded and Xiao pressed his lips to yours. The kiss wasn’t one of fire or passion. It was different, defined within the parameters of fear and relief, there seemed to be a sort of desperation in it, yet it was surprisingly sedate. Pulling away Xiao buried his face in your neck, careful to make sure he wasn’t touching where you’d been stabbed.

“I will. I promise.” He whispered. You nodded, smiling softly. But Xiao couldn’t bring himself to smile, not just yet.

Xiao couldn’t understand humans. They were dirty and cruel and lived without fear of consequences. Their actions haunted him and he found them easier to hate than to understand. But for you he’d try, because to him there was one thing strong than all, strong than fear, stronger than mistrust, stronger than hatred.

And that was the love he held for you.

 Zhongli

If there was one thing Zhongli hadn’t been prepared for when it came to falling in love with humans it was their combination of fragility and utter ignorance to said fragility.

One of Zhongli’s favorite things to do was to simply sit and listen to you talk about your life. Humans fascinated Zhongli, it was one of the reasons he’d ultimately given up his place as Rex Lapis; inside him lived a desire to interact with humanity in a more intimate way, to know what made people behave as they did and to perhaps grow closer to them in the process.

But despite all that he still wasn’t ready for the utter fear he felt when listening to the stories of you getting hurt. You’d laughed off scrapes and bruises and fractures. The time you’d accidentally ripped off your nail was a painful yet funny anecdote, and the fact that you’d fractured your kneecap as a child was something you now looked back on with an odd sense of nostalgia.

Zhongli didn’t understand why these stories frightened him on such a visceral level. Such injuries were nothing to gods and adepti. Although the idea of a broken bone was certainly an irritation there was nothing more in it, and the kind of injuries that could easily kill humans would to Zhongli be the kind of thing that would be unpleasant for its novelty, not for its potential fatality.

He didn’t bring up these thoughts to you, feeling as if they’d somehow place an undue burden on you, or perhaps he was afraid you’d stop telling him about yourself. Still it lurked at the back of his mind, the fear of what might happen to you.

The fears that Zhongli harbored were proven in the most mundane, and thus most poignant, way. The two of you had been preparing a meal when suddenly you’d stumbled on an uneven part of the floor. Reaching your hands out to steady yourself your arm had landed flat on the hot stove, the stove which had been heating up for the past fifteen or so minutes. The scream that you let out sent a shock through Zhongli which shook him to his core. It rang through his ears incessantly, a terrifying reminder of how breakable humans were.

You’d immediately yanked your arm off from the stove but the sight that met both his and your eyes was a ghastly one. The skin on your arm was charred various colors, white blisters mixed with black flaky skin, all outlined in a terrible circle of red. You were shaking, and you face had turned a frightful ashen color. Springing into action Zhongli wracked his brain for all he could remember about burns. If the burn is serious enough go to the hospital. Never try to treat intense burns yourself as the burning has gone deeper than the initial layer of skin, raise your burn above your heart. Go to the hospital. Slinging your arm around his shoulder so that it was raised, whisper soft words of reassurance as you let out a shriek of pain, Zhongli half walked half carried you to the hospital, all while the same thought was running through his head.

How fragile humans are.

The doctors had insisted you stay overnight. Apparently the burn was bad enough to require surgery. Zhongli’s stomach had dropped as he was told that, but he managed to nod in response. Walking back home Zhongli felt all in a daze. He barely made it in the door before he collapsed, fear having seeped the energy out of him. The world pressed down on him, heavier than it’d ever been before. At least you’d be okay, he reminded himself. If he had anything to cling to at least he had that.

Zhongli was the first visitor to arrive at the hospital, having given Hu Tao the run of the funeral home as he spent as much time as possible with you. You were well enough, although a bit bogged down from the painkillers you’d been given. You’d once offhandedly commented that although magic infused medicine tended to be safer for the patient – more successful and less addictive – it was also more powerful; now Zhongli could see you weren’t kidding.

Your burn was wrapped up carefully, the doctors had managed to take the charred skin of, you’d explain, but now the burn had to be treated with the utmost care until the surgery later in the afternoon, infection was no joke.

“Well this’ll certainly be an interesting anecdote.” You let out half a laugh. “Not that I’m happy this happened, but at least this will shut up the next person who complains about how cardio was the most painful thing they’ve experienced.”

“I don’t know how you can be so cavalier about it.” Zhongli replied, tone soft and introspective. “It seems to terrifying to me, how easily humans are hurt.”

“Hey, I’ll be fine.” You assured him, voice soft but firm. “I understand how to adepti and archons and gods this might be terrifying. I’d be the first to admit we can’t really keep up with you in terms of pure healing and resistance to injury. But we’ve continued on this far haven’t we?” You smiled softly. “I promise I’m not about to die from something like a kitchen accident.”

“But what if next time it’s not your arm?” Zhongli replied. “What if it’s your neck or your chest? What if you cut yourself too deeply, what if your cut becomes infected. There are so many things I haven’t thought about until now, so many things that could hurt you. It frightens me terribly.”

“I’m very grateful that you’re worrying for me like this. But Zhongli?” You waited for his eyes to meet yours, smiling once more when he faced you. “You cannot be consumed by your anxiety. Believe me humans worry about these kinds of things. What if I tripped and fell and broke my neck, what if I scratched myself and developed and infection, what if I choked on an apple? These fears live with us, sometimes constantly, but we cannot let them consume us. As much as I’m flattered and glad you care for my wellbeing so much, I also don’t want you consumed by it, nor do I want to be treated like glass.”

“I cannot understand how you’re so resilient.” Zhongli replied after a short pause. You shrugged.

“We are because we must be.”

Zhongli knew in his heart that these fears he harbored weren’t going to go away. He knew that they were going to become more and more apparent through the month of your initial recovery, and through the longer period too as scar tissue formed and subsided.

Humans were indeed fragile. But if there was one thing stronger than said fragility it was their even greater determination to supersede it. Humans may be fragile in body, but they were stronger in spirit even than the gods.

That was something Zhongli wasn’t going to forget. Not for a very long time.

[darkacademicfrom2021]

It’s very ambiguous

Pairing: Loki x reader (gender neutral)

Summary: You have finally come to age; your soulmate mark draws itself in your skin. You can't figure out who it connects you with, but, oh dear, you can only hope and wish it is to him. But Loki won't make it easy for you to find out. Will you both overcome the pride and fear that would involve your love?

Word count: 4.6 K

Warnings: a bit of angst. (English is not my mother tongue and it’s my first time writing fanfiction in english, so forgive me if there’s any errors, and feel free to correct them!)

Sighing at your reflection, you stared for the Norns know how long to the fresh image that drew itself in the side of your abdomen.

You thanked it was easy to hide; saving you endless mockery from your friends if they saw that. The vivid portrayal of who you loved the most, in the most ambiguous drawing you could’ve ever gotten. How ironic.

What the Heavens would that mean, you asked yourself at least five times until the impatient knocking on the bathroom door pulled you out of your thoughts.

“Hurry up, we’re late”, said Sif. You knew she was already all dressed up for the Ball, and she would kill you, seeing you were still on your robes. You opened the bathroom door slowly, with burrowed frows. You couldn’t hide it, as much as you tried to. “Oh, for God’s sa…” she started complaining, but stopped as soon as she realized you were in a terrible state of mind.

“I got it”, you explained after she made you get out of the bathroom and sat you on the edge of the bed. “I got the mark. Impossible to guess”.

“Don’t worry about it, you’ll know who they is when the time is right”, said she, comforting you and eyeing the outfit you’d chosen earlier. “But crytime is over. Guess what time it is now. Yes, you guessed right. The Ball”.

The last thing you wanted to do in that moment was to dance; or to stay in a chair drinking wine the entirety of the night, for that matter. You didn’t need another reminder of your frustrated attempts at making him notice you. And you knew he wasn’t the one (if he were your soulmate, it would’ve already happened years; no, decades ago). But you still couldn’t help but falling in love at every little smirk, every little comment, every little thing he did. Dear, you were lost, completely gone in love.

That’s why you knew you wouldn’t find your soulmate for a long, long time. At least not until your crush for Loki had finally gone away.

“I’d rather stay”, you stated, and she rolled her eyes.

“Well, I want to go, and I can’t go alone. Please, at least do it for me”.

“Why would you want to go? Ever since we’re on age of being asked to dance, we have only gotten invitations from… well, anyone except them. And in the Balls we can’t even be their friends”.

“We can be friends, if they talk to us first we can talk back”.

“Yeah, we could, but they don’t talk first. They never do”.

Both of you were completely lost for the princes. But, unlike you, Sif had a chance with Thor. She was graceful, divine, a wonderful woman; a whole Goddess, an amazing warrior. There was no question Thor would sooner or later find love in her friend. But you… why would a prince like Loki lay his eyes on you? Romantically, he never showed a single trace of interest in anyone, much less someone in his friendgroup. You were the closest to him, yet he never said a thing.

He probably knew you drooled over him. He must have noticed how you looked at him in the library when he read to you, how you always defended him from everyone else’s mockery, how you intentionally pretended like you didn’t know any better in spells so that he could help you out. How your heartbeat raced when he fell asleep on your lap. He must have noticed, yet he said nothing.

She finally managed to convince you to go, with the condition that if you weren’t asked to dance at all, or even talk, you’d go back to your manor early.

You got in your best clothes, and undressing the best attitude possible, you both arrived at the palace and entered the ballroom as quick as your feet let you. The ambient was marvelous. Subtle lighting, most of them by candles. The golden details that characterized Asgard so well were everywhere. Both King and Queen were sat in their thrones, waiting patiently for the rest of the royal family to arrive before giving the annual speech and getting the party started.

“Do you think they’re not coming?” asked Sif as you got comfortable in your seats, eyeing the entrances.

“They can’t miss it, they’re sort of the hosts”, you said, “but… well, I don’t know. The other day after training, Thor mentioned something about this year being particularly difficult for them”, you added in such a low whisper that Sif had to pull closer.

“What did he say? He didn’t mention anything to me”, she whispered back. You two looked like you were merely gossiping, if it weren’t for the lack of giggling that would usually follow.

“He said… he said something along the lines of ‘we’re expected so much more than before in these dances, they’re more than just for fun now’, and, Sif, I think he meant…”, but she abruptly interrupted you.

“Courting? Oh, for the Norns, they’re not expected to choose a partner now, so soon, aren’t they?”.

“Soon? Sif, they’re already at each other’s throats for who’s becoming King, and they have been for a while”.

“They’re not exactly competing, anyways. You don’t have to worry about this. It’s not like Loki’s the one winning” said she, earning a subtle kick in the leg. “Auch!”.

“Would you stop being so hard on him?”.

“You know I’m right!”. 

“You know it hurts him. If you think so, at least keep it to yourself, Sif”.

You could’ve kept lecturing her if it weren’t for the sarcastic clapping of the Queen upon seeing the arrival of her sons. You read the ‘you’re late!’ on her lips and the apologetic looks on their faces. But nothing of that distracted you from admiring how marvelous Loki could get sometimes. Just when you thought he couldn't look any better, he outdid himself. You let out a sigh and Sif laughed.

“You’re staring”.

“And rightfully so. Look at him”.

But no matter how much you looked at him for the whole evening, you couldn’t get even a gaze from him. He didn’t even eyed you from the distance. You would’ve even gotten actually mad at him if it weren’t for the fact that he wasn’t looking anywhere. He didn’t seem like he was avoiding you; he was actively staring at the floor, with the saddest look on his face. And Thor looked pissed off.

“There’s a story in there and I will ask for as many details as possible once Loki spills the beans to you”, said Sif, elbowing you.

“I don’t think he will. Look, it looks like more than a fight. He looks so upset”.

You could only wish you were brave enough to break the stupid rule of the royals approach first so you could take his hand tightly and comfort him in whatever he was going through. As you always did. As he always let you.

The music played for three hours. Everyone was on their feet, dancing away, drinking away and chatting away, as one should in a Ball dance. Everyone except you and certain dark prince you didn’t even bother staring at anymore. You gave up looking for his attention an hour after the dance properly started, and it did nothing good to your pride to have been trying for that long anyways.

Sif got her chance, of course. Thor took his time, but after long he gave up with whatever quarrel he was having with his brother and approached her decisively. You were past pissed. Disappointed. After another sip of your wine, you couldn’t resist and stole a glance to Loki’s seat. To your surprise, you met his gaze. The God of Mischief was staring at you, and he apparently has been for Gods know how long. He quickly dropped his head and went back to looking at the floor, now with a completely red face.

You soon realized he was even more upset than before, as he watched Thor and Sif dance. And then you understood. Everything fell into place. Of course. Of course he liked Sif. Who wouldn’t. That’s why he fought with Thor. That’s why he was so worked up. You didn’t even need to read his mind to confirm it. 

You waited, still holding your eyes on him. You waited for another half an hour, but your patience was already on thin ice and he didn’t look like he would do anything more, anyways. So you did what you should’ve done hours ago. You got up and left.

“No, brother, you can go, I’ll let Mother know I’m staying”, said Loki from his room.

He could hear Thor’s patience shatter in pieces from the other side of the door.

“Don’t be ridiculous, we can’t miss the Ball. Father will kill you”.

“It’s not my problem”.

“I think it is quite your problem, brother”. Loki sighed. He wasn’t in the mood for his mockery. Thor sensed it and lowered his tone of voice, insisting. “Tell me what it is, Loki. I promise I’ll try to help out”.

But he only scoffed and locked the door, to start pacing around the room, feeding his anxiety even more. He covered his arm with his palm and tried his best to make it go away. It’s just an accidental illusion. I’m making it out of nervousness. I need to make it go away, he kept saying under his breath. But it didn’t go away. It wasn’t an illusion.

“Oh, FOR THE NINE REALMS”, he kicked his chair as a sudden burst of anger ate him alive.

“Loki, let me in!”, insisted Thor. “I’m going in”.

“You can’t help me”.

“I might, if you just tell me what is it. You love the dances. Come on”.

“I do love dances, Thor, I’m not particularly fond of the weight this one has on us; not this year” he growled from the floor, knees on his chest. “Not with what I had planned, I can’t do it now” he whispered. Thor pretended like he didn’t listen to that last bit.

Loki had been circling around the idea of asking you to dance for the last few months. It was all he wanted; to caress your hand and gently hold you by the waist, to move at the pace of the music, to feel your heart on his chest, his rising heartbeat with every breath you took. He wanted you, and if that wasn’t possible (and he was sure it wasn’t) he wanted to dance with you all night long.

But now, he would have to court you and marry you if he did. And, of course, it was what he wanted. It was definitely all he wanted. But he knew you wouldn’t. And he wouldn’t risk your beautiful friendship over anything in the world. What if he lost you forever? He could never bring himself to lose you, in any form or way.

“Brother, let me in. Or get out of the room. We’re late”.

“You’re late, Thor. Must I repeat myself? I’m not going”.

“I’m kicking the door”.

Loki sighed, and waited to hear Thor’s intense footsteps get closer and closer to the door to open it just in time and see him land on his face. Thor got up off the floor with blood on his nose.

“It combines with your crimson cape, brother, no need to worry” said Loki mockingly.

But Thor paid little attention to his silvertongue. Instead, his eyes were fixed on his arm. Then, he understood exactly why he was acting so terrified. Loki covered his arm as soon as he realized, mortified, but it was now too late and Thor had already seen it.

“Do you need any other reason to invite them to dance with you?”, he said with a grin of pride.

“It's not them. I’m certain”.

“How are you so certain? It’s such an ambiguous drawing, and you haven’t seen theirs!”.

“They doesn’t even have a soulmate mark yet. They told me the other day”.

“You didn’t have one at that time either, it must have changed. Come on”.

Loki sighed and put on a long sleeved outfit, while letting Thor rant about how much he was sure you’d reciprocate his feelings. And Loki couldn’t say anything against it, because it would only bring ruin to everyone; to spill the obvious secret that haunted him everyday.

The fact that you lusted over Thor.

And it hurted him like anything else, because he knew even though you didn’t say anything. He knew he was the lesser prince. The one that gets looked over. The shadow in his brother’s spotlight. The always-prince, never-King. It hurted like Hell.

But there was nothing he could do about it. And now he had a mark that linked him to the Norns know who, but he only had eyes for you.

Because you were always there. You were the one to defend him against his own insecurities, and everyone else’s accusations. The one to laugh the loudest at his jokes, the one to hold him the tightest when you were in fear, the one to call him first to anything. And you were perfect. But you, for obvious reasons, didn’t think the same of him. You thought the world of him, but not in the way he wished.

And he wouldn’t even get to see you happy from someone else’s love, because his brother didn’t even have eyes for you. The idiot of Thor could not see your brightness, and Loki wondered how could anyone not fall in love with you.

“You need to try, Loki, you’ll never know if you don’t risk a little”.

“A little? To you this is a little? Do you have any idea what would happen to me if I lost them forever? If the person that I love the most leaves me because I just decided to stop hiding my feelings?”, yelled Loki, completely angered.

“Ah, there it is. If I decided to stop hiding my feelings”, repeated Thor, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.

“What is that supposed to mean?!”.

“You are afraid; so incredibly afraid of letting anyone know you fully. That is your problem, Loki. They’ll accept you no matter what, because they already know you. You think you’re hiding, well, you’re not so good with this little lie of yours”, said finally Thor, tired of biting his tongue about it.

“You know nothing about their feelings”.

“I know enough”.

“Believe me, you don’t. And you don’t get to say a word about my love life, or anything about this situation, for that matter. You don’t get to make light of my situation, as you do with everything regarding me. Now, leave. Me. Alone”.

They continued fighting about it until one of their tutors had enough of their unpunctuality and came to look for them. Both entered the ballroom still highly upset at each other and said nothing about it all night. Frigga knew exactly what they were talking about, and didn’t make too much of a fuss about the delay in their arrival.

Loki tried to not look at you in the entirety of the night; avoided all the eye contact he could with anyone, specially you. He was too afraid you’d choose that exact time to practice your special abilities at mind reading (since you’ve done this at previous dances, when Loki didn’t approach you), and if he didn’t see you, you couldn’t do it. Because if you dared reading his mind you’d only find yourself. And in those little moments he got to glance at you, while you were distracted with something else, he sank in sadness, because all he wanted was to embrace you and dance with you. You looked as fantastic as you always were and more. You looked especially excellent. And it didn’t go unnoticed to him that you looked annoyed. From the eye-sided glances he got to steal from you, he saw you staring at the seat he and his brother were in. You were expectant. You wanted to be taken out to dance. And Loki’s suspicions about your crush on Thor only got reassured when he asked Sif for a dance and you looked the most annoyed you’d ever looked in ages.

You left the dance early. After about ten minutes Loki decided to go after you. Outside of the ballroom you could still be a friend; that was the whole point of swallowing his feelings. He wandered the palace until he heard fireballs collapsing against the huge walls of your typical training spot, but he lingered his entrance to observe you in an incredibly angry state of your magic.

“You’ll set the palace on fire” said a gut-wrenching familiar voice. Of course Thor was there. Of course Thor would get earlier to comfort you in something that he destroyed.

“Then so be it”, you answered with a crack in your voice. Loki didn’t mean to invade your privacy, but he couldn’t help himself but to listen.

“I know why you’re upset. Believe me, it upsets me too”.

“You have no idea what upsets me”, you answered, and Thor chuckled. Loki could sense that Thor was thinking about how similar you and Loki were. You threw another fireball against the wall.

“Let me guess”.

“Enlighten me, your majesty”.

“You didn’t get to dance with the man you like”.

“You know nothing about the man I like”.

“When will you all stop treating me as if I were blind? Come on, why won’t you tell me? I’m your friend. I know you’re burning up in love and you still think you don’t have a chance because… because what? Because he’s the prince of Asgard?” said Thor. You stopped your magic and stared at him with teary eyes.

“Because the prince of Asgard I love, is in love with Sif. And there’s nothing I can do about it” you answered. Loki’s heart broke. Hearing you admit your raw feelings to Thor that way, and Thor not even understanding you were talking about him.

“What makes you think he’s in love with Sif?!” insisted, still clueless.

But Loki didn’t need to hear any more of that. He ran through the halls of the palace until he got to lock himself in his room.

“What makes you think he’s in love with Sif?!”, Thor asked, and you scoffed. You lowered your gaze to the floor, trying to make the tears go unnoticed. They didn’t, and Thor hugged you tightly.

Thor was almost like a brother to you. You grew up together, but it was more than that. You were always for each other. He never had to ask about your love for Loki, he always knew. And you never had to ask about his crush in Sif; it was transparent. So you both supported each other. You didn’t even bother telling him how she felt about him, it was bound to happen. Now, you and Loki, on the other hand…

“He is, you can’t deny it”.

“I’m denying it, I assure you”. You wiped your tears away and touched your mark over your clothes. He smiled. “You got the mark, didn’t you?”.

“Yeah”.

“What is it?”.

“Ugh, it doesn’t matter. Maybe I should just forget him and start looking for my soulmate. If the mark showed up today, then it must be for something. There has to be a reason”. Thor nodded, still smiling. “What are you so happy about, dumbass? My heart’s broken".

“Nothing. You keep on looking. Can I see it?”, said he, patting your back.

“It’s too ambiguous, you won’t guess it”.

“So I expected”.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Do you know anything?”.

“Nothing whatsoever”.

You got in your fighting position. Loki bent down in his seat, focusing on the next fight. He was sure you’d win; he has been teaching you new moves and you completely mastered them. And your rival didn’t know any better, anyways.

One kick from your opponent; you avoided it and threw a punch. Another kick. Another punch. The rival grabbed your leg, making you lose your balance and almost fall down, but you used that impulse to push him away and get him to the ground. He got up and started using magic. A blue light shone around him and started getting closer to your feet. You closed your eyes and focused intensely; soon, water drops started emerging from the tips of your fingers. They quickly transformed into a stream of water that wrapped your opponent from head to toes, making his electricity magic attack him, instead of you. Loki smiled.

Your rival pushed further his strength and one of the electrified waterjets hit your leg. You fell to the ground with a scream. It hurted, a lot. Loki gasped and Thor had to grab his shoulder to remind him it was just a training fight. For his tranquility, you got up on your feet soon and started using your magic again.

An aura of sparks and wind formed around you while you closed your fists, extremely concentrated. Your opponent waited without attacking, but behind the shield of his armour. Loki saw Thor smile proudly; this was the part he taught you. For your fire side of your powers, Thor was the one to train you thoroughly. Loki sighed, frustrated because you haven’t yet shown what Loki had taught you with such enthusiasm. He still observed you with attention.

“This part is awesome, look, brother”, whispered Thor in his ear, which only made him angrier.

“I’m sure it is. They is awesome. And wait until you see what I taught them”. Thor chuckled.

“No need for jealousy, Loki. They’s all yours”. Loki rolled his eyes and directed his attention to the fight again.

The sparks and wind grew bigger and bigger around you, circling your whole body. Once the sparks became fire, you directed your whole energy to your opponent, sending him against the wall. If it weren’t for the gigant fire-proof shield, he would’ve gotten completely roasted.

You put your guard down, and as you did so, the wind and fire around you dispersed. Loki got to see you again once the magic flew down, and realized you had your clothes slightly lifted up. He tried not to look out of respect, but Thor gasped, and that drew his attention directly to what surprised his brother. And it did not disappoint. Loki’s chest got as tight as it has ever been. His breathing became irregular and unsteady, and his face got completely red. You didn’t notice your shirt had lifted up, so you didn’t realize what was going on. You got closer to your defeated rival and shaked his hand.

“You win. I see you’ve been well trained”, he said.

“I have”, you answered, and directed your gaze to the princes who were watching the fight. You walked closer to them to chatter, as you always did, but Loki got up fast and ran out of the training room. Thor told you to follow him, and Loki heard your footsteps behind him for the entirety of the hall, until you two got to the gardens.

Loki was shaking. He didn’t want you to be there. He didn’t want you to see him that vulnerable. And you knew it, so you didn’t get closer than two meters apart.

“Loki”, you said after a while, behind his back. “What’s wrong?”.

He turned around, face still red. He was usually cold, but at that moment he was burning up inside and out. Maybe he was burning out of love for you. Maybe out of anger, for being so pessimistic and making himself a martyr when his brother was clearly right. Maybe out of rage to himself, for waiting so long to make a move and losing so much time lost in his own head. But you were still standing there, concerned. And he had to say something, because you still didn’t know anything.

“I saw your mark”, he stated. Now you were the one with the red face.

“Oh… I, I don’t, uh…”, you stuttered, and he got closer to you. He grabbed both of your hands and you looked at him in the eyes, clueless. “I try not to give it that much attention”.

“Why?”, he asked. “It’s your soulmate. The person you’ll love the most”.

“I already love someone” you said, in a burst of confidence. Loki swallowed in nervousness. Your hands started to get sweaty. “I… ugh. Sorry. I don’t want to say…”.

“Who? Tell me, I’m your best friend”.

“I don’t want you to be”, you finally said. “It’s you, Loki. It’s always been you. I don’t care about this stupid soulmate mark, because I know I’m in love with you and I always have been”.

Loki stayed silent, which only made your anxiety increase. He finally looked at you in the eyes and formed a subtle smile.

“I thought you loved Thor”.

“What? Why would I…?”.

“I heard you after the Ball; you said the prince you love was in love with Sif”.

“Yeah, you”.

“I’m… what? I’m not… I’m not in love with Sif, darling”.

Your heart stirred, and you weren’t sure if it was because of the pet name he just gave you, or the fact that you got it all wrong. He wasn’t in love with Sif?

“I’m sorry, did we both think…?”.

“We’re idiots, apparently”.

You both laughed. That was it; that cotidianity, that normality that felt, even in the most embarrassing and intense moments, completely fine. Because you were, before anything, friends.

You hugged him. He returned the hug and caressed your neck and back with one hand. You felt his heartbeat rise, and from that position, he whispered in your ear with that beautifully deep and raspy voice; “I saw your mark”.

“I don’t care about it. I don’t want to ruin our friendship, ignore my feelings if necessary. But my heart only beats for you”, you whispered back. He sank his nose on the crook of your neck and felt his mouth form a smile against your skin. You shivered and felt warmth in your stomach.

“I don’t want to ignore your feelings”.

“I love you”, you said once again, regretting it in that instant. You couldn't stop your words from falling out of your mouth. You felt like you sounded desperate.

“I love you too, my dear”.

You, in shock, looked at him in the eyes. He kept smiling, and putting a strand of your hair behind an ear, placed a small kiss on your red cheek.

“I don’t know what to do next. I like being your friend”, you said. “And I don’t think we’re meant to be. I got a mark, and you haven’t, so it’s obvious we won’t end up together anyways. And I want you by my side for all my life; even if it’s just as a friend, you know? I don’t want to lose you”. Loki chuckled at your rant. “What?”.

“What makes you think I didn’t get my mark yet?”.

“Well, I… I don’t know. Did you?”.

“Yes”.

“What does it look like?”.

He smiled.

“It’s very ambiguous”, said he, sarcastically.

“Hard to guess, is it?” you chuckled, realizing what was going on. Loki lifted his sleeve, uncovering an identical soulmate mark to yours.

“Hard to guess, yet so obvious”, he said. He grabbed your waist and neck and both melted in a long, desired kiss. You sank your fingers in his hair, caressing his scalp. “Yours?”

“It’s very ambiguous too, you know?”.

[justletmeplayminecraft]

Moving Day

it's the day that comes at the end of every season. and yet, somehow, the hermits still get caught off guard by it.

featuring: hermit ensemble, slice of life fluff, imagine moving houses but like every year and a half, werewolf!ren, something!joe, artic fox!etho, he is vaguely developed, there's pretty much no plot, just fluff, an ode to the end of this season

"Zed, you're gonna be late!" Tango calls as he drops in through the ceiling. With a bang, a mop of blond hair pokes out of the central storage. Zed rubs his head, pulling himself up.

"You're the one who distracted me with the Create world!" He replies, hauling a bag up the ladder with him. Tango laughs, throwing it over his shoulder as Zed flops onto the stone ground.

"Sure I was, it's not like you brought it up." Zed huffs, rolling his eyes. He holds his hands up towards Tango, who laughs. "Oh, you want to go over my shoulder too?" He teases.

"You are insufferable," Zed mutters, pushing off the stone himself instead. The cold is starting to seep through his cardigan.

"Have you packed everything?" Tango asks. Zed holds his fingers up to count off.

"Yes, I've checked everything four times! Maybe five, actually. I don't think there's anything left." Zed looks back at the ladders, closing his fist. Tango examines the pile of bags, humming.

"So you're sure you don't want me or Impulse to check for you?" Zed's mouth opens.

"Actually, can you check anyway?" He asks, "You know, just in case!" Tango laughs, giving Zed's shoulder a bump.

"Of course we will. But let's move these before Xisuma forgets them." Zed nods, quick to grab some of the bags. He heaves them up, almost buried under them.

"Season eight here we come!"

-

"You two!" Doc calls, scooping up the white fox before he manages to rush past him. Ren very nearly runs straight into his legs. The wolf sits down, ears twitching as he stares at Etho. Etho sticks his tongue out, Doc struggling to keep a hold on the silky fur. "You two aren't helping, you know that?" Ren barks, tail wagging. "Yeah, yeah."

With a wiggle, Etho manages to slip out of Doc's arms. He jumps up, curling around his shoulders instead and getting comfortable. Doc sighs. He bats Etho's shawl out of his face, ignoring the amused chitter. Counting, he finds most of his bags already in his ender chest. Luckily, because the two animals playing around him are making it difficult. Unlike-

"Doc," Bdubs cries, "Have you seen my razor?" Bdubs doesn't even bother with the door. Doc looks down at him on the lawn.

"Have you checked your half?" He asks.

Bdubs throws a hand up, "Of course I've checked my half, but Keralis tried to drag me into packing all his junk so I had to make a speedy escape!" Doc chuckles, watching as Ren jumps down to nose at Bdubs' hand. "Oh, hello, Ren!" Bdubs jumps into baby-talk immediately, crouching down. "Fancy you being here!"

"Please, take him-" Doc waves, "-The two of them keep running through my feet." Bdubs strokes through the fluff of Ren's neck, glancing up and spotting Etho.

"Oh, Etho as well!" Bdubs waves. Etho yips in reply, ear twitching. Then Bdubs pauses, looking at Ren properly. "Ah-ha, Snips! Of course, right-" Bdubs jumps up, "Thanks guys, I'll see you at the town hall!" Doc looks at Ren as Bdubs runs off.

"You going with him?" He asks. Ren's tail wags, staring at Doc. He sighs. "Right, of course not." Doc picks Etho off his shoulder, dropping him on the floor to a surprised squeak. "If only there was a way to attach some bags to the two of you." Both animalmits freeze, sharing a look with each other. Doc can't help but feel satisfied as they scarper towards the nearest nether portal together. "Perfect." He can finish packing in peace.

-

"Do you think you've got everything?" Wels asks, perched on a chest. Beef hauls his bag out the door with a huff.

"Well, I've got you. That's half the challenge." He looks up in time to see Wels rolling his eyes, pushing his helmet up.

"I take it back, I'm not helping you anymore."

Beef laughs, clapping Wels' arm, "We've still got Three Fox Hole to look through, you're not going anywhere yet." Wels' lips twist into a pout, crossing his arms.

"You know, when I packed early, it wasn't with the intention of doing your packing for you," he replies. But, when Beef holds out a bag, he still takes it.

"And I appreciate it!" Beef grins at him. "Maybe I'll reward you with some of my finest wallpaper-"

"Oh, please no." Wels' eyes are wide, staring in mock horror. "I might never recover."

"Oh, blackmail works too, then." Beef stands, walking past him. Wels slips off the chest, frozen in place.

"Beef- Beef, are you joking?" Beef keeps walking. Wels runs after him. "Beef!"

-

"Thanks for heading out this far, man," xB says, smiling at Keralis. "I know you've got a big space to cover too."

"Ah, it's nice taking a break," Keralis replies, holding one of xB's bags in his arms. "And I know there's no way this would all fit in your ender chest, princess." xB chuckles, looking at the half-folded clothes, trinkets, and daily essentials all sorted into piles.

"Yeah-" he scrubs the back of his neck. "-I kinda forget I've got so much. Too used to my travel bag." Keralis bounces the one in his arms.

"Well, it's a good job you've got me!" He bumps into xB's side, barely knocking the other hermit off balance. "I can always lend you some extra bags if you need them."

"The luggage dimension is just going to be my stuff at this rate," xB jokes.

"Oh, you haven't seen how much I have yet." They both laugh, Keralis putting the bag down with the rest that have been packed. "Now, what are we doing next?" xB turns to observe his piles.

"I think that one," he decides. Keralis nods, skipping across.

"Then let's go, we don't want to be late!"

-

"Cub!" Scar's voice calls down the pyramid. "I cannot believe this." Cub turns to see Scar walking along the corridor, wings fluttering in annoyance behind him. "Xisuma says my crystals aren't essential items so I can't take them. That's so unfair." Cub laughs before he can stop himself, getting an affronted noise from Scar. "Cub! I come here, I confide in you-"

"Scar," Cub interrupts, squeezing Scar's arm. Vex magic sparks around them, electrifying the air. "You could make some once we're in the next world."

"It's not the same!" Scar protests. Cub leans closer.

"Or," he whispers, "We could sneak some across ourselves."

"Oh." Scar claps his hands together. "Now you're speaking my language."

"The language of crime?" Cub asks, calling one of his bags over to him. He catches it mid-air.

"The only language I know!"

-

"This is why you should've made a proper storage system!" Mumbo cries, as Grian pulls out the contents of another chest. "This could've been so much easier!"

"I didn't know it was this bad!" Grian replies, finally managing to find his towels buried in an unmarked chest. He throws them towards his 'to pack' pile, Mumbo jumping out of the way.

"Didn't you have weeks to prepare for this?" He asks, looking at the scattered items in dismay.

"I mean- I did host an entire world in-between," Grian reminds him. Mumbo hums in agreement, deciding to organise some of the piles before they end up vanishing into a pure mess. He looks for similarities amongst the items, beginning to sort them into manageable groups.

Mumbo's lucky he thought to get all his essentials together ahead of time. He gave his luggage to Xisumavoid to store, and he knows it's all taken care of. It didn't stop him from checking his base another ten times, but he's pretty sure he's got everything now. Pretty sure.

He's going to end up checking his base again later, isn't he?

"Grian?" Mumbo asks, pausing as he notices something. The rummaging through chests stops, with only a quiet thud & 'ow' before Grian is looking at him.

"Yeah?" He replies.

"Do you… actually have any bags?"

"Ahhhh," Grian's face turns a similar scarlet to his jumper. "You see, Mumbo, last season, I kinda… borrowed some."

"Borrowed, right." Mumbo sighs, running his fingers through his hair. "Were you ever going to buy your own?"

"Yes!" Grian replies, words fast. "I just. Never had time." Mumbo's had most of his bags since he joined, so he guesses he can't relate. Pretty much all the hermits gifted him one. Otherwise, he would've never remembered at that age, but that's its own problem. It's a good job he remembers the essentials even now.

"So, how do you intend on packing all this?"

Grian hums, "Do you think I could just shove it in there loose?"

"I'll go find some bags," Mumbo decides. And something to help his headache...

-

"How many cats do you think I could smuggle to the next server?" Cleo asks, holding up another of her kittens to Joe. Joe hums thoughtfully, bright green hair moving on its own accord.

"Well, I've certainly smuggled a few of my dogs inside myself." Cleo takes a deep breath, transferring her kitten to one hand so she can pinch her nose.

"Right, of course you have." She's long learnt to stop questioning how Joe works. She's a living zombie, he's Joe. At least it makes packing easier. "I think I might take some of them to my own world, this time," she muses. "Xisuma can do that, right?"

"I'm sure he can," Joe agrees. "If not, I will have a mass exodus of animals from the server." Cleo sighs, rolling her eyes. She sets the kitten down gently amongst the other cats.

"Right, are you actually going to help me carry my bags?"

"Of course! What kind of friend would I be if I didn't try to stop you losing an arm?"

"Ugh, don't remind me." She still can't believe that happened. First, her arm falling off, then nearly losing it amongst everybody's luggage? So embarrassing. She enters the main room of her base, where she's already got her bags set out. It's surprising how many skincare products you need when you're dead. Joe follows, looking around as if he doesn't know the place like the back of his hands. To be fair, Cleo would be surprised if anybody knew the back of Joe's hands.

"Right, I've shoved as much as I can in my ender chest. If you put what you can in yours, we can divide the remainder up," she lays out the action plan.

"Sounds perfect!" Joe picks up two bags. "Are you sure you don't just want me to transport them over?"

"Keep your true self off my stuff, Joe, you know what happened last time."

Joe sighs, "Fine, fine. We'll do this the human way."

"You'll do this the human way," she amends. "I'll do it the zombie way."

-

"Stress, it's only a spider," Iskall says, pointing his sword towards it. Said spider is standing triumphantly on top of her bags, red eyes glinting. Stress pokes around the doorway, brown hair falling across her face.

"Yeah, but it's a spider on me stuff!"

"You've fought worse than spiders!"

"Just get rid of it, Iskall!" He sighs. Readying himself for a fight, he crosses across the room, stamping his foot in front of the pile. The spider hisses, sharp fangs a warning. But when the creature jumps, Iskall's sword is there to meet it, throwing the spider to the ground where it disappears into twinkling orbs.

"Look, was that so hard?" Iskall asks, his hand on his hip as he looks back at her. Stress bounces in, grinning.

"It wasn't, was it? Guess I don't need to thank you, then!" Iskall rolls his eyes, slipping his sword back into his inventory.

"Like you don't need to thank me for helping carry your stuff?"

"Oh, I'll thank you for that." Iskall laughs, grabbing the strap of two bags and throwing them over his shoulder.

"How many trips do you think we'll need?" He asks, seeing her haul two up herself. Stress hums, observing the pile.

"Prob'ly only two or three. If we get started soon then we'll get done faster, too." Iskall can hear the teasing tone in her voice.

"Aren't you the one that was scared of a spider?"

"Don't know what you're talkin' about!" She calls, walking past him. Iskall shakes his head, smiling fondly before rushing after her.

-

"Hey TFC!" False calls, touching down at his base. She smiles at the sight of his usual suitcases, already neatly packed and organized. Everything's labelled in TFC's signature handwriting to boot. Far more planned out than her, she's gotta say. But that's a problem for the next world.

"False, what can I help you with?" TFC's smile is always nice to see. She flicks her elytra closed, waving.

"I came to ask you that, actually," she replies. "Wanted to know if you'd like help carrying things over. I did all my packing a few weeks back, so I'm kinda bored." And if she stays still for too long, X will probably try to rope her into admin duties. Sure, she knows the basics, but she doesn't want to be responsible for anybody's stuff going missing. Not her department.

"Well, I'm never going to turn down some extra hands," TFC replies. He walks over and pats the suitcases on the left. "These are all ready to go, I'm still finishing up with the others. Has Xisuma already started?"

"I think he was just finishing the pocket dimension, so you've still got a little while." The hermits always rush to be the first in, as if everybody's stuff won't fit. In False's opinion, being last is best. It's easier to get your things out when they're closer to the entrance.

"Good, good. Let him know I'm nearly finished, would you?"

False nods, saluting with one hand and picking up a suitcase with the other, "Will do!"

-

Hypno walks into Jevin's base to find him and Impulse slotting the last few items into boxes. He knows Jevin was mostly packed already, so it's nice Impulse has come to help out. But… Jevin might just be taking advantage of Impulse. Hypno won't think too much into it.

"X has finished setting up," he calls, not needing an introduction. Jevin twists to look at him, Impulse busy trying to fit a label on straight.

"So you're saying I'm late?" Jevin asks. Hypno chuckles, deciding to join them on the floor.

"You know what the rush is like to get stuff in. You'll be fine for a little while." Hypno shrugs, "After Wels, X'll probably be careful." Impulse nods, sitting back now the label of 'hoodies' is attached.

"I've already handed my stuff in," Impulse says, "I think False might have too? We both finished up pretty early."

"Yeah, there was a lot in the town hall ready to be moved." Hypno wonders if the hermits are getting more prepared for this. Somehow, he doubts it.

"So, you've come to help me carry these over?" Jevin asks, Hypno looks at the boxes, shrugging.

"With all three of us, it should only be two trips, right?" There are only five boxes, and two are pretty small anyway.

"That's the spirit!" Impulse calls, grinning. "Do you think you're all ready to go?"

"Yep, I think that's everything," Jevin decides. He pats a box, making more of a squelching sound. Hypno does his best not to laugh.

"Then let's get moving!"

-

Xisuma sighs as his visor adjusts to filter out the sunlight. Coding that in was a stroke of genius. It used to be such a nightmare to continuously adjust between the pocket dimension and hermitcraft. He looks at the stacked luggage to be moved, trying to figure out if there's more there than before. He swears there is. And they didn't even say hi when they dropped it off! Rude.

He jumps when something nudges the back of his knees, sending him stumbling forward. Turning, he finds Ren, his tail wagging proudly behind him.

"Oh! Hello there." He reaches down, giving Ren a scratch behind the ears. "Are you planning to change back before we move?" Ren barks in reply. "I'll pretend that's yes."

Turning, he sees a white tail flicking over blue diamonds. Of course, those two are together. Etho's curled up in the sun, black eyes watching the pair. One ear is stuck up, the other flopped lazily.

"You two aren't going to help me carry things in, are you?" X asks, sighing as he looks back at Ren.

"I think Ren forgot to leave a spare pair of clothes out, actually," Etho says, legs dangling off the throne. He's tugging his shawl over his nose now he's in human form. Or, as human as Etho gets. "And his outfit may have experienced some... unfortunate circumstances." Xisuma looks at Ren's sad eyes, shaking his head at the pair of them.

"And those didn't involve you in any way?" X asks Etho with what he thinks is an appropriate amount of suspicion in his voice. Etho holds his hands up, leaning back in a way that would have most people falling over.

"Are you accusing me, Xisuma?"

"I don't know, am I, Ren?" Ren gives a concise nod. Etho gasps, clutching over his heart.

"Betrayed by my own brethren!" Etho cries. Ren's tail is wagging, betraying his otherwise neutral expression.

"Come and help me carry things, you," X says, calling Etho over. "We'll be here for another month if you don't." Etho laughs, but jumps off the side of the throne, landing with barely a thud.

"What are we moving, bossman?" Etho asks. Xisuma surveys the piles.

"Mumbo's stuff next, I think," X decides, "He usually takes a while to unpack." Etho nods, following X's lead as they grab a bag and box respectively.

"So this is what you guys do at the end of the season?" Etho asks, Ren trotting along with them. Xisuma hums as he enters the pocket dimension, finding an open space at the back of the room.

"Yep, this is moving day," he explains. "I always try my best to make it easy for the hermits, but it doesn't often end up working." Etho chuckles, placing the bag on top of X's box.

"Seems like most people aren't done yet," Etho agrees.

"They'll get there," Xisuma replies. The hermits always do eventually.

They're just stepping out of the portal when a voice calls, "I'm not late am I?!" X scruffs Ren's neck, smiling at Zed, who's running over with far too many bags thrown over his back.

"Not at all, friend," he reassures him. Zed drops his bags, bent over and panting. Tango strolls up behind him far more leisurely.

"See, Zed, I said you wouldn't be!" Zed whips in his direction.

"Oh, you, mister 'oh Zed you're going to be late, we're all going to leave you behind', you-" Tango laughs, fluffing Zed's hair as he sets his bags down. They take the rest of his luggage out of the ender chest Xisuma left specifically for this purpose. Beef and Wels walk up together as they do, Xisuma waving to them.

"Beefers!" Etho says, grinning.

"Hey Etho, Tango, Zed, Xisuma." Beef pauses, "Oh, and a Ren!"

"Hey guys!" Wels simplifies, dropping his bags at the doors. "This should be everything from us."

"Perfect!" Xisuma nods, "You guys okay to help me carry things through?"

"Yeah, we can help out!" "That's cool with me."

Moving things goes a lot faster with five of them helping to carry things through. Xisuma just catches Impulse, Jevin and Hypno dropping one lot off, getting a frantic wave before the trio is rushing off again. The pocket dimension is quickly filling up with bags and boxes, the hermits a constant line as they drop in and out. Xisuma frequently checks, but it seems like the dimension is handling the pressure okay.

"Xisuma!" Joe calls, him and Cleo wandering up the town hall's stairs. By this point, Cub and Scar have joined them with TFC, False, Stress and Iskall all dropping things off too.

"Good to see you both," X greets, one of Wels' bags hugged in his arms. He turns away, before hesitating, something nagging the back of his mind. After a second of focus- "Joe, why do you have so many hitboxes inside you?"

"Ah, that's nothing you have to worry about, dear admin." Xisuma gives him a long look and decides this isn't a battle he's going to pick.

"As long as you're willing to help out," he says, instead. "We're only waiting for a few people. He takes a look at the gathered hermits. Cleo's now lying on the floor, Ren beside her. His tail is already wagging again. Cub is picking a box up, whilst Scar skips through the portal holding three bags with magic. Etho's chatting to Tango and Zed as they work.

"Of course! We'll be finished in no time." It's already taken most of the day, but X doesn't need to mention that. He sets his vision back to normal, does another check of the pocket dimension, and returns to carrying boxes.

The remaining hermits trickle in as the sun sets. Stress and Beef sort out dinner for everyone, Xisuma making sure the last of the luggage is safe.

"Wait!" A few heads turn at Grian's cry, heavy footsteps rushing up to town hall. "I- I've got my stuff." Xisuma blinks at the sight of the hermit carrying about four bags at once. One is bright pink.

"You're not too late," X reassures him. "You can just drop it in, there should be room." He's settled into a shaded corner, preparing for the process of safely moving over twenty players. And Joe. If he's being honest, the data is starting to give him a headache. But it'll be worth it once they're all in their new world. Their temporary 'in-between' world is already set up. Somewhere for them all to stay whilst he handles the switch over. Most of the hermits take the time to visit friends or do other projects during that, anyway.

"Thanks, X," Grian says, between gasps. He runs into the portal, X laughing softly to himself. Mumbo walks up a few minutes later, glancing at the group.

"Is Grian in there?" He asks. Before X can even reply, about four hermits are giving an affirmative. "Thanks, guys!" Mumbo heads in after, only two bags in tow. X watches, well-aware of the fondness in his chest. It's a good reminder of just what he does this for.

-

It's another hour until everything's ready. The sun is hanging over the horizon (Xisuma may have frozen the day cycle a while back.) X has watched warily as they've shared food, chatted, played games (including one very dramatic wink murder. He's not sure what happened in Grian's server, and he's not sure he wants to ask.) But now, they've all gathered around, watching as Xisuma enters the final commands.

"Okay, everybody here knows the drill. Stay with somebody else, I want to do a headcount on the other side, then you're all free to wander." He projects his voice, the hermits hushing to listen. "Is everybody ready?"

"Yeah!" "Born ready!" "We've been ready for hours!" "Is there food on the other side?"

X shakes his head. With a final press of the enter key, the portal opens in front of the diamond throne. There's a collective murmur of anticipation.

"Alright, you lot can head through. I'll join you in half an hour, max." He can't even make out words following that. TFC and False are first, walking through with a wave to the others. Stress and Iskall run after them. The rest of the hermits take their time. Some share hugs, some take a last look at the horizon. And Xisuma watches over it all, determined every single one of his hermits will make it safely through.

"X?" Impulse calls. He and Hypno are standing together. The town hall feels so much emptier now the hermits are gone. "You sure you'll be okay?"

"I'll be fine," Xisuma promises. "All standard procedure. I'll see you soon." They nod, sharing a last smile.

"Okay then. Stay safe, X."

"You two as well. Try and keep the others from misbehaving until I get there."

Hypno laughs, "No promises."

And like that, Xisuma's alone. He sighs, sinking back against the diamond throne. The sun casts golden beams over the land. This has been… a good season. They all are, but. Xisuma smiles as he sets the tick speed of the world to zero, freezing it in time. He thinks next season will be something special. It only takes fifteen minutes to finish his commands, the rest he needs to do on the other side.

"Goodbye, old friend." He pats the diamond throne. With a look over the eerily still shopping district, he sighs. It really is the hermits that fill a world with life, isn't it? "To more admin work," he murmurs, before laughing at himself.

"Shishwam?" Xisuma jumps, clutching his chestplate.

"Oh my goodness, you scared me." Keralis giggles. He's waiting in front of the portal, hands in his pockets. "I thought you went through."

"Well..." Keralis starts, "Somebody said we needed to go through the portal with someone else. And then I thought of a certain admin going through alone..." Xisuma laughs, shaking his head. He joins Keralis, swirling colours reflecting off his armour.

"Of course you did." He takes a deep breath. "Well, I'm ready to go." Keralis wraps his arm around Xisuma's shoulders, squeezing him tight.

"You've done a good job this season, Shishwammy. I hope you know that." Xisuma sneaks one last look out the doorway before they leave this world behind.

"Yeah." He smiles. "I think I do."