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kythed · 3 years

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“you can hear it in the silence” - a collection of conversations between you and futakuchi kenji.

1. april 14th, 7:56pm.

“it’s terribly boring, isn’t it?” the voice comes from right near your ear. you start, turning to see a young guy dressed in jeans, a tee, and a baseball cap, slouchy and messy in the most attractive and purposeful way. “the movie, I mean.”

you turn your eyes back towards the screen — some spanish neo-noir retelling of the same old “sexpot femme fatale turned domestic by a dashing hero with a horse” plotline. “yeah, it is. I only came so my film major friends would finally respect me.”

“that’s valid,” he whispers with a snort. an older man sitting beside him shushes him. “I only came so I could make fun of the people who only came to impress their film major friends.”

“oh, ouch,” you say, grinning. “way to attack like 90% of the foreign film audience.”

“I’d say it’s something more like 97%, actually,” he says, briefly glancing at the movie. the dark haired, sultry love interest is batting her lashes at the brooding protagonist, nightgown slipping off her shoulder. “the remaining 3% is horny teenagers who can’t yet figure out how to erase their search history.”

despite being in the middle of a crowded theater, you laugh, giggle echoing off the walls. several people turn around to shoot you dirty looks, and you immediately clap an apologetic over your mouth. oops.

“I’m kenji futakuchi,” your seat-neighbor whispers, extending a hand. “unprofessional film critic, engineering major, and thai tea hater. I’m willing to take you out for boba on our first date, but if you order thai tea it will also be our last.”

“bold of you to assume we’ll even have a first date,” you say, shaking his hand with another quiet laugh.

“oh, we will,” he says with what can only be described as a bona fide smirk. “I saw the way you were looking at me earlier.”

before you can respond, the curmudgeonly old man beside kenji leans over and scowls. “if you kids want to keep flirting, do so outside. some of us are here for cultural enrichment.”

kenji glances at you, face spelling out mischief. “you heard the man. shall we?”

for a moment, you consider saying no. but then reason kicks into gear and you stand up, dusting popcorn off your lap. “we shall.”

(discovery number one: your hand fits perfectly in his.)

2. may 2nd, 11:17am.

“you know, this actually isn’t so bad.” kenji takes another cautious sip. “still can’t hold a candle to jasmine.”

“I respect that,” you say, offering him a taste of your drink. “I feel like everyone who hates thai tea is just jumping on the bandwagon. it’s pretty decent.”

“you’re pretty decent,” he says petulantly, snatching your tea and replacing it with his own.

you roll your eyes. “your comebacks suck. still can’t believe I agreed to go out with you.”

kenji feigns a look of surprise. “oh, are we going out? I thought this was a platonic thing.”

you send a pointed look at his hand resting on your thigh, his thumb rubbing light circles in your skin.

kenji follows your gaze and suppresses a smile, shrugging. “friends do that.”

it’s a cool spring day, the air smelling of his cologne — vanilla, coffee, and burnt orange — and the eucalyptus growing in front of the cafe. the sunshine is fresh and pale, casting a glowy halo over kenji’s brunette mess of hair. he smiles rather angelically, as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

“and do friends do this?” you say softly, leaning forward so your nose is just centimeters from his.

kenji gulps, adam’s apple bobbing painfully in his throat. his voice cracks with his next words. “y-yeah. I do this with my buddies all the time. no homo.”

you slowly bring your hand up to cup his jaw, letting your eyes linger on his lips before glancing back up and smiling. “oh, good. ‘cause I do this with my girls all the time, too. full homo.”

“yeah?”

“mhm,” you purr, trying to channel some of that femme fatale energy, leaning even closer so you can feel his warm breath on your mouth — and then you pull away with a cackle, leaving kenji blinking down at you with reproach.

“women are so cruel,” he sighs wistfully, fanning his shirt and running a hand through his hair.

“sorry,” you chirp, not sorry at all. “I don’t kiss on the first date.”

“you don’t kiss on the first date?” kenji repeats. “so what’s the timeline — we hold hands today, and then you let me hug you next week, and then we kiss in a month, and then in like fifty years we finally fu—”

“kenji!” you say, whipping around. you’re scandalized. there’s a family with primary school aged kids sitting at the other table, shrieking with laughter and bouncing around like pinballs on a boba-fueled sugar high. “keep it PG.”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything bad,” kenji complains. “I was just gonna say that in fifty years we finally, uh… furbish the condo we purchase together.”

“sure you were,” you say, and kenji just laughs. there’s something in the way he looks at you… something soft and affectionate that makes you think he might actually intend to stick around for fifty years. it scares you a little — but in a good way.

later that day, when kenji drops you off at your front porch, you lean forward again. usually you keep your word, but today’s an exception.

(discovery number two: he tastes like colgate and thai tea.)

3. august 21st, 8:02am.

“what the hell,” you cough, squinting through the smoke. you can barely hear yourself over the shrill beeping of the fire alarm resounding around your apartment. “kenji?”

kenji emerges from behind the fridge, nonchalantly leaning on the wall with a nervous smile. “hey, baby. sleep well?”

“don’t you ‘hey, baby’ me, mister,” you say, marching forward, fanning the smoke away with your oversized sleep shirt. (well, technically it’s his shirt, and that’s why it’s oversized. it fits perfectly fine on him.) “what in the world did you do?”

“why is it that when something goes wrong you always automatically blame me?” he complains, coughing.

“because it’s always your fault,” you say, gently but firmly pushing him aside to reveal, sitting innocently on the counter… a smoking toaster with two pieces of bread (burnt nearly completely black) resting in the slots. oh lord. “kenji. babe. darling.”

“ooh, keep going, please,” kenji coos, yelping when you lightly pinch his elbow. “hey!”

he’s about to retaliate before you double over in laughter, holding onto the edge of the kitchen counter for support. you choke out giggles between breaths, hardly able to keep balance. “you — (wheeze) — you nearly burnt down the kitchen — (wheeze) — trying to make toast?”

“it’s not as easy as it looks,” kenji insists, gingerly picking the slices of bread (although they’re more like crackers now) out from the toaster. “I’m sorry that I wanted to do something nice for my beautiful girlfriend. and I’m sorry that the only thing I could handle was toast and coffee. well, technically just coffee, I guess.”

he picks up a mug from the counter and offers it to you. “it might be kinda cold now. sorry. I tried.”

he’s so earnest and adorable and lovely in that moment — standing in the middle of the clouded kitchen in just mismatched socks and an old pair of boxers, holding the coffee out for you to see — that you can hardly contain yourself.

“god, I love you,” you say without thinking, the last word catching in your throat as you look up. oh. oops. kenji’s staring at you, unblinking, big brown eyes filled with… surprise? “I mean, I meant —”

“you love me?”

“I, uh,” you falter. this isn’t you; you’re supposed to be the calm and collected one. “this isn’t how I wanted to say it, but—”

“but you do, right? you love me?” kenji sets the mug back down and pulls you in by the waist, grinning broadly and resting his forehead against yours. your heart is pulsing erratically, but a smile big enough to match his somehow finds its way onto your face. you nod, and kenji immediately kisses you hard, tangling his fingers in the back of your hair.

“I love you,” he says breathlessly after finally parting. you feel the uncomfortable warmth of your face and the swollenness of your lips... but you can’t quite bring yourself to care. “I love you a lot.”

“you love me so much that you even tried to make me toast,” you laugh. “and you brought me cold coffee in my second favorite mug.”

“no, wait,” says kenji, glancing back towards said mug. “that’s your favorite mug.”

“no, my favorite is the green one with the—”

“—with the orange flowers,” kenji groans in realization, slapping a limp, penitent hand to his cheek. “I’m a failure of a boyfriend. I deserve to go to boyfriend jail.”

“you do,” you agree, nodding solemnly. “but lucky for you, I have a get-out-of-jail-free card right here.”

“oh?” says kenji, a devilish smile quirking up the corners of his lips.

you hum and offer him your clenched fist, like you’re about to place something in his palm. but when he extends his own outstretched hand, you interlace your fingers with his instead. “yep. right here.”

“you think you’re so clever,” kenji sighs, nonetheless bringing your hand up to press a brief kiss to your knuckles.

“I do.” you shuffle towards the counter to take a sip of the coffee — sure enough, it’s cold. (but he still made it exactly the way you like it.) “c’mon. breakfast.”

(discovery number three: burnt toast doesn’t taste so bad when you eat it with someone you love.)

4. november 1st, 10:38pm.

the commute across town from your university to your apartment is on the longer side, around forty minutes. it feels even longer late at night, though, on your way home from your part time job.

the subway rattles on its tracks as it slows to rest at a stop (but not yours) and a handful of sleepy passengers stumble out, swinging briefcases and pulling their scarves a little tighter. you stifle a yawn, slumping back into your seat.

“you okay?”

you smile. ever since you got hired a couple months ago, kenji’s insisted on coming to “pick you up” from work to take the train back with you, even though he works all the way across town. (he’ll probably stay the night — he has a drawer full of his things at your place these days, complete with a dozen wrinkled t-shirts, old soccer shorts, and a bundle of irreparably tangled chargers. he hasn’t bothered to bring his own shampoo over yet, though, claiming that “yours smells so nice and fruity” and “men’s shampoo just smells like nondescript testosterone and insecurity.” he’s right of course, but all the same, you’d rather he not use up all of yours.)

“yeah, I’m okay,” you sigh, taking his hand and feeling him begin to rub circles on your palm. you close your eyes. “just tired.”

“hi ‘okay-just-tired,’ I’m dad,” kenji says slyly, and you open one incredulous eye.

“did you really…?”

“I really did,” kenji says, puffing up his chest. “you walked right into it.”

you groan and fall on top of him dramatically, burying your face in his thick fleece jacket. “I’m too dead for this. I’m like frankenstein before he was reanimated — just a bunch of limbs and organs in a useless, fleshy pile.”

“technically, he’s frankenstein’s monster,” says kenji, petting your hair absentmindedly. “frankenstein’s the name of the doctor. cute literary allusion, though.”

“do you ever shut up?” your voice comes out muffled by kenji’s coat, but not at all devoid of its intended irritation.

“occasionally,” he says as you lift your head. he pulls you closer with one arm until you’re practically sharing a seat, legs interlocked, your temple resting on his shoulder and his chin nestled in your hair. “when I’m sleeping. when I’m eating — well, sometimes. sometimes I talk with my mouth full.”

“yeah, I’ve borne witness to that,” you say, wrinkling your nose. you’ve tried to improve kenji’s table manners countless times (especially in light of your family’s thanksgiving dinner soon approaching), but it’s all been in vain. most likely because he enjoys seeing you get worked up about his not using a coaster, etc. “disgusting.”

“when I’m concentrating on physics,” he continues, as if he hadn’t heard you. “when I’m in the library. when I’m kissing pretty girls.”

he bends down and tries to give you a peck, but you gasp and dodge it. “girls? plural? you’re out here kissing pretty girls other than me?”

“when I’m kissing one specific pretty girl,” kenji corrects himself, grinning.

you feel your own grin stretch across your face. “and which pretty girl is that?”

“my pretty girl,” he says smugly, looking incredibly pleased with himself.

you scoff. “corny.”

“you like it.”

you chew on your inner cheek, trying and failing to suppress your smile. “you know I do.”

the train’s speakers crackle alive, a cool automated voice emanating from their unseen perches: “approaching hiwamari station. projected arrival in: 1 minute.”

“alright, time to wake up, sleeping beauty,” kenji huffs, lugging you onto your feet. you hang limp in his arms like a rag doll, unwilling to bear your own weight. “you are perfectly capable of standing. shape up before I alert the authorities, you hooligan.”

“hmm,” you groan, finally arighting yourself with some difficulty. you want to ask where in the world he learned the word ‘hooligan,’ but your brain can hardly afford you even the most basic cognition right now. “it’s too late, and my knees hurt, and I’m tired, and I saw an ad for that new vietnamese place at the last station, and now I want banh mi. but I can’t have banh mi because there’s none on this side of town, and that irritates me.” you take a deep breath. “also, I’m cold.”

kenji laughs and slips a loose arm around your waist as the doors slide open, gently guiding you down onto the platform. the night air bites at your skin, painting goosebumps in its wake. you’re about ready to just sit down on the ground and curl into a frustrated, exhausted ball when he crouches down, fingers straightening and smoothing the lapels of your coat. “well, I can’t really help with the sore knees and the hankering for banh mi part, but I’m pretty sure you’re cold because you’ve had your buttons undone this entire time. dummy.”

he buttons your jacket quickly and deftly, careful to avoid pinching you in the process. a particular kind of warmth bubbles up in your chest at his concentrated expression — kenji likes to maintain his effortless, reckless reputation, but when it comes down to the bare bones of it all, he’s still the type of guy who’ll button his girlfriend’s coat for her. on the walk from the subway to your apartment, his arm doesn’t leave your body once, keeping you close to his side and shielded from the wind.

“I’m not a dummy.”

“sure, dummy.”

(discovery number four: body heat — specifically, kenji futakuchi’s body heat — is by far the most effective way to stay warm.)

5. december 23rd, 12:01pm.

“who’s your best friend?” the question pops into your mind and out of your mouth almost instantaneously. kenji, who’s lounging on the sofa next to you, turns, eyebrows furrowed. there’s a small douglas fir in the corner of the room, minimally decked with what ornaments you could “diy” from around the house: snowflakes made of sticky notes, bedazzled plastic utensils, etc. several small packages have been haphazardly tossed around the tree’s base, yours neatly wrapped in red tissue paper and string, kenji’s covered in newspaper and excessive scotch tape. (he tried. maybe not his best, but he tried.)

“depends,” he says, turning off his phone and tossing it onto the carpet. “what’s your definition of best friend?”

“you know,” you say, helplessly splaying your fingers. “monica and rachel. frodo and sam. taylor swift and karlie kloss.”

“hold on,” kenji says, holding up a hand. “didn’t taylor swift and karlie kloss have a falling out?”

“yeah, but for the sake of the argument,” you insist. you narrow your eyes. “wait. how do you know about that?”

“you talk about it every time you listen to that one album, which is at least once a month,” kenji says with a grin. “probably more like twice, actually.”

“oh.” you flush, making a mental note to use earbuds more often. “anyways. answer the question.”

“wait, but you just gave me a bunch of examples,” kenji complains. he glances briefly out the window, which is iced over like a sugar cookie, obscuring the snowscape outside. mariah plays faintly in the background, jingling and whistle tones echoing through the halls. “you didn’t define anything.”

“a best friend,” you begin, faltering and taking a moment to think. a best friend… what is a best friend, really? you frown for a moment before smiling brightly. “a best friend is a commitment. it’s when you commit to being there for somebody when they need you. and it’s when you commit to finding that person when you need them, too.”

kenji lets out a low whistle. “okay then, socrates.”

“it wasn’t that deep,” you say with a laugh. “so. who’s yours?”

kenji grins boyishly, face lighting up like a christmas tree topper. “easy. you’re my best friend.”

oh. you weren’t expecting that. your chest gives an involuntary little thump of pleasure. “me? what about kamasaki?”

“mmm,” kenji muses, counting on his fingers. “he’s, like, my fourth best friend. maybe third on a good day. but you’re the one I go to first.”

you have the sudden urge to wrap your limbs around him like a koala and never let go; only your dignity keeps you from tackling him right then and there. you clear your throat, praying he can’t hear your thoughts — he’d never let you live it down. “you’re mine, too.”

kenji doesn’t respond, just smiles and rolls off the couch onto the floor with a thud, spreading out on the carpet like a seastar. the silence doesn’t bother you, though — silence (what little you can get of it) is comfortable with you two. plus, it’s never really silent. there’s always something there, something very undefinable but very real.

(discovery number five: you are in love.)

#you guys seemed to really like the last of these so I might make it a series??#cackles #also ly if you see this the last one was supposed to be for the event #I'm sorry it's so late #also I got carried away and made it a whole thing #I hope it still counts T-T #futakuchi kenji #futakuchi kenji x reader #futakuchi #futakuchi x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu drabbles #hqcorenet

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lazyliars · 3 years

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/rp

DreamXD actually slots very nicely into a working theory I've had for about two or so months now, mainly centering around one question:

What happened to Dream?

Namely, why did Dream change, when exactly did it happen, and was it solely an internal change, or was there an external force at play, specifically a preternatural one?

I think with DreamXD, we might finally have an answer.

Or at least some clues to follow. DreamXD presents a shift in every single paradigm the Dream SMP has had. Like, I think most of it is just being so utterly blind-sided by George Lore Real, but part of it is the massive ramifications of an Actual God* being present in the storyline.

((*On the other resident god of the server, Foolish:

DreamXD is different than Foolish, in that his characterization is so dramatically inhuman - Foolish talks and acts like a (somewhat eccentric) person, and his powers are, as far as we know, limited in comparison to the creative-mode godhood that DreamXD occupies. And whether that is because Foolish is not a "full" god (having been referred to as a demigod) or simply because he's spent so much time around humans, we don't know, but we do know that either way, DreamXD is NOT that.

DreamXD's voice is marked by glitches and dramatic shifts in tone, he seems to lack control over the different aspects of his personality, like the more "Dream" part vs. the darker one that threatens to eat peoples souls. The "normal" part even displays confusion when George references things that the "darker" part said, implying that it may not be fully aware of itself.

TLDR: Foolish acts more human than DreamXD, who has a very eldritch personality.))

To get right to the point:

The Dream we knew before November 16th, and the Dream we know now are not the same. Something changed, and it changed for the worse.

Consider: Dream was always antagonistic to the L'manbergians - he was always imperious to them, and he was responsible for starting a number of fights between his faction and theirs, just as many if not more than they were.

But, he was also not... evil. He'd pick fights with Tommy, the disc wars were still a thing, but the gravity of the spats they had weren't dire. They were fun. They were... actually a game. He wasn't like the way he is now. While in hindsight we can look at these events and detect a serious undertone knowing what's to come, at the time they were far from it.

There is an argument to be made that he had the same tendencies as now, just not expressed as loudly, and while I believe it's a valid argument, I disagree that it's proof of Dream always being the way he is now.

Sapnap, Badboyhalo, Sam. They all remember Dream as their friend - they remember someone who was, maybe a little aggressive and a lot competitive, but not cruel. Not needlessly murderous. Not someone who steals sentimental items and lines the walls of a disgusting museum to use against them.

Dream cut them out. Sapnap was totally blindsided. Bad doesn't seem to fully believe it. Sam blamed himself for not realizing and tried to take the weight of that crime on his own shoulders by becoming the Warden.

There's also the competing theory that what happened to Dream was purely psychological - either the circumstances slowly isolating him from his friends driving him to the do things he's done, or a desire for control that started early and continued to fester until it overshadowed everything else, or any combination of both.

And those theories are still valid, they could still be the case, but I haven't been able to shake the idea that there is something deeper at play. I can't overstate how the exile arc and everything after it have been so inhumane, so cruel, and... not exactly out of character in the sense that I could never see Dream doing them, but in the sense that I could never see him doing them for no reason.

And there really doesn't seem to be one. Dream says himself, it's like a game. He sees people as toys, puppets. And there just doesn't seem to be an inciting incident that could explain how he made the leap from semi-authoritarian leader who, despite being a warmonger, does love his friends, to heartless murderer who wants to reduce everyone he knows to dolls.

There's... ways, he could get there, but nothing that we've seen makes sense. There is a missing piece, something that must have happened from his POV that we didn't get to see because he doesn't stream.

And DreamXD could be it. This godly entity that claims that it is "a part of [Dream]" but that it isn't him entirely. That seems to share the lack of understanding of humanity that Dream has been displaying like when he asks if resurrecting Tommy was “cool.” But that still loves George. He still, despite apparently not having the same history as Dream, desperately wants to be George's friend.

If I had to pinpoint the moment Dream changed, it would be the day that he revealed that he switched sides, and was going to be fighting against Pogtopia. He was paid for this betrayal in the Revive Book.

I mark this as the turning point in my theory because it is the first time Dream mentions his affinity for chaos in the context of hurting others. However, we also know that this likely wasn't the day he actually made the decision to betray - as he revealed that there was a traitor among the Pogtopians, a fact that he likely would have learned before this.

Now, I mark George's lore stream as the introduction of DreamXD proper, and I want that on the record because it isn't technically his first appearance on the server.

Most people will remember him from Techno's stream, where he logged on to break the End Portal in a panic. I doubt the character was properly written into the lore at that time, but it fits neatly with the rest of what we know about him - a guardian of the server, and the keeper of it's rules. No contradictions.

What less people might know, is that DreamXD has made an even earlier appearance, and it's this one where things begin to get... interesting.

Around roughly October of 2020, Tubbo and Fundy did some improv'd streams centering around Demon Hunting, or rather, "Dreamon" Hunting, and it's during the first of these two streams that DreamXD makes an appearance.

The bare bones of it was - Tubbo is an experienced "Dreamon Hunter" and teaches Fundy his ways. They find Dream, and realize that he has a Dreamon inside of him, which is basically an evil version of him. They attempt to exorcise the Dreamon from Dream via various shenanigans, and eventually, they do a ceremony to free Dream. However, they apparently botch it, and unleash the Dreamon within. After more shenanigans, one attempt to fix it utilizing Fundy and Dream's wedding appears to work, but then DreamXD logs on, flys around at Tubbo and Fundy threateningly, and they end stream on the idea that there are probably more Dreamons to hunt.

Now. There's a lot to unpack here. I'm not gonna go into the nitty gritty details in this post, but I do recommend watching the Dreamon streams, as they have A LOT of details that, if this is getting incorporated into the main story line, could be important - especially the focus on duality, having TWO versions of Dream, which end up being potentially separated from each other.

(Also, they're just really funny streams. Tubbo and Fundy are at PEAK chaos and Dream plays along with their inane bit perfectly, it's just good content.)

At the time of the Dreamon streams airing, they were explicitly non-canon. IIRC Tubbo and Fundy referred to them as taking place In an “alternate universe,” which makes sense considering they would have been on opposite sides at the time (Manburg and Pogtopia.)

However.

And this is where I show you my wall of red string and newspaper clippings.

My singular piece of evidence for this comes from one line DreamXD drops. He simply says: “At least you're not hunting me.”

The Dreamon streams take place around early October. Dream reveals his betrayal of Pogtopia around November 6th-7th. The timeline of the Dreamon streams would line up perfectly with the idea that there was a catalyzing event that put Dream on the proverbial path to hell.

I do not believe that they intended the Dreamon arc to be anything other than a side story at the time, but considering that DreamXD himself was barely canon until now, I don't think it's out of the question that they took a look back at a fan-favorite minor arc, saw an opportunity to co-opt it into the current story line, and potentially fill in some holes regarding Dream's characterization all in one move.

On the question of whether this would be a GOOD storytelling move?

The Dreamon theories were prevalent during the exile arc, and I've got to say, I was never a huge fan. The detachment of Dream's actions from his intentions, and by extension his morality, never sat right with me. It feels cheap to make him a victim and say “a Dreamon did it!” in regards to all of the horrible things that he's done. It strips his agency and makes everything that happened less impactful in my opinion, and I stand by that reading.

BUT. With DreamXD introduced, I feel like it's necessary to look at this from all angles. And with the way DreamXD was characterized in George's stream, I don't think it necessarily ruins Dream's character to say that an external force was involved with his descent into evil.

Namely, the idea that whatever happened to Dream was not really a “possession” so much as a gradual loss of humanity, could be an interesting way to look at this. It implies that Dream was always capable of his actions, but grants us understanding as to why he would actually perform them, and why he might have become isolated enough from his friends that they would let this happen.

The Dream we know now could be an expression of his “worst self” brought to the surface by a Dreamon/DreamXD/other. It also begs the question of what would happen if that force were to leave him, and how it might cause yet another shift in character, especially if it were to be portrayed as less of a switch being flipped, and more of a withdrawal, with a gradual process of realizing how far gone he was.

To close this out, I've been stewing on the idea that Dream hasn't entirely been himself since the climax of the Exile Arc.

I think this theory holds water, but it's also not waterproof... there are plenty of holes, and a lot of that comes from the fact that Dream doesn't stream. We're left in the dark when deciphering his character, and what might appear to be the key, could just as easily be revealed as a red herring, or even nothing at all.

Regardless of the validity of the Dreamon theory, I think that DreamXD is one of the most interesting developments we've had on the SMP in a long time, if simply because his arrival coincides with fucking George Lore Real. God. I still don't know how to deal with that.

I always appreciate people adding to the discussion by the way! Feel free to reblog with additions if you like or leave them in the replies.

And if a single one of you comes to my blog on THIS. THE DAY OF MY DAUGHTER'S WEDDING. And calls ME a c!Dream Apologist to MY FACE..... I will be v sad.

#Dream SMP #DreamXD #Dreamwastaken #c!Dream #georgenotfound #dream smp analysis #dream smp theory #lazytext

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jokertrap-ran · 3 years

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(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 3-1: 海水与火焰 Seawater & Flames Translation

“The flames of the sunset flicker within your orbs; and the leaves flutter, falling upon the water surface that is your soul.”

*Light and Night Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *CG Image used with permission from 蓝咕咕 ☆ *Main story tag will be #For Light and Night

Brother Mao: It's soooo god-damned hot out today! A new coffee shop opened down the east street with huge grand opening sales. Come on, come on, everyone grab your share!

Brother Mao had just returned to the office after completing his out of office assignment. He didn't even have a minute to spare to put the bag of goodies down, only wiping his sweat before giving said goodies out to everyone.

MC: Thank you, Brother Mao!

Brother Mao waved his hand in dismissal and threw the neatly folded plastic bag into the bin, only for his eyes to suddenly stop on the handle of the door. He incredulously widened his eyes.

Brother Mao: Since when did our door handle get all fixed up?

Li Man'man: No idea. It was already fixed when I came in in the morning.

Hao Shuai: Sister Zheng Lin, did you nag at the administrative department for this?

Zheng Lin: She fixed it. I saw her fiddling around with it when I clocked in this morning.

Zheng Lin retrieved her documents from the photocopier and jerked her chin at me.

Brother Mao: So this is our beloved heroine of the day! Do humbly pardon me!

MC: I'm the one who broke it after all. Plus, it didn't take that long to fix anyway.

Brother Mao poked his head in front of me, curiously twirling the sleeve of the formal dress I was currently fixing up and doing corrections on.

Brother Mao: You're changing it up that much again? You don't have to reply to me, but you're adding these butterflies? That's real creative! ...And they're all made of twisted metal wire?

MC: Yeah. I started out using soft tulle mesh, but it was all droopy and didn't seem very nice for wings that are supposed to look powerful and lively.

Brother Mao: Now not only does this give it a dynamic feel, but also brings about a romantic yet cruel one!

Brother Mao: Not bad, not bad! Keep at it, and you'll definitely be able to finish fixing it up before next week!

MC: But the Deadline got brought forward… She's going to be doing the fitting tomorrow morning, so I have to finish it by today...

Brother Mao: No way! Don't tell me it's that agent again...

He glanced around, checking that no one had their attention turned to us, before leaning down to my ear.

Brother Mao: I asked around about it earlier, and I heard that the agent has a pretty foul temper.

Brother Mao: Not just to the staff, but her daughter as well. She'll start scolding people at the drop of a hat, even if they did nothing!

It felt as if I could hear the piercing and horrid lashing from that day resounding in my ears again. Her words had been ingrained into my very brain like a needle stuck into a pincushion.

Brother Mao: Geez, Lin Yao's such a brilliant kid. What's there for her to be so unhappy about?

Brother Mao: My mom always told me not to blame myself, and that health always comes first, whenever I fail the promotion. She even said that if I couldn't make it big, then I could just go back home and she'd raise me.

MC: I don't know either. Maybe all these feelings we take for granted come on a conditional basis for her, I guess.

He'd stared at the table and spaced out for a long while. It was almost as if he'd retreated into his memory palace as his expression turned a little sad.

Brother Mao: I'll help you twist them into shape too. Just treat it as my way of thanking her for helping us get out of the pickle we found ourselves in that day.

MC: Okay.

Time passed silently, and it wasn't till nightfall that we finished our work. The office had already cleared out a long time ago, and sporadic stars glimmered in the ink-blue sky up above.

Brother Mao: Done!

I nodded at him in gratitude and kept the now completed dress away. That was when a message notification popped up onto my phone screen.

Housing Agent: Miss (Y/n), don't forget that we're supposed to sign the agreement today at 8 PM. Be there or be square!

Brother Mao: What's wrong?

MC: I'm supposed to go check out the new apartment I'm getting with my agent at 8 PM today, and sign the agreement if all goes well.

And the time displayed on my phone right now was… 7:28 PM.

MC: I should run! Thanks for today, Brother Mao! I'll treat you to food next time!

Grabbing my bag and my work ID, I made a mad dash downstairs.

❖☆———————————★❖

I thought that I'd make it there right on the dot if I'd left now, but who knew that the taxi-hailing app had 80+ people waiting in line! Seeing as how the app wasn't an option anymore, all I could do was to run to the nearest taxi stand.

MC: Why's it not here yet…?

I paced back and forth at the stand, but no taxi ever made an appearance. Just as my anxiousness was about to reach a tipping point, a black sports car drew to a stop before me. The car's windscreen slowly rolled down.

MC: ...Evan?

Evan: Waiting for a ride? Headed somewhere?

MC: Yeah. I'm going to take a look at an apartment. The place I'm renting right now is too far from here, so it isn't terribly convenient.

Evan: Location?

MC: Guangqi-Century City.

He slightly inclined his head, glancing at his watch before getting out of his car and opening the door to the passenger seat for me.

Evan: Get on. I'll send you there.

★Night Choice: Turn him down

MC: No need. I'd be causing you too much trouble.

Evan leaned his arm atop the door of the car, beaming as he looked at me.

Evan: Not at all.

Evan: Besides, I don't have anything on tonight. On the other hand, you seem like you're in quite the rush.

Evan: It'll be bad if you end up late for it because you dawdled here.

His eyes were filled with such sincerity that it made me feel like I'd be doing him a disservice if I refused.

I eventually nodded, seeing as there was no way I could shimmy myself out of this without feeling bad about it.

MC: Thanks.

☆Light Choice: Accept his offer

I glanced back at the taxi stand. It didn't seem like a taxi was coming anytime soon. And I'd really be late if I didn't get a suitable ride soon…

MC: Thanks. Don't mind if I do then.

8 PM, right on the dot. We reached the entrance of the housing estate where the agent was already waiting.

MC: Here it is. Thank you for this! I'll treat you to a meal someday!

Evan: Sure.

❖☆———————————★❖

I hurriedly got out of the car as the two agents quickly rushed up to me upon seeing me.

Agent A: You have a good eye, Miss! This apartment's a hot favourite! 10 over people booked slots to come check it out the moment the listing went up!

Agent B: We've kept this apartment for you till now since you seemed especially keen on it!

Agent A: Let's get the contract agreement signed tonight if there are no problems lest it keeps you up at night!

MC: Sorry, but I'll still have to confirm with you again later. Let's go check the house out first.

Both agents sidled up side by side, enthusiastically explaining and introducing things to me on either side as they urged me forwards.

Thud.

The sound of a door closing behind me made me turn, only to see that Evan hadn't left, and had gotten out of his car.

MC: ?

Evan: I'll go with you.

The agents continued their endless stream of marketing chatter as they pointed out every selling point of the apartment.

Agent A: —And that's all from us. If you sign the agreement contract today, then we can persuade the landlord to give us a little discount...

MC: Okay, then I'll-

Evan: Sorry, but we'll think it through a little more. Could you recommend us some other apartments as well? Sorry about that.

I looked at him in surprise, but he gently shook his head. Hence, I calmed my initial excitement down and turned down their request to have the contract immediately signed.

❖☆———————————★❖

The night was already deep into the throes of darkness by the time we returned to the car park.

The riverbank was coloured with streams of yellow light from the streetlamps above in picturesque disorder. I could smell the refreshing scent of blooming greenery that hung in the air.

MC: Was something wrong with the apartment earlier?

Evan: I don't think you'd like to stay in an apartment filled with construction noises, yes?

MC: But I didn't hear anyone renovating anything?

It was only after the words left my mouth that I realized something.

MC: Oh, right. It's nighttime right now, so all the construction workers should be off work by now… Still, how did you know?

Evan: I noticed that there were paint stains at the edge of the neighbouring apartment's door frame upon entering, and it looked rather fresh too.

Evan: Plus, that housing estate was built 10 years ago, yet the elevator has its interiors boarded up with temporary protective boards.

Evan: So, I'd garner that the neighbouring apartment's most likely, not the only one undergoing renovation recently.

MC: I'd never have realized if you didn't point it out…

Evan: And adding on to that, I observed the surroundings a bit when we entered the housing estate and the security personnel stationed nearby seemed rather sparsely spread.

Evan: So it wouldn't be too safe for you to be staying here alone.

MC: Yeah…

Evan continued talking about the pros and cons of the apartment as the enchanting lights from above reflected in his eyes, melding into the smile that wavered within.

MC: You're so knowledgeable when it comes to this. Did you rent an apartment before?

Although, for someone with his family background, he shouldn’t ever need to rent an apartment on his own.

However, Evan nodded, affirming my suspicions.

Evan: I’ve rented a couple of places for my company back when I was in university.

MC: You mean, the company you founded back when you were studying in Lordton?

Evan: You know of it?

MC: I’ve heard of it before! It’s truly a legendary tale!

Evan: Looks like I’ll have to personally clear up the rumours for you then. It wasn’t exactly a smooth experience.

Evan: I, too, encountered a great many difficulties that I hadn’t thought of before during my first time renting an office.

Evan: For example, unreliable agents. The relevant renting procedures never came to pass for a long time due to that.

Evan: Hence, the office wasn’t ready even if all the employees were already in place.

Evan: And another example would be poor property management, with robberies aplenty as a result.

Evan: Also, I had no choice but to take drastic action and relocate the entire office to a new location since I hadn’t initially considered office expansion.

MC: Wow, I never knew that starting a business would be so hard. You’re amazing to have done it!

❖☆———————————★❖

Suddenly, my phone vibrated.

[Guangqi Rental] Whole apartment for lease. Felin Avenue, 199 Street. 1 bedroom and 1 living room. [Guangqi Rental] Whole apartment for lease. Changle Heights. 1 bedroom and 1 living room.

It was the agent, recommending me a couple more apartments.

[Guangqi Rental] How about any of these?

MC: Now that's way too many…

Evan: You can forward them to me if you don't mind. I can check them out with you.

Evan: I might not be very experienced in this, but nothing will go wrong with having another person to think it through with.

MC: Thank you, Evan.

The night breeze blew past, gently ruffling the loose hairs that had fallen out of place in front of Evan’s forehead.

Evan: We've been talking for so long that I forgot that it's already 9 PM. Are you hungry? Do you want to eat anything?

MC: I said I'd treat you! How about we do it now?

MC: Is there anything you'd like to eat?

Evan: Just pick anything you want to eat. I'm fine with anything.

MC: Don't say that! I'm going to need a proper answer from you today.

Evan: Alright then. I'd prefer for it to be something cooling, if possible.

MC: Hmm… Something cooling?

I glanced around, my eyes sweeping past the signboards of teahouses, food stalls, fast food outlets… until it finally stopped on an old and aged sign that stood not too far away.

MC: I know! Wait for me for a while!

❖☆———————————★❖

MC: Auntie! Can I get two servings of red bean ice and two servings of fruit soup?

Many customers surrounded the small shop. The owner stirred the pot of soft red beans, filling the air with a delectably rich scent of sweetness.

Due to the auntie being the only one manning the store, the demand for the red bean ice far exceeded the available supply. Hence, I had to wait for quite a while before my order finally got done.

Just as I happily took the icy delights from her, the pitter-patter of rain sounded from behind.

The rain came down hard and vicious.

The raindrops that pelted against the roof were akin to silver metal wires, trapping me within the confines of the narrow eaves.

With no other option in sight, I held the two cups of icy treats to my chest using my wrist and freed a hand to shoot Evan a message to inform him of my predicament.

However, before I could fish out my phone… a silhouette had come to a stop before me. He put the umbrella away.

MC: I was just about to ping you. What are you doing here?

Evan didn’t say anything, only smiling gently as he took the icy treats from my arms, quietly standing by my side.

Evan: The rain should cease soon. Let's wait together.

MC: ...Okay.

The curtain of rain secluded us in our own little world, and the puddles, reflecting the neon lights of the signboard above, rippled from the night breeze of summer.

And like a domino effect, this soft and gentle ambience made our moods calmer and much more relaxed in turn.

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 2-24 Light) / (Chapter 2-24 Night) | Next Part: (Chapter 3-3)

#光与夜之恋 #Light and Night #Otome #Translations #Tencent #萧逸 #Osborn #齐司礼 #Sariel #陆沉 #Evan #查理苏 #Charlie #夏鸣星 #Jesse #For Light and Night

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

Text

Paging Healer Malfoy // Chapter Two - The Improper Use of Magical Materials (D.M)

A/N: CHAPTER TWO!! I wonder fi you can all guess what’s going to happen in this chapter from the title alone? Draco deals with some interesting cases, and I am loving writing this series. The love for the prologue and chapter one blew me away. I only hope you love this one just as much!!!

Summary: Coffee equals venting as well as inquisitions over personal lives. Interesting patients have their way of falling into Draco’s lap.

Warnings: mentions of coffee, mentions of procedures, hospitals, injuries, swearing, mentions of food, mutual pining, yearning, an overuse of commas and semi-colons, interesting medical cases.

Word count: 4k

Prologue// Chapter One

By the time Draco has a long enough lull in patients, it’s been a couple of hours and he’s more than ready for a coffee.

The tradition of coffee with her had started through their training; it was how they vented to each other after a particularly long shift that had either been difficult or slow. It was how over the course of their training; their friendship had formed. It was over the coffees and the vents that Draco slowly realised his feelings for her were far from platonic.

(Y/N) stands at the admit desk, chatting to one of the longest working nurses at St. Mungo’s, Lydia. Lydia had seen it all; there was very little that could shock her. Draco thinks out of his eight years at St. Mungo’s, he had only ever seen Lydia speechless from shock twice. Both of those cases had not had positive outcomes.

(Y/N) greets Draco with a smile that almost knocks him breathless. He slots his chart into the discharged box and cracks his knuckles; he grins at (Y/N)’s displeased face, knowing that that particular habit gets on her nerves.

“Are you free now?” She asks; an eyebrow raised as if she’s expecting another rebuff.

Draco nods, “Coffee?”

(Y/N) smiles broadly; another smile to leave him breathless and hopelessly yearning for her as she murmurs her goodbyes to Lydia.

The café for St. Mungo’s is on the very top floor, and Draco thanks every god and deity out there that the hospital board had seen fit to install a lift instead of relying on the stairs. It was useful for practical reasons too; especially transporting patients to different floors and such alongside Draco’s continued avoidance of physical exercise.

It wasn’t an overly large café, but it catered for the Healers and nurses on every floor as well as the steady stream of patients and their families that came through the doors. It constantly smelt like coffee beans; the scent settling within Draco’s bones as he walks to the till with (Y/N) by his side.

Happy to see their usual table by the furthest window empty, Draco heads over there with their tray of freshly brewed coffee. They sit across from each other and share a tired smile; they were coming up to halfway through their shift now. They both loved their job; they couldn’t imagine working anywhere else as anything else but even they couldn’t help but countdown the minutes until they could clock off and go home to their showers and their beds.

Adding a splash of milk to her coffee, (Y/N) asks, “What do you think of the new trainees?”

Draco nods, “I think they’re going to be better than last year for definite.”

(Y/N) nods her head in agreement. Draco grabs a sugar packet from the centre of the table, “What do you think of your student?”

She rolls her eyes fondly, “He’s rich, that’s for sure. The only other person I’ve ever seen with a tailored lab coat is you.”

Draco huffs; tugging at the collar of his lab coat, “It was a gift, thank you very much.”

She laughs, “And you look very dashing.”

Draco turns her nose up at her, “Tell me something I don’t know.”

(Y/N)’s eyes sparkle with mirth over the rim of her coffee cup; the cup barely concealing the smile on her face. Draco returns the grin in earnest; never truly able to stay mad at her or hold a grudge against for too long.

“How have you been?” She asks; light concern lacing her voice.

“I’ve been okay,” Draco answers; expecting the worry she always has for him. He had been diagnosed with insomnia after the second wizarding war. It came in waves; he could have weeks, even months, where he slept fine, but then he would have periods where sleep was a distant memory.

“Have you been sleeping better? I can always prescribe you something if you need it.”

Draco waves away her offer, “I don’t need medicine to help me sleep.”

“Draco, you have insomnia. You, yourself, have admitted that traditional remedies aren’t helping.”

“(Y/N), I’m fine,” He reaches out for her hand; she lets him take it, “I’m fine. I’m sleeping better, I promise.”

She bites her lip; looking like she so desperately wants to believe him. For a second, Draco thinks she’s going to argue but at the last moment she decides against it. Instead, whispering what she wanted to say at the start of their conversation, “I feel like I haven’t seen you in so long.”

“We see each other nearly every day,” Draco argues.

“We’re so busy, Draco, we don’t talk like we used to.”

Draco sighs; knowing how right she is. If they found themselves on nights together, they would spend most of that shift together – especially if it was a quiet one. They would talk aimlessly about whatever came to their minds; the job, their families, their love life.

To Draco, it felt like his feelings for her were almost inevitable. The longer he spent with her; the longer he thought of her. Their fumble at the Christmas party last year had driven a wedge between them; neither ready to talk about what happened for the fear of losing their crutch. They so heavily relied on the other in terms of emotional release from their jobs; if things went south, what would they do?

Catching sight of the clock, (Y/N) sighs, realising that their conversation was over, “I need to go chase up some labs. As smart as my trainee he is, he’s useless at keeping on top of things.”

She stands; finishing the final few sips of her coffee. Her hand finds its way to Draco’s shoulder where it squeezes it once in goodbye, “I’ll find you at the end of your shift, we can get the tube together.”

He smiles at her, “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

And he wouldn’t.

------

The first week with the new trainees goes swimmingly. Draco cannot help but compare this year to last year where last year he had to dismiss one Healer immediately based on their bed manner with patients; inappropriate comments flying freely.

The second week with the new trainees gives Draco a breather from needing to watch over them constantly. He starts to spend less time flitting between their patients and more time taking on his own cases whilst still supervising the trainees and their assigned attendings.

As the trainees find their feet, Draco finds it easier to fall back into his routine from before they arrived. Working in Emergency Medicine meant that there was very little leeway for a strict routine, but there was always a lull in the early afternoon that allowed Draco to sneak upstairs to the café and grab some lunch without being pulled in for consultation after consultation.

However, Draco feels that something is off within his very bones. As he lines up to pay for his food and drink, he feels suspicious. As he sits down at the table he usually shares with (Y/N) - admitting to himself that he does miss her presence when he’s eating alone – he feels as if he needs to rush whatever he’s about to eat.

Eight years as a Healer has taught Draco to trust that gut instinct; to follow it to very end to where it leads.

The familiar static of the tannoy system precedes the announcement of his name, “Healer Malfoy to Trauma Two. Healer Malfoy to Trauma Two.”

Draco looks down at his meal sadly; briefly wondering whether the patient would protest to him eating through his trauma. He throws out the food as he rushes from the café, stethoscope clinking around his neck as he amps up his brisk walk to a flat out run.

As he runs to the trauma room, Draco has no idea what awaits him when he arrives in the emergency room. He has no clue as to his patient; their age, gender, ethnicity. As of right now, he couldn’t care – all he needs to know is that there is someone who needs his help.

The patient has already been lifted onto the bed when Draco arrives. Studiously ignoring his growling stomach, he looks to Vera, “What do we have?”

“27 year old Rowan Talbott; injured in a duel between friends. BP and oxygen all fine though his pulse is a little fast.”

Rowan Talbott writhes on the bed in pain, gasping, “It hurts so much.”

“Where does it hurt, Mr. Talbott?” Draco questions; standing over the patient.

“My side! It feels like its burning.”

Draco makes eye contact with the nurse who helps to roll the young man onto his other side. With deft, experienced fingers, Draco examines the patient.

“Mr. Talbott,” Draco calls out over the patients cries, “Can you tell me which spell you were hit with?”

“Entrail-Expelling, I’m sure of it.”

Draco sighs; taking a step back and removing his gloves, “I can assure, Mr. Talbott, you were not hit with the entrail-expelling spell.”

“How do you know?” He demands; face cross.

“For one thing, Mr. Talbott, your entrails are still very much inside of your body. And another, it looks like you were instead hit with the stinging hex which has caused the burning,” Draco looks towards Vera, “Perform the counter-jinx and let him sleep it off?”

Vera nods; her face amused at the sound of disappointment in Draco’s voice.

He tears off the trauma gown; throwing it in the disposal bin. He looks towards the patient who slowly sits up in bed; his face aflame with embarrassment, “So I’m not dying?”

Draco shakes his head, “Not dying.”

Rowan Talbott sags in relief as Vera performs the counter-jinx.

“Rest now, Mr. Talbott, I’ll check on you in an hour or so.”

Rowan Talbott doesn’t reply; his snores fill the room as the porters come to move him to an empty exam room.

Both Draco and Vera chuckle as they leave the room. They return to the admit desk where Draco places his chart on the side.

“There never is a dull day, is there Vera?”

Vera laughs, “The day it is dull here, Draco, is the day I leave.”

“Merlin let’s hope that never happens there. How would we run without you, Vera?”

“Draco Malfoy, you are a flatterer.”

Draco laughs, “I’m going out to grab some lunch. I’m sure there’s a muggle café down the road. I won’t be long.”

Vera nods; waving him off as she’s pulled into another case by another Healer.

Before he can be dragged anywhere, Draco rushes to the break room. There, he grabs his jacket – replacing his lab coat with it and then makes his way to the exit. Through it all, his stomach has been growling like a wild animal; the café down the road would still be open, Draco thinks gratefully as he inhales the crisp autumn air.

At the café, Draco orders a sandwich and a coffee to go. All the while knowing that he would have to eat it on the way back to the hospital should another trauma come in or that he’s needed by someone.

By the time Draco arrives back at the break room; he’s eaten half his sandwich and finished his coffee. Munching on the other half, he doesn’t hesitate to pour another cup of coffee and settle on the break room couch.

A few years back, before Draco had started his training, the emergency room staff were given a television by a patient who was grateful for the saving of his life. After much attempting to get it working in a hospital that was, back then, mostly magical, the TV had become a hit with the nurses. However, no-one dared to switch the channel should something happen that they couldn’t fix, so it played a constant loop of the muggle news.

It’s this that Draco watches as he finishes the last crumbs of his sandwich and the dregs of his coffee. He kicks his feet up onto the coffee table and lets himself have a few minutes to himself with his eyes closed; letting the stress of the last few weeks leave his body.

All too soon, however, the usual guilt settles over Draco. In his early days as a trainee, Draco found it exceptionally hard to take for himself. He always had to be helping; he always had to be working. He simply couldn’t sit still. Draco thinks it stems from his family’s involvement in the second wizarding war where they had left the Battle of Hogwarts without sticking around to make sure that the survivors were well cared for.

It’s that thought that has Draco hauling himself off the couch and back into the fray.

“Janice – lovely, lovely, Janice. What do we have free?” Draco asks; always ready to compliment the nurses.

Janice laughs, “Malfoy, you are a flirt,” She hands him a chart, “23 year old female with stomach pain.”

Draco grins at Janice; happily taking the chart from her hands. He knocks on the door to exam room one before entering. He smiles welcomingly at the patient, “Miss Collins, I understand you’re having some stomach pain.”

Miss Collins nods her head, “For the last few days now.”

Draco makes some notes on her chart before putting on some latex gloves. He points to her stomach and asks, “Do you mind?”

Miss Collins shakes her head and lifts her shirt to reveal her stomach, “I don’t mind.”

As Draco examines her; he asks her routine questions that Nurse Marie lists the answers of on her chart. “And there’s no chance you could be pregnant?” He asks; broaching the subject carefully.

She shakes her head, “I got my period last week.”

Draco nods; continuing his examination of her stomach, feeling some tenderness which understandably is causing some discomfort and pain. Draco removes his gloves and thinks through the possible causes of this pain. He smiles down at Miss Collins before addressing Nurse Marie, “Let’s get a blood test and give her anti-nausea potion, thank you. We’ll monitor you over the next couple of hours to see if things get better or worse. How does that sound?”

Miss Collins opens her mouth to reply but she’s cut off by a timid voice asking, “Healer Malfoy?”

Draco turns from his examination of Miss Collins to find a trainee stood behind him, “How can I help, Healer Kinghorn?”

Matthew Kinghorn flounders for a moment; trying to find the words to explain his predicament to his superior. Draco frowns at the trainee, “What’s wrong?”

“There’s something you need to see.”

“Is it urgent?”

Matthew nods, “I’d say so.”

“Is the patient dying?”

“No, but-”

Draco cuts him off impatiently, “Then are you able to handle it?”

Matthew huffs, “With all due respect sir, you need to see this. I don’t want to be the one to pull it out.”

Draco’s eyebrows furrow, “Pull what out?”

-----------

“That is a wand,” Draco states; staring at the x-ray.

Matthew nods wildly; humming his affirmation.

“The patient,” Draco starts, “Has a wand in their rectum.”

“Do you see why I pulled you away?” Matthew asks, “It looks to be 10 inches.”

Draco can’t help the snort that leaves him though he knows he should act more professionally around a trainee. He holds a hand to his mouth as the other points to the image on the lightbox, “Why?”

Matthew shrugs, “The patient wouldn’t say.”

Draco sighs, “Well they’re at risk for a perforation. What room are they in?”

“Exam room three,” Matthew answers.

Draco pulls the x-ray from the lightbox; stuffing it in a file before walking to exam room three. Entering the room – Matthew close behind – Draco finds the patient lying on his front with his knees tucked up to his chest.

“Mr,” Draco pauses; holding his hand out for the chart from Matthew, “Winters, I’m Healer Malfoy. Would you care to tell me what’s happened?”

Mr. Winters groans; his voice full of pain and embarrassment as he replies, “My wand is stuck.”

Draco slips on some gloves before approaching Mr. Winters, “Sir, you know that that isn’t the proper use of your wand.”

“I know that.”

“I’m glad you’re aware.”

Mr. Winters sighs, “I just had an itch that I couldn’t get, and I just looked at my wand and before I thought it through, I was doing it.”

“I’m not here to judge you, Mr. Winters,” Draco murmurs, “I’m just here to help extract your wand, but we need to be careful so please remain as still as possible.”

Mr. Winters nods; trying to relax as much as he can and remain as still as possible. Draco looks to Matthew who remains by the door; watching the scene with wide eyes, “Healer Kinghorn, will you please fetch some lubricant and any tweezers you can find.”

“You’re going to pull it out?!” Mr. Winters cries.

Draco walks around the bed, removing his gloves, and bends so he’s eye level with Mr. Winters, “I think it’s our first option. You lost hold as you were inserting it, that’s correct?”

Mr. Winters nods, so Draco continues, “So I’m going to use the tweezers to try and grab hold of the end of your wand. Should I meet any resistance, however, I am going to have to call a surgeon.”

“I could need surgery?” Mr. Winters shouts.

Draco nods, “It’s a possibility. There is a slight chance of perforation so any resistance, it’s a surgeon.”

Matthew comes bustling back into the exam room carrying everything Draco asked for including a pain potion and relaxation potion. He lays it all out on a tray before wheeling it to the end of Mr. Winters bed.

“Thank you, Healer Kinghorn,” Draco murmurs before turning back to Mr. Winters, “I’m going to give you a pain potion, so you won’t feel a thing, is that okay?”

Mr. Winters nods, holding out a hand for the bottle. Draco pours the right amount into a small cup before handing it to the patient; watching him finish it all before making his way to end of the bed.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Winters?” Draco calls; slipping on some fresh latex gloves.

“Ready,” He answers. Draco nods despite tef cat that the patient can’t see him.

Draco turns to Matthew; his hand out expectantly for the lubricant and the tweezers. Together, they manage to dislodge the item from Mr. Winters; his wand offering little trouble at all. Matthew watches the procedure wide-eyed and in awe as Draco manages to extract Mr. Winters wand.

He bags Mr. Winters wand as Matthew helps him back onto his side; reminding him that most likely isn’t quite ready to sit on him bum any time soon.

Mr. Winters has tears in his eyes as he thanks both Draco and Matthew. They wave off his thanks before leaving him to sleep off the remaining pain potion in his system; once he wakes he’ll be discharged and given a leaflet on appropriate wand use.

Draco co-signs Matthew’s chart before handing it back to the redheaded trainee. “You did well,” Draco compliments with a smile.

Matthew beams, “Really?”

Draco nods, “You went beyond what I asked you to do and made sure the patient was comfortable. You also recognised that you were out of your depth and you needed help. Past trainees haven’t thought of that; they would go straight in with the procedure and make a mistake. Well done, Matthew.”

Matthew nods; rubbing his hand across the back of his neck as his skin warms with the kind words from Draco. “Thank you, Healer Malfoy,” He replies earnestly.

Draco claps Matthew on the shoulder, “Go get some lunch, Matthew. You don’t know when you’ll be able to eat again.”

Matthew smiles at Draco again before leaving; rushing for the lift to head up to the café.

Draco shakes his head at the eagerness displayed by his trainee, but also pride in the fact that he did think before acting which is vitally important in a job like this. It requires you to think fast and act fast; it seems that Matthew had the talent for both. Draco couldn’t help but wonder how he would be like in a major trauma situation.

Returning to the admit desk, Draco finds that all patients are accounted for and for the first time in a while, he has no immediate need to see a patient – still waiting on test results for them all. He removes his stethoscope from his shoulders as he enters the break room; the television still playing its circuit of the daily muggle news.

(Y/N) sits at the small round table in the middle of the room; her eyes focused on the small screen. The volume always remains low; never playing loud enough for anyone to hear the words leaving the news anchors mouth. Instead, they rely on the red banner travelling across the bottom of the screen from right to left where it announces the breaking news.

“Anything changed since an hour ago?” Draco asks; heading straight for the coffee pot only to find that its empty. He pulls the coffee grounds down from the cupboard and begins to make a fresh pot.

“I don’t think so,” (Y/N) answers, “A celebrity couple is getting divorced; a royal is having a baby, and there’s a debate in the muggle parliament today.”

Draco leans against the counter; waiting for the coffee to brew. He nods, “Nothing new then.”

“I heard about your… impalement,” (Y/N) comments; turning her attention from the television screen to Draco.

“How?”

(Y/N) raises an eyebrow at him, “Lydia.”

“Of course,” Draco rolls his eyes, “I can’t say it wasn’t interesting.”

She snorts, “You always get the interesting ones.”

“(Y/N), you are an attending in emergency trauma surgery. All of your cases are interesting.”

(Y/N) huffs, “But I haven’t seen an impalement in so long!”

“It was barely even an impalement. The patient had an itch he couldn’t reach, that’s all.”

(Y/N) is silent for a minute before bursting into giggles.

“Act professional, (Y/N),” Draco chides but he cannot help the smile at that spreads across his face at the sound of her laughter. Soon enough, he finds himself chuckling along with her; their laughter providing the chorus for the chaos of the emergency room.

(Y/N) wipes her eyes with her sleeve after she finishes laughing, “It’s like what Healer Dorian used to say before she retired.”

“What?”

“If you don’t laugh, it’ll kill you.”

Draco snorts, “There’s some truth to that, but I don’t think Mr. Winters was laughing.”

(Y/N) shakes her head, “I don’t think he will be. I think he’ll choose muggle medicine over ours now to avoid us all.”

He hums, “Most likely, but if he needs us that badly, he’ll come back.”

(Y/N) doesn’t reply; she just shakes her head fondly, hair slipping from its ponytail.

“What shift are you down for next week?” He asks.

She grins at him; her eyes crinkling in the corners, “Why? Do you miss me when I’m not with you?”

He places a hand on his heart and stretches the other out; mimicking a Shakespearian pose, “Dear (Y/N), my heart yearns for you all the time, but it misses you more in your absence. Pray, tell me your shift pattern next week so I know whether to cry tears of happiness or sadness.”

A ball of paper hits his face. Her laughter fills the room, “You’re such an arse, Draco.”

He grins toothily, “And yet you’re friends with me.”

She glares at him playfully, “I’m regretting that decision past me made.”

“I don’t believe you for a second.”

She rolls her eyes, “I’m on nights next week.”

Draco pouts; playing the overdramatic lovestruck fool he is, “But when will I see you?”

“When I’m leaving… like now,” She stands from her chair; grabbing her drink and her unfinished charts.

Draco swivels in his chair; watching her leave the break room with his feelings all in disarray as to whether they’re finally going to confront of what is so clearly in front of them.

*********

Paging Healer Malfoy taglist: @sycathorn-slush @obsessedwithrandomthings @kpopgirlbtssvt @kalimagik @brycelahelalover @fallinallinmendes @mischi3f-manag3d @remmysrecs @willowbleedsonpaper @nao-cchi @haphazardhufflepuff @soundsquid27 @mytreec @maydillydally @chaoticgirl04 @pregnant-piggy @rhyxn @acciotwinz @birdie-writes @reaganwonders @chanelwonders @izzytheninja @ravenclawbitch426 @ohissandhalasta @missmulti

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obx-beach @obxmxybxnk @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey @kashishwrites @justmesadgirl @detroitobsessed @reaganwonders

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shining-red-diamond · 4 years

Text

One Little Coyote

Words: 2k

Pairing: Hyunjin x Reader

Genre: Fluff, some angst

Rating: PG

Warnings: nightmare scene, some arguing, mentions of cigarettes and smoking

A/N; I’m super proud of how this turned out! I’m sorry if it seems rushed, but I thought this was a cute and interesting concept. Banner credits to @oobin

If the morning sun wasn’t hot enough, then the afternoon sun certainly was. Heat waves could easily be seen rising up from the dark pavement the gray Subaru traveled on. Hyunjin carefully drove himself and Y/N across the desert, even though it was mostly barren despite the occasional car that passed them in the opposite direction. The two had been on the road since eight, and it was now nearing twelve-thirty as Y/N’s stomach began to rumble.

“Are you that hungry?” Hyunjin giggled.

“Hey, you’re the one who insisted on just having granola bars instead of eggs like I suggested,” Y/N shot back.

“I know, I should’ve set the alarm for earlier.” Hyunjin rolled his eyes behind his round, dark-lense sunglasses.

Y/N sighed. “No, I should’ve just grabbed an apple.”

“Baby, we’re almost to a gas station. We’ll stop there and grab a bite to eat.”

For whatever reason, the two seemed to be arguing about something with every other conversation they had since waking up that morning. Was it because one of them slept bad? Did Hyunjin get irritated at her for some reason? Or was Y/N just hangry? They hated fighting with each other, but they couldn’t seem to get along for the first leg of their journey. The heat could be a factor in both of them butting heads, but the air was on full blast.

Y/N stared down at her twiddling her thumbs as the song changed to an old AC/DC tune, and Hyunjin glanced over at her. He felt bad for using a sharp tone at her. For months, the two had been planning a road trip from the Grand Canyon to Las Vegas; but he felt terrible for being in such a crabby mood.

Taking her hand, he laced his fingers through hers and kissed the back of it.

“Why the sudden change in behavior?” she asked with a raised brow.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized as they pulled into the gas station.

“Can we talk about this later? I just want to get some food before my stomach starts speaking in tongues.”

Before Hyunjin could respond, Y/N was already out of the car and beelined for the restaurant in the convenience store.

The gas station had only three other vehicles parked there: a motorcycle on the side of the building, a beat up brown truck at a pump, and a dark minivan at another. Heat from the sun was beating down in the surrounding area, but Hyunjin was protected under some shade at the gas pump he paid at. A snake slithered by, but it didn’t bother him. A rugged looking man exited the building and pulled a brand new pack of cigarettes and lit one up before entering the truck and pulling out, but not before giving Hyunjin a nod of acknowledgement.

When the tank was filled, Hyunjin took his receipt, parked in another spot, and locked the car before meeting his girlfriend inside. Y/N was sitting in a gray booth with an order of two burgers and large fries with two large drinks. She hadn’t touched any of the food on the tray, which she always did when she paid for food if she were traveling with anyone. Hyunjin was about to open his mouth to protest how he should have been the one to purchase the food, but he was done arguing with the love of his life.

“This looks delicious, baby,” he smiled and kissed her head before sitting in the seat across from her.

“I made sure to not get pickles in yours,” she replied.

“You know me too well.”

Once Hyunjin tied his long hair back, he and Y/N began their lunch; and she was thankful they didn’t fight while they filled their bellies with a meal.

“Just think,” Hyunjin smiled slyly, “by tomorrow afternoon we’ll be entering Vegas. The desert and heat will be a distant memory as we feast on delicious food, swim in an indoor pool, and get cozy.”

Y/N chuckled at his attempt at being smooth with his words, which in turn caused him to laugh as well.

“We can’t forget seeing all of the cool shows and counting the slot machines in each casino,” she added. “But I’m happy to just be with you for a few days, even if we don’t get to party like millionaires.”

Hyunjin scoffed. “Who needs wealth when I’m already a rich man just having the most beautiful woman in the world with me?”

“You’re cheesy, dude; but I like cheese.”

“I know,” her boyfriend replied with a wink.

As soon as they finished their meal, the two were back on the road, the surrounding desert brightened more by the afternoon sun. For about two hours, the two drive in mostly silence. The only noises around them were the radio, which would go static in some areas, and the wind outside. A few animals passed by in the sand and among the vegetation, but it was mostly snakes and rabbits.

“Babe,” Hyunjin said after a while, “about me apologizing earlier, I didn’t sleep well last night and woke up this morning in a bad mood. I hate fighting with you, and I was trying to make it up to you.”

He couldn’t exactly look at her as he was driving, but he could see out of the corner of his eye she was half smiling as he spoke.

“I’m sorry, too,” she lightly sighed. “I shouldn’t have snapped back at you. I didn’t know.”

“It’s not your fault. The bed at the motel was too uncomfortable.”

“Hopefully, the hotel bed is much better.”

“It’s Vegas! It has to be.”

A truce was formed during their own little comedy hour, and Hyunjin was happy he was able to make it all up with his girl. Like most couples, they had their arguments some days, but Hyunjin could never stay angry with Y/N, nor could she with him. The last thing either of them wanted to do was hurt the other person, and they both knew words were impactful. Only once had they insulted each other where it hurt the most that they wouldn’t speak to each other for a week until they both cooled off and talked it over.

“I wonder where the coyotes are,” Y/N spoke up as she looked out the window.

“They’re out there,” her boyfriend replied as he glanced around the sandy plains. “We won’t be going anywhere near them, but we’re approaching a bunch of rock formations and hills in a while.”

“Maybe we’ll hear them when we camp.”

“Maybe.”

“And that one little coyote howling at the moon,” Y/N sang with a giggle.

As if on cue, the radio song switched to the exact song. It was a genie wishing her song request.

“Fitting.”

The night air was too quiet for Y/N, except for the coyote’s howling at the full moon every couple of seconds. Moonlight illuminated the inside of the car, and she couldn’t fall back asleep anymore. The windows were still cracked open a little to allow air to circulate, but there was no wind blowing. Y/N hated how silent it was, and the coyote’s weren’t exactly singing lullabies to her. Sitting up, she looked over to where Hyunjin was, but he was gone. His blanket remained there, but the man himself had vanished.

Maybe he just had to go pee somewhere, she thought. However, the closest gas station was miles behind them. There was no way he would have walked that far just for a bathroom with a way to protect himself. The possibility of him just finding a small bush to do his business seemed logical, and since it was dark out, anyone who passed by probably wouldn’t see him.

Against her better judgement, Y/N decided to step out and see if her boyfriend was okay. Climbing over the seats, she reached one of the passenger doors and unlocked it. Once she stumbled out of the car, she shut the door and made her way to the back. The little fire pit used to cook their hot dogs was missing, and there was no sign that anyone had made a stop there. Nothing but dry mud and weeds. The air was also freezing, but Y/N didn’t want to go back to the car until her boyfriend was found.

“Hyunjin?” Y/N called in a whisper. No answer. She called for him across the other side of the main road, but still no reply.

“Babe, this isn’t funny!” she called as she turned around to see if he was messing with her.

To her horror, the Subaru was now gone. She didn’t hear the engine turn on, no tire tracks were left, nothing. It was as if it vanished into thin air. Turning back again, the road was gone too. What was going on?

Coyote howls grew louder, and Y/N was starting to panic. Small feet scampered by her, but not a humans’ footsteps. She pulled out her phone light and looked down. A row of jack rabbits were racing by her towards the rock formations, so she decided to follow them to try to find help. She took about six steps before a branch seemingly wrapped around her ankle and tripped her, cutting into the flesh.

“Don’t panic,” YN told herself. “It’s just a bush. You can get out of this.”

However, once she sat up, whatever was holding her had let go and disappeared. It left behind her ankle bleeding, but she had no means of treating it. She could still walk on it, so she kept going.

A few snakes, poisonous ones, slithered by, hissing at her as she walked. It was as if they were threatening her to turn back or else they’ll attack and sink their venomous fangs into her.

“As I rode my pony across the Western plain,” she sang sobbed, not realizing she had been crying. “We stopped and heard a sweet and sad refrain. It filled the sundown skies with a lonesome tune. It was one little coyote howling at the moon.”

RIght at that moment, howling broke the eerie silence from behind her. When Y/N turned around, two red glowing eyes were staring at her. It was a terrible, hungry look, and a deep throaty growl sent shivers down her back. Before she could even blink, teeth flashed in front of her as if the creature attempted to eat her face off.

Y/N screamed as she felt her life ending right there.

“Baby, wake up!” a familiar voice cried out.

Opening her eyes, Y/N realized she was back in the car but in a cold sweat. It was somewhat dark out, but the sky was just barely rising by the deep purple sky fading into pink.

“Jinnie!” Y/N sobbed as she pulled her boyfriend in for a hug.

“What happened?”

Once she caught her breath, she realized everything she had seen and experienced was all a nightmare.

“Bad dream?” Hyunjin guessed as dried her head with a blanket.

“Yeah,” she sighed. She explained everything in detail to him, even checking her ankle for the injury she had sustained. To her relief, there was no cut.

“I’m so sorry you had such an awful nightmare,” Hyunjin kissed her forehead. “I forget how you have bad nightmares one the first night of a camping trip.”

“I’ll be okay,” Y/N promised. “What time is it?”

Hyunjin looked through the suitcases for some fresh clothes. “6:30 in the morning. I was awake because I got too hot in here. It wasn’t long before you screamed awake.”

“I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“No, no. Don’t be sorry. It was only a dream.”

After tying his hair up to keep himself cool, Hyunjin brought Y/N closer to him and cuddled her for a while. Whenever she had a bad dream, it always comforted her to be held or snuggled until she calmed down. His heartbeat was the main composer of her calming, and she loved how warm he felt when he embraced her.

In the distance, a coyote howled.

“He won’t hurt you, my love,” Hyunjin reassured as he held Y/N tighter. “It’s just one little coyote.”

@hongism @ethereal-eirene @ezralia-writes

#kwritersworldnet #districtninewriters #kdiner #kdiarynet #kpopscape #kpopficsnetwork #newskynet #stray kids #skz #hwang hyunjin #skz hyunjin #skz x reader #skz fluff #skz angst

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seaswalllow · 3 years

Text

whumptober, day one: barbed wire, dsmp

“Hurry up,” Tubbo hisses, glancing over his shoulder. Tommy grimaces and strains for the window above them, Ranboo shifting underneath his feet uneasily.

His fingertips graze metal, and Tommy feels around.

Bars, with no electricity that he can feel. “Ranboo, I’m gonna jump, and it’s gonna hurt a little,” he elects to give warning, before he gathers himself and leaps.

Scrabbling for a grip onto the cold metal, he catches himself, and hangs there for a moment as he swings with his momentum.

Then he hauls himself up onto the small platform, huffing heavily.

There's no time to catch his breath. He squints at the bars, and tests his weight against them again. Like the first time, they don’t give, and he grumbles under his breath.

“No use. They’re welded in. If they held my weight getting up here…”

“They’ll hold it if we try to break them,” Ranboo finishes, claws clicking against the stone underfoot.

Tubbo swears, softly, and eyes them. “And you haven’t classed, let alone levelled-?”

“Whenever that happens, it’s apparently too early in the process,” Tommy confirms.

Which is… fine. It's fine. They’ve beaten worse odds. There’s three of them, as long as they’re together- there’s three of them.

“What’re the odds it’ll hold the weight of all three of us?”

Tubbo and Ranboo exchange looks. (They do that, a lot. Tommy doesn’t find himself as bothered, anymore. In the early days- maybe, Ranboo fitting too easily into spots that he’d filled previously. Now he just waits for the ideas that it sparks.)

“Is there room for all three of us?”

Tommy swivels to study the platform. It’s not big; he has to crouch to slot himself underneath the frame, but it’s wider than it is tall.

“There’s room for maybe you, Tubbo, but not Ranboo-”

He hears footsteps before he finishes, and freezes. Ranboo does too, and then pulls at his foot. “Get down, get down-”

Tommy tumbles down, atop him, and Tubbo shuffles to block the sight of them sprawled underneath the window.

The footsteps come to a stop in front of the doorway. A muffled click, and then it swings open, slowly. Tommy sits up, Ranboo shuffling in front of him, too, and they tense as the lab coat only hums thoughtfully.

“Interesting. You’re awake.”

Tommy reaches out, and drags Tubbo back, closer to them, eyes narrowing. In front of them, a low rumbling begins; Tubbo does not dig an elbow into Ranboo’s side to quiet him, notably. He only stares at the lab coat.

The lab coat, who doesn’t flinch in the slightest, even if they look unarmed, even if they’re outnumbered three to one.

Tommy nudges Tubbo, then Ranboo. Tubbo doesn’t look, but he nods, ever so slightly. there don’t seem to be any guards. Not here, at least; they weren’t expecting them to be awake?

“So this defect spreads further than we expected,” the lab coat murmurs again, and then they nod sharply. “We will proceed as expected, regardless. The next wave is due tomorrow, and you will be classed just in time. The next wipe will proceed as expected.”

Tubbo does glance at Tommy, at this.

Are you sure?

He nods, again. They won’t have another chance.

The lab coat turns to shut the steel door, and they spring. Ranboo is the fastest of them; Tommy right behind him. Tommy watches them go down with not a small amount of satisfaction- coddled pricks got what they got.

There’s no time to linger.

Tubbo swipes the keys, and shoves them into the empty room, swinging the door shut. Then they run.

There’s surprisingly little resistance, at first. The halls are devoid of human presence. none of them waste breath on asking about it; not when they turn into the same hallway thrice, and every door looks the same.

And then: “Guards. Ahead of us.”

There was nobody, and then there were several people, all facing another set of steel doors. Anxiety, exhaustion- all of it squeezes at Tommy’s chest, but Ranboo grabs his arm and hauls him and Tubbo into a side hallway.

He’s shaking, Tommy notes dimly. This is bad, if Ranboo’s starting to shake.

“We can't overpower all of them,” he hisses, and Tubbo paces, hands clenched tight around the plastic in his hand.

“Could throw open some of the other cells. Wake up whoever’s inside, cause a diversion. Doubling back costs us time, but they’ll have to divert resources,” he lists off, and Tommy's foot only taps faster. They don’t have time.

“Let’s do it. Ranboo takes point, because he’s the fastest?”

“Ranboo takes point,” Tubbo confirms, and Ranboo nods, holding out a clawed hand for the key.

So it goes like this:

They race back down the twisting hallways.

They open door after door, to wake up person after person. (Some don’t wake. Some spit, some cry, but some continue to sleep. Why is everybody asleep?)

And then the lights flicker red.

No sirens sound; the hallways remain deathly silent, asides the people spilling out, lightning and fire crackling at their fists as they stalk around corners; Tommy takes one look and pulls them back the way of the entrance, heart hammering.

“This is our fucking chance, let’s go, let’s go-”

“We’re going, we’re going,” Tubbo hisses back, as they round the corner.

They weren’t the first ones to the doors. Ash fills the air as someone screams over the sound of crackling flames. Tommy puts his head down and darts through the smoke; Ranboo is coughing behind him, the sound crackling with his panic.

His shoulder hits something cold. He looks up, making out metal through the smoke; it doesn’t give. He pushes at it again, feeling for a latch. Something clicks, and they’re through, frost trailing out after them into the open air.

Into the… wasteland. There’s more walls, and another gate. A gate which they don’t have a key for.

“I hope you’re good at climbing,” Tommy grunts, hauling himself up the first brick. Ranboo leaps up past him with ease; tubbo is hot on his heels.

neither answer, not when they hear the sounds of the fight spilling out after them. Tommy hauls himself up faster, biting his lip hard as the concrete tears at his fingertips.

Ranboo reaches the top first; he yelps and both of them look up, sharply, to where he’s frozen.

“Guys, if you get up here-” his voice is strained as he carefully pulls at his arm, “-just be careful. They’ve got barbed wire up here.”

Tommy swears. Loudly, and colorfully. Clinging to the edges of the top, he peeks at the nest of wire, thick and tangled.

Ranboo has successfully extricated himself, and Tommy watches as he holds his arm close, watches as blood drips from the barbs.

“We can’t just step over it,” Ranboo says, after a beat, “and climbing down is. Uh, it’s going to suck.”

“It's going to suck more if we get caught,” Tommy murmurs testily, and he eyes the drop. Tubbo hauls himself up besides them, and also sweeps his eyes across the top, to the dry lands beyond.

“No climbing down,” he murmurs, thoughtfully.

“Could jump,” Tommy offers. both freeze, and then Ranboo sputters something like a protest, but Tommy only shrugs.

“You can’t climb down, none of us can. We can clear the worst of the wire- and besides, we’ve jumped from higher. Just remember to roll. alright?”

He turns to Ranboo, who’s staring at the drop with a tight jaw.

“I'll even go first.”

Grunting, he pulls a leg up to the ledge. The barbs prick and tear at the thin clothes offered to them in the facility; Tommy ignores it, taking a deep breath.

He jumps.

Pain lances through his leg as the wire refuses to relinquish its grasp, but he’s falling already, the wind ruffling through his hair.

He’s falling, and then he’s hitting the packed dirt. Something pops in his shoulder, and he bites down hard on the shout.

Breathe in, and out, through the fire pulsing, he tells himself. Then he staggers to his feet to raise his good arm in a wave.

Hurry, come down.

We’re out.

#kit writes #dream smp #tommyinnit #tubbo #ranboo #enjoy i'm going the fuck to sleep now #and i'm so sorry if the readmore doesnt work #whumptober2021 #whumptober day one

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grailfinders · 4 years

Text

Fate and Phantasms #121: Lancelot (Saber)

Today on Fate and Phantasms we’re building the one Frenchman who could do no wrong (until he did) Lancelot du Lac! This time instead of his snarly dog version we’re making his Saber class form, so buckle in for a huge smite and a whole lot of other stuff to fill time between getting smites.

Check out his build breakdown below the cut, or his character sheet over here!

Next up: How sad. Alexa, play Despacito.

Race and Background

Fun fact: Lancelot was raised by the Lady of the Lake, the same woman who would one day give Artoria her sword. Sorry, I think I said that wrong, I meant to say he was raised by a lady in a lake. Like, under the water. To celebrate this weird ass origin story, we’re making Lancelot a Triton, because I honestly don’t think I’ll ever get another excuse to make one of those. Tritons get +1 to Strength, Constitution, and Charisma, as well as the option to breathe air and water thanks to being Amphibious. You’re also an Emissary of the Sea and Guardian of the Depths, allowing you to talk to any water-breathing beasts, and giving you resistance to cold damage to boot. You can also Control Air and Water, which right now means you can cast Fog Cloud once per day using charisma.

Finally, as a knight of the round table you’re a Knight of the Order, giving you proficiency with Persuasion and Religion.

Ability Scores:

As fitting of someone who turns lancers into fine smears on the ground, your Strength is going to be your highest score. After that is Charisma. Half the time you’re in some sort of situation where nobody can tell who you are, but they still like you anyway. I’d think a high charisma would make you less forgettable, but I’m not English. After that is Constitution- Dolorous Guard requires you to fight twenty knights, and they cheat on top of that! You’d better be ready for the long haul. Your Dexterity isn’t terrible, you’ll mostly be in plate mail anyway. Your Intelligence is a bit low, but your plans generally get summed up as “hit things”, so it’s not much of a loss. Finally, dump Wisdom. If you could resist charm effects you wouldn’t be in this mess.

Class Levels

1. Paladin 1: I hope this isn’t too surprising. First level paladins get proficiency in Wisdom and Charisma saves, as well as two paladin skills. Athletics will help you lug three shields around, and Intimidation will make that look even remotely scary to anyone else.

You also get a Divine Sense that will help you detect celestials, fiends, or undead near you for a turn. If you’re hunting down the holy grail, it’s probably guarded by celestials or undead, so this might give you an edge on your son. You can use this a number of times per long rest equal to 1 + your charisma modifier. You can also Lay on Hands for a bit of healing that recharges each long rest.

2. Paladin 2: Use your new Fighting Style to get better with your great sword with Great Weapon Fighting. This lets you re-roll ones and twos on your damage rolls with two handed weapons. when you combine this with your smites, it’ll get a lot of use. Oh, speaking of, you can use Divine Smite to add some radiant damage to your melee weapon attacks by burning a spell slot. Speaking of speaking of, you can cast and prepare Spells now using Charisma. Lance is more about the smiting than anything else, and you can also swap spells at will, so don’t get too worked up over what you take.

3. Paladin 3: As a knight to the great King Arthur, you’re an Oath of the Crown paladin, meaning you can use your Channel Divinity in two different ways. Once per short rest, you can either issue a Champion Challenge or Turn the Tide. The former forces creatures within thirty feet of you to make a Wisdom save (DC 8 + your charisma modifier + your proficiency bonus) or they’re unable to move more than 30′ away from you. This ends if you can’t fight any more, or the creature is ever more than 30′ away from you. Interestingly enough, this doesn’t end if they’re incapacitated, so it’s good for locking down prisoners. The latter heals creatures you choose nearby if they’re bloodied. A lot of people get bloodied near you later, so it might be a good idea to save this. Both options use your bonus action.

You can also Harness Divine Power, spending a bonus action and your channel divinity use to regain a spell slot. Once again speaking of, you get the oath spells Command and Compelled Duel, meaning you don’t have to prepare them to use them. Forcing people to duel you would have solved a lot of problems you had while questing. Not the big one, but a lot of them.

Also, your Divine Health makes you immune to disease. Also also, Control Air and Water makes a comeback, and now you can cast Gust of Wind once per day too.

4. Paladin 4: We’re giving you a breather from all that stuff we got last level. This level, use your first Ability Score Improvement to grab the Tavern Brawler feat. This bumps up your Strength by one, makes you proficient with improvised weapons, improves your unarmed attacks by making them 1d4 instead of 1 damage, and you can grapple enemies as a bonus action after attacking with an improvised weapon. “A knight’s hands are never empty”, after all.

5. Paladin 5: Fifth level paladins get an Extra Attack with each attack action, and Control Air and Water comes back once again for one more freebie. Now you can cast Wall of Water once per day.

Speaking of casting, crown paladins get another level of spell slots and two more oath spells. Warding Bond will protect your fair maiden for up to an hour, giving them a bonus to AC and forcing you to take half their damage. You also get Zone of Truth, whose main purpose is to make things incredibly awkward between you and Artoria.

6. Paladin 6: Our last stop on the paladin train gives you an Aura of Protection, giving you and nearby allies a bonus to all saves equal to your charisma modifier. You’re good at saving against charms now, but at least you were lore compliant early on.

7. Warlock 1: Remember how you were raised by a faerie early on? It’s time to collect. Thanks to your Archfey patron, You can use your Fey Presence to frighten (or charm) creatures that fail a wisdom save once per short rest. You also get Pact Magic, spells that recharge on short rests that don’t quite mix with your existing magic. Just keep your paladin slots and warlock slots how they look on the paper. One class’s slots can cast the other’s spells though.

Speaking of spells: Sword Burst and True Strike for swording good, Armor of Agathys for armoring good, and Cause Fear to be more intimidating.

8. Warlock 2: Second level warlocks get Eldritch Invocations, ways to customize their changeling experience. You get Fiendish Vigor so you can cast False Life on yourself at will, and save the other one for next level. You can also cast Charm Person- nobody said you weren’t sexy.

9. Warlock 3: Getting fancy new swords must be pretty common for knights. At third level you enter the Pact of the Blade, giving you a fancy greatsword you can summon as an action. If you’d prefer something a bit lighter, you can also cast Shadow Blade for a smaller blade... made of shadow.

You also get the invocation Improved Pact Weapon, adding 1 to your attack and damage rolls.

10. Bard 1: You’re the poster boy of being good at just about everything you try, with the exception of keeping it in your pants. That’s a bard, alright. First level bards get any one skill proficiency- Animal Handling will help you stay on your horse better (It doesn’t actually, but it really should).

You also get Bardic Inspiration, d6 you can hand out to allies to help them with attack rolls, skill checks, and saving throws that recharge on short rests. Finally, you get another round of Spells that use Charisma to cast. These spell slots mix with your paladin slots, so check the multiclassing page to figure out how many you have at any given time.

Grab Friends to be scarier and more charming, Dancing Lights and Faerie Fire for a bit more faerie magic, Heroism to lead your knights to glory, Longstrider to push yourself, and Speak with Animals. There were a lot of talking animals back then.

11. Bard 2: Being a Jack of All Trades makes you somewhat good at just about everything, adding half your proficiency to all skills. Camelot also gets a bit livelier thanks to your Song of Rest, adding a d6 to healing done on short rests.

Half the time you can hide your identity with as little as a new shield, so you can practically cast Disguise Self already.

12. Bard 3: You’re a master of weaponry, and so are Swords bards. You get another Fighting Style, and the Dual Wielding style will help you out when your hands are full by adding your strength to your offhand attacks. You can also spend your inspiration on Blade Flourishes, adding that much damage to your attack and gaining one of three options. A Defensive Flourish adds the same number to your AC, a Slashing Flourish deals that damage to another creature near you as well, and a Mobile Flourish forces the target backwards, and you can react to push the initiative. You can only flourish once per turn, but even if you don’t, attacking also adds 10 feet of movement to your speed for the turn.

You also get Expertise in two skills, doubling your proficiency in Religion and Intimidation. You came in second place in the Grail treasure hunt. That’s something to be proud of.

You can also cast Enhance Ability this level. It’s not quite the strength of four men, but it does give you the strength of two Lancelots, which is still quite a bit.

13 Warlock 4: It’s been a while since our last ASI, huh? Grab Fey Touched to bump up your Charisma and cast Misty Step or Gift of Alacrity once per long rest for free, or at any time like a normal spell. The former is teleportation, the latter gives a creature +1d8 to initiative for up to eight hours. You can also cast Booming Blade for even more swording, and Calm Emotions to delay your execution once the whole Guinevere thing gets out.

14. Warlock 5: Fifth level warlocks get third level spells like Spirit Shroud, giving you that cool shadowy thing your berserker self has to deal extra damage, slow down creatures nearby, and prevent them from healing. You also get the invocation Eldritch Smite- now you can smite while you smite!

15. Bard 4: Use this ASI to round up your Strength. This leaves you with one odd number-feel free to put this into anything you’d like, maybe you already got a +1 from something your DM gave you?

You also get Prestidigitation because I’m running out of cantrips to give you and Knock for a handy battering ram.

16. Bard 5: At fifth level of barding, your inspiration increases to a d8, also increasing the amount of damage your flourishes do. You also become a Font of Inspiration, allowing you to recharge inspiration dice on short rests.

Your final bard spell is Fear, because we haven’t spent enough time hammering home how scary an angry man wielding literally everything is yet.

17. Warlock 6: Sixth level feylocks can Misty Escape away when they get hit, using their reaction to turn invisible and teleport up to sixty feet away. Again, this would have been very useful in a multitude of situations while you were questing. Frankly this also would be super useful with the whole adultery thing too. Just bite your tongue and you’re out of the bedroom! You can use this once per short rest.

You can also call in a favor from your extended family by casting Summon Fey.

18. Warlock 7: Seventh level warlocks get fourth level spells, and we’re just gonna dip into your berserker self real quick, just for flavor. You get Shadow of Moil for another version of your shadow cloak, and the invocation Cloak of Flies for yet another version that makes you even scarier than usual.

19. Warlock 8: Use your last ASI to bump your Charisma even higher for stronger spells, stronger saves, and stronger persuasions. You can also cast Banishment now to help in your fight against more supernatural foes. Remember how I said the holy grail is probably guarded by celestials? Now you can deal with them.

20. Warlock 9: Your capstone level of warlock gives you fifth level spells and more importantly, fifth level spell slots. You can cast Contact Other Plane if you want to chat with those celestials you just threw back to Mount Celestia if you really want to. You can also use your final invocation Whispers of the Grave to chat with your ancestors or King Arthur.

Pros

Much like your boss, you’re really good at Smiting. A greatsword, plus eldritch smite, plus divine smite, plus a spirit shroud, plus a blade flourish, plus a crit is 4d6+28d8+5 damage in a single swing. It just beats out Lartoria’s smiting power, dealing an average of 145 points, with the added benefit of blocking the target from healing that back for a full round.

Bardadins are kind of good at everything. With at least half proficiency on all checks and +4 on all saves, you’re just about as skilled as you can get without excelling at anything. Aside from scaring your enemies.

Being good at everything also relates to being able to turn anything into a deadly weapon. Smiting a lich with a sword? Pedestrian. Everyone knows if you kill a lich with their own shinbone all their phylacteries break out of shame.

Cons

Your saves might be a bit better, but you still have low wisdom. Good luck finding that grail when you can barely find your own armor.

One big flaw of all that smiting? Almost no range. Flying and fast enemies can seriously put you through your paces.

Like most three fold multiclasses, this build takes forever to get online. You don’t get your final subclass until level 12, and you don’t get Eldritch Smite, which is kind of a selling point of the build, until level 14. Most games don’t even get that far.

#Fate Grand Order #D&D 5e #fgo #Lancelot #Fate and Phantasms #Paladin #Bard #Warlock

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queenxxxsupreme · 4 years

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Was wondering if you could do a gender neutral Eskel/Reader where the reader is nonhuman and worried abt meeting Eskels brothers established relationship? You’re writing... is v good

A/N: Hi babe!! Sorry it took so long to answer to this. I got distracted with a few other works and then I just ended up sitting on it because I didn’t like how it felt when I finished it. But I fixed some things and I hope you like it!! Also a huge shout out to my lovely husband @writingawaymylife thank you so so much for helping me with this baby!!! I love you <3

Warnings: there’s talk of mentions of past harm caused to the reader for being both nonhuman and gender neutral so I’m not too entirely sure how to tag that?? There’s no descriptive details of the harm but it is mentioned. But there’s a lot of fluff!! And supportive Eskel!!

***

Eskel followed the sound of soft humming and the crackle of a fire. He moved quietly, wanting to hear everything.

You were humming as you moved around the kitchen, busying yourself with making breakfast for yourself and the witcher in your bed. You were too occupied to hear him leave the bedroom and being the nearly silent man he was, he still made no sound when he leaned against the doorway to the kitchen.

The wolf chose to study you, to take in your every move. You were quite graceful, your movements fluid but languid, as if you weren’t even trying to be so breathtaking. Your hair was tied back out of your face, something Eskel had rarely seen. He noticed fairly quickly that you preferred to have your hair down. The long locks acted as a shield to keep your ears from view. They gave away that you were not human, but an Elf.

With your long hair tied back, Eskel could see the scar that trailed down the right side of your neck. The scar was from a mob that attacked your home. You’d moved since then, but the scars remained. You were wary of humans and always made sure to cover any markings that would identify what you were.

When you turned around completely, you jumped at the sight of him, your hand coming up to your heart.

“Eskel. I didn’t see you there.” You smiled a little nervously, noticing how he was watching you.

“I’m sorry.” He was quick to apologize.

“It’s alright.” You wiped your hands off on a rag on the table. You gestured for him to take a seat at the table. You found it strange how even though you two had shared a bed four or five times a year in the two years you knew him, he was still hesitant to do anything without asking you first. He was a gentleman. He didn’t want to overstep any boundaries or do anything that would make you uncomfortable.

“How long have you been up?”

“A while. Woke up when you left.” He admitted, moving towards the table.

“I’m sorry I woke you.” You moved to get him a cup of tea.

“That’s okay. I…. I should be leaving.” He looked to the door.

Your eyes followed his gaze. His two swords, still in their sheaths, were next to the door. He didn’t like the thought of bringing them any further into your home. However, you knew he wasn’t completely comfortable without them near, ready to be used if needed. What you didn’t know was that he kept them as far away from you as possible as to not make you uncomfortable or fearful of him.

“So soon?” You tried to hide the upset tone in your voice. His eyes flickered back to you. You placed the mug in front of him. “You only arrived just last night.”

He said nothing to you.

You began to move away from him but his hand clasped your wrist, keeping you near.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s okay.” You assured him with a little smile. “I understand.”

He released you, allowing you to move around the kitchen. His eyes followed you, noticing a shift in your demeanor. You were no longer humming and your shoulders weren’t held as high as usual. They were slumped. You were upset.

“Where are you going, if I may ask?”

Eskel turned his head to look out of the only window in the kitchen. A thin layer of white snow had gathered on the ground outside. He had gotten a late start on heading home this year.

“Kaer Morhen.”

You nodded your head gently.

“Come here, love.” He pulled the chair out next to him and motioned for you to sit. You did as he directed, clasping your hands together in your lap. He leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees, and wrapped your hands in his own. “I don’t want to leave, trust me. But I don’t want to chance a blizzard coming and blocking me from getting to the keep safely.”

“What’s waiting for you there? At Kaer Morhen?” You tilted your head to the side a little. You’d only heard about Kaer Morhen in stories from your family, but Eskel had never once mentioned it to you.

“My brothers.” He answered honestly. The little smile that came to his scarred lips warmed your heart. “It’s, um, it’s sort of tradition. Every winter, we meet there. We rest and prepare for taking the Path in the spring.”

Your eyes fell to his hands. They were warm and comforting, though they were worn from years and years of hard labor.

“I want you…. I want you to come with me, Y/N.” Eskel’s words were quiet and hesitant. Your eyes flickered up to meet his.

“You what?”

“Only if you want to.” He was quick to add, unsure if you would even want to step foot in a witcher’s keep. Witchers hunted monsters and to many humans, you were a monster. “You don’t have to though.” He shook his head, pulling his hands away. He was fearful he’d crossed the line with saying what he did.

“Eskel, I’d love to spend the winter with you.” You reached over to place your hand on his arm. “But I…. I don’t want to invade. Kaer Morhen is your home. You should spend time with your brothers.”

“I’d…. I’d like for you to meet them. If you want to, that is.”

You gazed at him for a few moments, heart racing at the idea of him introducing you to his family. A smile spread across your lips and you nodded your head.

“I’d love to meet them.”

***

You stuck close to Eskel as he led you out of the stables and towards the castle.

“What if they don’t like me?” You quietly asked him, turning your head to look at the witcher.

“Don’t be ridiculous. They’ll love you.”

You couldn’t help but feel anxious. Your stomach twisted up into knots. But what if they didn’t love you? What if they didn’t even like you? What if they viewed your kind as less than them simply because you were Elvan? What if they attacked you like the humans did? Surely you wouldn’t survive three witchers.

Eskel could hear your heart beat faster and the way your breath seemed to catch in your throat. Your hand on his arm tightened too, almost to the point of hurting.

He came to a stop and turned to face you.

“You’re scared.”

You couldn’t meet his gaze, your eyes finding the tall tower that peered over one of the stone walls in the courtyard.

Eskel placed two fingers beneath your chin and turned your head so that you had no choice but to look at him. Warm pools of honey gazed at you, tender and affectionate.

“Tell me why you are scared.” He spoke quietly. “Is it because they are witchers?”

“No, Eskel.” You shook your head, pulling his hand from your chin so you could lace your fingers together. “That’s…. That’s not it at all.”

“Then please tell me. I don’t like seeing you so scared. You have no reason to be.”

You turned your head away from him again, fixating your eyes on the tower. You were quiet for a few moments, trying to think of the right words to use.

“It’s…. Eskel, it’s because of me.” You turned your head to look at him but you could only hold his gaze for a split second before looking down to the medallion on his chest. “Not only am I Elvan, but I don’t…. I don’t conform to what many think of as ‘normal’ even for an Elf. I don’t fit nicely into a ‘male’ or ‘female’ slot. I’ve been persecuted because of my race and who I identify as. I’ve-Eskel, I have been attacked for something I can’t control, for being me.” Your voice broke and you shook your head. “And that punishment is often inflicted on those I’m with. I’m worried about how they will treat you for being with me. You have enough to deal with, with the outside world. I’d never want to make your home unsafe for you or to make you feel unwelcome. I don’t want the ones you love to treat you that way.”

His brows furrowed together softly and a frown became etched on to his scarred lips. Sadness filled his eyes.

“Y/N, you don’t deserve anything that’s happened to you because of who you are.” He pulled you in for a hug, his big arms wrapping tightly around you. His hand came up to the back of your head, cradling you to his chest. “You are the kindest person I’ve ever met. You are compassionate and thoughtful and caring. And you’re brilliant and funny. You deserve to be treated based on your personality, not on what you are or identify as.”

You held him tightly, inhaling his scent and letting him comfort you.

He pulled away first, large hands coming up to cup your cheeks.

“You are perfect just the way you are, Y/N.” Eskel leaned forward to kiss your lips tenderly. “And I promise you that you have nothing to fear from meeting my brothers. They won’t think any different of me and they definitely won’t hurt you. We know what it is like to be judged by our appearances, Y/N. We’re witchers for crying out loud.” He chuckled a little, though it was sad.

You nodded your head, squeezing his hand and smiling softly at him.

“Thank you, Eskel.”

“I’m only telling you the truth, my love.” He placed a kiss on your cheek and turned to walk towards the keep.

***

Your grip on his hand tightened as the large doors to the castle were pushed open by Eskel.

“Just so you know, we have a few extra guests this year.” He whispered to you. He could hear talking and laughter coming from the main room, and thanks to his enhanced hearing, he could tell that there were many more people there than just his brothers.

The large doors creaked shut behind you both.

“What?” Your eyes widened, a little panicked and caught off guard.

“They’re all friends, practically family.” He explained, bringing your hand up to kiss your knuckles. “People we’ve met along the Path. Well, mostly Geralt. He has a habit of bringing in strays.”

As you both turned the corner, the chattering stopped and all eyes turned to you two, though you felt as if they were more focused on you than Eskel. There were a few seconds where you thought for sure everything was going to be terrible. But then an ashen haired man stood from the table and moved to greet Eskel.

You let him go and stepped aside so the flock of people could say their hellos and hug Eskel.

“Who are you?” A man with brown hair and yellow eyes asked, moving towards you. On his chest was the same medallion that Eskel had.

“Y/N.” You smiled politely and held your hand out. He looked at your hand and stuffed his into the pockets of his trousers. You put your hand down, suddenly feeling like maybe trying to shake his hand wasn’t a good idea.

“Where are you from, Y/N?”

“Ignore him.” An older man dawning the same medallion brought his hand down on the brunet’s shoulder. “Vesemir.” He held his hand out for you.

“Vesemir.” You repeated, a smile forming on your lips. You shook his hand. “I-I’ve heard so much about you. Eskel, he talks about you a lot.”

“Oh, please.” The brunet rolled his eyes. “Eskel’s a suck up.”

“It’s good to see you too, Lambert.” Eskel moved around the two witchers to stand at your side. He introduced you to everyone and for a moment, you were a little overwhelmed with the attention. But then they started to return to their tables and you were able to breathe.

“Not so bad, is it?” Eskel asked you quietly as he laced your fingers together.

“No.” You smiled softly. “I like them.”

“Nice of you to finally bring Y/N to Kaer Morhen.” The white haired man said, yellow eyes finding you.

“Y/N, this is Geralt.” Eskel gestured to the man.

“The White Wolf.” You nodded, smiling.

“Don’t encourage him.” Lambert rolled his eyes, swatting a hand in your direction, and then he went to the table.

“Geralt is just fine.” Geralt said. “I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Before you had a chance to ask what he meant by that, he was walking back to the table too.

You looked at Eskel.

“You’ve told your family about me?” You asked him quietly, a little smile pulling at your lips.

“Just Geralt.” Eskel blushed a little.

Someone called for you both and when you looked at the table, a colorfully dressed brunet man was waving you two over.

Eskel slipped his arm around your waist and guided you towards the table.

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen.”

Taglist: @pressedinthepages @mishafaye @whitewolfandthefox @wolfyland07 @belalugosisdead @persephonehemingway @keira-hulmaster @dinonuggs69 @greatestauthorofmygeneration @shadow-hunters-lover @dancingwith-thesunflowers @tedi-fach-las @thecomfortofoldstorries @raspberrydreamclouds @natkowaa @disasteren @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @onlyhenrys @wackylurker @criminaly-supernatural @magpie343 @permanently-exhausted-witcher @hina-chans-stuff @the-space-between-heartbeats @havenoffandoms @carriebee1 @ger-bearofrivia @naominami @writingawaymylife @reaganjenelle @theawkwardpedestrian @scarlettwitcher @badassspaceprincess @just-a-sad-donut @summersong69 @an--actual--human--disaster @rubyqueen819 @omgkatinka @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @vonxcon @mazakeen @bravelittlesunflower @thereagles @awkward-turtles-world @menalliha @cotton_mo @maan24 @thefirelordm @monkeymo @krenee1drful @nympha-door-a @unadulteratedtreecrusade @Aquarius-pisces-rose @mentallyscreamingsincebirth @fl0ating @she-wolfoftheinquisition @titaniafire

#eskel ask #Eskel x reader #Eskel fluff #the witcher #Eskel #kacey answers

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bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture · 4 years

Text

And we’re back for the second chapter, which is a lot shorter than the last - only half the size, thank goodness. I have a feeling this will go by somewhat faster than the first chapter, if only because there’s so much less happening per chapter and less worldbuilding to pick at.

Being up to forty followers already is actually really neat - I was expecting this project to go under the radar a bit longer. Thank you for all the likes and comments, and especially the reblogs!

[No. 2 - Roaring Muscles]

Have to admit that the title page is definitely something - it’s deliberately styled in the same format as Western comic book covers. And in so, you can really see the difference in art style between the Westernized All Might and Horikoshi’s normal style for Izuku.

The next page is a full body shot of All Might posing (RIP all the pens that died inking that one image), with some background panels covering the basics about the man - that his age and quirk are unknown, and that his strength has made him popular even since his debut. He’s got a lot of merch, branding, magazine covers, newspaper headlines, movie adaptations, etc etc. and, of course, that creepy fucking mask.

If Izuku has one of those, I am both disappointed and completely not surprised. I both look forward to and dread the day someone draws him wearing that monstrosity. Also-

Is that the same keychain Ochako gets during the Secret Santa swap in some hundred and twenty or so chapters?

Alright, not the same one, but a similar pose. Not surprising, since I doubt Hori even remembered this panel at the point Ochako was given it, but it would have been an interesting little callback if it had been.

Moving on, we learn that since he became active, there’s been a notable decrease in the appearance rate of villains - with a graph showing the decline. His existence alone is a deterrent to villainy, which in no way will cause issues decades down the line. But yeah, basically Izuku confirms that All Might’s earned his title of ‘Symbol of Peace’ - and that the same man with so many accolades just told him he could be a hero.

(That last panel, of just Toshinori and Izuku, which is so uncluttered compared to the other panels… mmm, gotta love it. Makes it feel so much more poignant and dreamlike, which it probably was to Izuku at the time.)

The next page gets right to where we left off, with Izuku on the ground crying his eyes out while his mind plays through all the doubts and negative words thrown at him over the past chapter years. However, he’s finally heard what he’s always wanted to hear from this Alolan Exeggutor lookin’ dude:

Who also happens to be the No. 1 hero and Izuku’s idol. Izuku wonders if he could wish for anything more than that, so of course, Exeg- I mean Toshinori continues on, saying Izuku is worthy of inheriting his power. Which snaps Izuku out of his happy crying to actually look up at his idol, confused as heck.

BABEY.

But yeah, Toshinori laughs at Izuku’s expression and says that it’s a proposal, and that there’s work to be done. Also, this is the first instance of ‘my boy’ shown in the manga - while I know in Japanese it’s supposed to be just a translation of ‘young man’ or something close, I choose to see it in a different manner, as per my Dad Might agenda:

Look, you have to admit things went from 0 to 100 real fucking fast here, I will not take criticism on my interpretation. While we’re on the topic of ‘0 to 100’:

Toshinori please get that checked that’s a lot of blood jesus fuck. But yeah, he offers Izuku his power (which outside a shounen manga is questionable, kids, don’t trust that.) Izuku is still confused, naturally, so Toshinori clarifies he means his quirk. He explains how the tabloids like to guess what his quirk is, while he avoids answering with jokes, because All Might has to come off as a natural born hero.

(Also that dramatic posing, he’s such a fucking loser, I love him so much.)

You can really fucking tell he’s a performer at heart. I feel like it fits with his love of movies too - he probably liked acting out the dramatic hero speeches and fights in old superhero movies. Which I mean, also makes sense since heroes in the current era are as much actors and performers as they are public servants who handle crime and disasters.

Toshinori explains his quirk was passed down to him like the Olympic torch, which Izuku mentally stumbles over, and when that is confirmed, Izuku falls into a dazed rambling over this, completely tuning out of the outside world; he thinks about all the previous theories put out there, then basically confirming that his power being passed on is nothing anyone has ever considered, in part because there’s so little known about quirks, and even the reason ‘quirk’ [which in Japanese is ‘Individuality’] is used, because they’re unique to the person who wields said power.

(Also, I want to know what the other six mysteries of the world are, Izuku. Why won’t you share that important tidbit with us? Worry about the quirk later!)

Toshinori cuts into his rambling, asking if Izuku really doubts him and that it’s nonsense, he has secrets but he doesn’t outright lie. Izuku does snap out and try to apologize, but Toshinori continues on:

One For All. Certainly a power that comes with no downsides, hidden legacies, or enough mysteries to fill the other six damned slots of the mysteries of the world. Izuku repeats the name slowly, and Toshinori goes on to explain it:

A small detail to note, there’s eight lights in the background, already revealing how many holders there currently are at this point. Notice how much weaker OFA must have been back at the beginning, compared to the power Toshinori has, and then expand that to what Izuku starts out with. And interestingly, it’s called a ‘crystalline network of power’, and that it ‘links those crying out to be saved and those with brave and true hearts.’ For our first description of OFA, it… sure seems poetic and almost romantic. Wonder if that will hold up in the chapters to come.

Anyways, moving on from that, Izuku asks why him, and Toshinori says he’s been looking for a successor, and that he believes Izuku worthy. Even as someone who is quirkless and a ‘mere hero admirer’, he was more heroic than anyone else there. Izuku tears up again, and Toshinori slaps himself in the forehead, saying it all depends on what Izuku says.

Izuku gets to his feet and rubs away the tears, thinking about what he’s been told and how Toshinori’s greatest secrets (hah) have been divulged to him. He asks himself if he has reason to refuse, and immediately decides that no, he doesn’t, and tells Toshinori he accepts while reaffirming he’s got no reason to refuse. Toshinori says he expected nothing less than that quick answer.

Seriously, look at the intensity of that reply, he is down and willing to do this. No second guessing, no hesitation.

This seems like a good stopping point, since the second half of the chapter is all the training, including the montages, so I’ll finish things up in the next one (yes, I know, not taking five posts to get to the point, who would have thought?) and we can get into the crazy fun stuff.

#chapter 2 #opening arcs #readthrough #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #yagi toshinori #midoriya izuku #ofa afo #figures I should tag that since this is the first mention of what it's all about #we'll see how that explanation gets built on later #also no hesitation at all #Izuku is READY for that quirk #which makes sense when he wants to be 'the strongest hero... like All Might'

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 5 years

Text

Imagine

Reader and Erik take a bae-cation after Reader has her baby. She is having breast pains from breastfeeding so Erik suggests soothing her.

Warnings: Smut, Fluff,

[Side note: Writing this made me so horny....]

Baby girl and her Baby Daddy decided to stay in a fancy hotel in Vegas for the weekend while her mom, Miss Pam, watched their handsome baby boy Omari. Omari was a 9lbs 10oz baby with a head full of shiny jet black curls, droopy cheeks, and fat arms and legs that reminded you of the michelin tire man. Erik made her put in a two week notice with her job in medical billing and coding because he wanted her to be home with their son. He had enough money to take care of all three of them. Y/N didn’t like that at first but she eventually agreed to it. She was actually very happy that she did. Taking this bae-cation with Erik for the weekend was already hard since she couldn’t be near her son. Currently, Y/N and Erik decided to hit up the casino so Erik could play his blackjack. He’s so good at it that he played in a few tournaments and won a lot of money. He was known in that casino for his skills. Y/N knew he was going to win every game so she went off on her own to play at the slot machines. Erik has all the luck while Y/N doesn’t. She lost every game at those slots.

“Fuck this, bruh,” She got up from the cramped seat, adjusting her denim skirt, “This is some bullshit. Let me go get Baby Daddy because I’m hungry for some wings.”

Y/N began to walk away but an elderly lady that was seated next to her kindly taps her on the shoulder. Y/N smiles at the woman before approaching her chair.

“Sugar, did you recently have a little one?” She asks in a smooth tone that reminded her of her grandmother.

“Yes, ma’am,” Y/N smiles with her dimples, “A boy, his name is Omari.”

“I bet he is very handsome. I’m only asking because,” The Elserly woman lowered her voice to almost a mumble. She didn’t need to, the casino was very loud, “You look to be leaking from your breasts-“

“OH MY GOSH,” Y/N began to panic, covering her aching breasts, “Is it bad?!”

“Sweetheart, calm down,” The elderly lady laughs lightly, “It’s alright baby, it happens, do you have a jacket?”

“I do,” Y/N left it with Erik, “It’s with my boyfriend.”

“Where is he located?” The elderly lady got up from her seat, standing at about 4ft.

“One of the blackjack tables,” Y/N takes the elderly ladies offered hand.

“Let’s go find him and get your jacket-“

“You don’t have to ma’am, honestly-“

“No, but I insist,” She was persistent just like her nana,” “Come on sugar, I’d like to meet this young man.”

———————-

Once again, Erik wins. He ignored the jealous and vengeful looks from the other men whose whores huddled around them with their arms draped over their shoulders. The Experienced Table Games Dealer gathers all of Erik’s winnings, instructing him to take it to the Cashier. With his winnings stored away, Erik grabs Y/N’s jacket, ready to head for the slot machines but he spots her with a little old lady dressed in outrageous floral patterned clothing. She was hugging the front of her breasts with one arm while the other was being held by the little old woman. Confused, Erik walks you to them, giving Y/N and the elderly lady a smile.

“What’s going on here? How are you doing,” Erik held his hand out for the elderly lady to shake, “I’m Erik.”

“Dorothy,” She spoke with kindness that warmed Erik’s heart, “So this is the handsome father of your son Omari?”

“Yes” Y/N smiles, “This is him. Did you win, baby?”

“You know I did,” Erik held up his winnings, “I was just about to come get you so we can cash this out and get something to eat. So, what’s going on?”

“You’re lovely lady here had a bit of an accident,” The elderly lady discretely points to Y/N’s breasts, “I noticed at the slot machines and decided to walk over with her. She needs a jacket, young man.”

Erik’s eyes traveled towards Y/N’s arm draped over her breasts, “Baby, you didn’t put the pads in like I reminded you to?”

“I did.”

“Okay,” Erik places his winnings on his seat, grabbing Y/N’s jacket, and helping her put it on whole his chest was close to hers so no one would see, “Thank you Miss Dorothy-“

“Yes, thank you so much, you didn’t have to do this for me at all,” Y/N hugs Miss Dorothy close, “You are so sweet Miss Dorothy.”

“Anytime sweetie,” Miss Dorothy squeezes Erik’s hand, “Take care of her, handsome? She’s a good one I can tell.”

“Oh, I know, I got her, Miss Dorothy,” Erik gave her a charming smile filled with dimples and shiny teeth with a little gold, “You take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will! I need to head back to my friends before the bus leaves,” Miss Dorothy waves one final goodbye, “Tell Omari that Miss Dorothy says hello!”

“We will!” Y/N waves before turning back to Erik, “she’s such a sweet lady, baby.”

“She is,” Erik rubs Y/N’s shoulder, “Let’s get back to the room so you can change.”

Erik wraps his arm around Y/N’s shoulder as they walked to the Cashier so he could cash in his winnings before heading to the hotel.

——————————

“That’s a lot of winnings, baby.”

Y/N watches Erik handle all the money, 10 thousand dollars of it.

“I could have won more but those motherfuckers needed a break from the ass whipping I gave em’.”

Y/N was standing in front of a wall length mirror near their hotel closet. She was currently adding the padding to her nipples to help absorb the milk that flowed from her heavy breasts.

“You need some help, Baby girl?” Erik spoke while stretched out on the bed, twirling a single dread, “You liked how I did it the last time.”

“Yes, please,” Y/N stops, looking through the mirror watching Erik get up from the bed, shirtless and sexy as he walks over to Y/N. Her large breasts still leaked a little so she grabs a rag to dab it gently. Erik stood over her short frame from behind, taking the pads in his hand, and reaching around to lift one of her generous breasts so he could have a good eye for where to place the pads.

“Ouch,” Y/N fusses when he lifted her breast, “Baby, they’re still sensitive...be gentle.”

“I’m sorry, love,” Erik loosened his hold, “Better?”

“Mhm,” She watched as her milk spilled onto Erik’s hand, “Erik, be quick! It’s leaking more.”

“Calm down, and relax,” Erik places the pads, “Now pass me some of that hospital tape.”

Y/N hands Erik some of the skin safe hospital tape.

“Thank you,” Erik accepts pieces of tape from Y/N while he placed them around the padding to keep it in place, “Okay, let me do the next one,” Erik looked over Y/N’s shoulder, slowly lifting her breast and watching as little droplets of milk spilled on his fingers. He adds the pads, quietly accepting the tape, and securing the pads. She was all finished.

“This is a lot better,” Y/N takes her bra from off of the ironing board that she used before they went to the casino, “Thanks, Daddy.”

“Anytime, love,” Erik kisses her jaw, “You wanna get something food?”

“Wings!” Y/N shouts.

“Okay,” Erik trailed his kisses to her neck, “You still smell like Omari.”

“I’ve been attached to his chunky butt for months now. I can’t get his smell off of me.”

Omari smelled like peaches and cream.

“Mmm,” Erik hums before backing away, he looks down at his fingers still wet with milk.

Erik sucks on his fingers before sitting back onto the bed. The taste was creamy and sweet on his tongue. Like custard. He licks his lips, thighs swaying back and forth on the bed because his dick was growing in his jeans. He’d never tasted Y/N’s breast milk. So this is what Omari was receiving all the time like a starving child? Erik already feels left out. Y/N’s breasts once played an important role in the sexual relationship that they both shared. Now that she is breastfeeding, Erik feels as though her breasts are off limits, or no longer a part of that sexual relationship. Erik feels that Y/N’s milk-filled breasts are now reserved for the relationship that she shares with Omari, and that's something he doesn’t feel part of. He just wanted to feel included and not jealous Everytime he looked his son in his grey eyes while he sucked on his mama.

“After we eat, can we swim?” Y/N missed going to the beach and the pool.

“Yeah, Thats fine with me, baby, anything for you.”

—————————

Y/N had Erik’s attention while they sat in Hooters eating. Her breasts were resting on the table since she had to lean over to eat her wings. Erik could see why she was sensitive and in pain. Deep veins could be seen peeking through her skin. They were engorged more than he remembered them to be. Over abundant with milk supply. He wasn’t drooling from the siracha wings he was munching on. He was drooling because he wanted to taste her sugary milk again. It reminded him of the milk after eating a bowl of sweetened cereal for breakfast.

“What?” Y/N couldn’t ignore Erik’s eyes as they watched her, “Do I have blue cheese on my face or something?”

“Nah, You’re just beautiful that’s all. What? I can’t stare at my baby, hm?”

Y/N blushes, “You can, Daddy. I like it when you look at me.”

“You should have worn a different shirt,” Erik’s eyes traveled down to her cleavage poking through her shirt, “You know them breasts got bigger they can’t fit in your shirts like they used to.”

“Why do you think I wear all your t-shirts? I have to go shopping again.”

“I should beat your ass for showing off like that,” Erik smirks while chewing.

“They’re yours so why does it matter?”

Erik leans forward on the table, “Because, I don’t wanna have to gauge a niggas eyes out for looking.”

“Daddy, don’t be violent,” Y/N spoke in a sweet voice.

“You make me more violent when you dress like that.”

Y/N sat back in her chair, straightening her back causing her breasts to poke out more. Erik had a few things in mind that he could do to those breasts. Take his hard dick, some body oil, and her big ass titties, squeeze his dick between and coat it with the oil so he could fuck her titties. Then there was the desire to be breast fed. Erik is so turned on by Y/N’s lactating and sore breasts. He couldn’t ignore the sexual fantasy that involves breastfeeding. Erotic lactation and adult breastfeeding was a new kink of his. He wanted to take Omari’s place and suck on Y/N’s breasts while she ran her fingers through his hair and whispered things like:

There you go, baby, that’s it, suck on mamas breasts.

Do you want some more? You’re so greedy.

Look how much of my milk comes out! You make me lactate more, I love that.

If she could say things like:

Daddy, the more you suck, the more my titties will milk and it’s already too much.

It may hurt when you suck on them...you suck harder than Omari...they’re so sensitive.

Daddy...Omari needs some milk too. You can’t be stingy like that...

His dick was iron hard. Erik wanted to unbutton and unzip his pants so his dick could sprang free. All the blood in his body felt like it rushed to his dick. If he squeezed it, there would be resistance for sure, his dick feeling like a pipe covered in flesh.

“Are you not hungry anymore?” Y/N grabs a siracha wing for herself, “You usually eat everything. Something must be on your mind.”

“I’m just thinking about going back to that hotel with you. You need to take care of something for me.”

“And what’s that?” Y/N looked up through her lashes at him.

“You’ll see. Let’s take this shit to go.” Erik looked around before spotting their waiter, a pretty brown-skinned girl with a bright red weave, motioning for her to come over.

“Anything else for you guys?”

“Nah, can we have some to-go boxes?” Erik pulled out his wallet.

“Sure! I’ll be back,” She walked away with a sway of her thick hips.

“Can we still go swimming?” Y/N asks while eating one more fry.

“Yeah, but not for long though.” Erik wanted to rip that top she had on right down the middle, pull down the cups of her bra, snatch those pads off, and go to town on her nipples. He imagined himself thrashing his tongue before sucking softly. He envisioned her milk dripping down the sides of his mouth and to his chin.

“What’s taking her so damn long? I only asked for boxes not another fucking meal,” Erik complained.

“Why are you acting like that? She’s coming,” Y/N rolls her eyes before throwing a French fry at his chest, “Big meany.”

The Big Meany in my pants is suffering, Erik thought.

“Finally,” Erik spoke with exhaustion as he spots their waiter walking over with a few bags and to-go containers.

“Thanks, girl,” Y/N accepts it.

“No dessert?” The waiter looked at Y/N and Erik expectantly.

“Nope-“

“Can I have a slice of cheesecake, please?”

Erik’s jaw tightened.

“Sure! Just the one?”

“Make it two. He likes the Oreo cookie one. I’ll take the original with extra whipped cream.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

Erik wanted to fuss but he knew he would want that cheesecake later.

“Pick your lip up, Daddy, your pouting,” Y/N giggles, “You must be horny.”

“I am,” Erik shakes his head at her, “It’s your fucking fault.”

“Aww, I’m so sorry, Daddy.”

Erik’s mean mug made Y/N explode with laughter, her breasts smushing into the edge of the table. She winced, little whimpers escaping her mouth while she cuffed her breasts.

“They are so damn sore,” Y/N complains, “I just want to take this bra off and let my titties free.”

“Shit,” Erik spoke, “They that filled up, huh?”

“Yes. Omari will have a lot from me when we get home.”

Me too, he thought.

————————-

They pool was empty enough for both of them to enjoy but Erik was too busy watching Y/N swim back and forth. She made Erik take a few pictures of her in her swimsuit for her instagram since she’s a famous plus size Youtuber. She does clothing halls, hair, and makeup. They had been down there for only 40 minutes but it felt like five hours.

“Baby,” Erik called out to her, watching her float with her breasts poked out.

“Why aren’t you swimming?!” Y/N splashed him, “You are a party pooper.”

“Because Daddy is horny and he need you to take care of him right now.”

Y/N swam to the pool ladder, climbing out, water dripping from her body. She walked over to Erik, grabbing their towels.

“Let’s go then. You’re lucky I want some dick.”

Erik stood up, grabbing the towel from her, “You we’re gonna give me some puss either way so don’t say that.”

They made their way back to the room, Y/N keying in, flicking on only the hallway light while everything else was dark. This was the only light they really needed. Erik grabs their towels, tossing them in a wrinkled pile in the corner near the door, and wrapping his arms around Y/N’s waist. She giggles, one hand coming up to cup his cheek.

“You feel so good on Daddy’s dick, baby,” Erik murmured, “Touch Daddy’s dick so you can see what I’m talking about.”

Y/N reached behind her, a gasp escaping her mouth when her fingers ran up the length of him.

“That’s all for you...this dick is what nutted in that phat pussy...got all my nut in there...and look at you, gave birth to my son. He made you look even more sexier than you already were. Thicker...ass phatter, titties bigger,” Erik grinds his hips onto her ass, “These big ass titties filled with all that food for my son...Omari probably miss his mama titty in his mouth.”

“Damn, Daddy,” Y/N was super wet, “You’re nasty self.”

“Too bad I got mama all weekend. Now both titties gon’ be in my mouth.”

“Jealous?” Y/N teased.

“Fuck yeah. Daddy is jealous, baby. Omari gets all the milk and sucking while I get nothing? Ain’t fair, baby.”

“Erik...Daddy...you want some of my milk?” She was astonished.

“It taste so good.” Erik French kisses her neck, “so sweet. I liked it off my fingers earlier. Mmm, yummy.”

She could feel herself lactate.

“You gon’ let that milk drip on my tongue?”

“Fuck,” Y/N whimpers.

“Can mama breast feed me too?” The way he asked that caused Y/N’s nipples to harden.

Y/N thought about all the benefits to Erik sucking on her titties while she breast feeds him. Y/N is so sensitive to breast or nipple stimulation and she can’t help but to experience sexual feelings while breastfeeding. Breastfeeding Erik could bring about an unexpected and enjoyable aspect to their sexual relationship. Then there was the factor that the additional stimulation and removal of milk at T/N’s breast can naturally trigger her body to make more breast milk. Erik would have a much stronger suck than Omari and he could help drain her more and prevent the pain she feels.

“Yes...I’m in a lot of pain when it’s so heavy and I can’t drain them since I’m not home,” Y/N’s eyelids fluttered shut, “I can breast feed you, Daddy, but you have to be careful, okay?”

Erik grunts, his eyes in slits while he removed Y/N’s swimsuit top, “I promise I’ll take real good care of you. Damn, I just want it so bad. My dick is so hard, baby, fuck, can you suck it for me?”

Y/N didn’t say a word as she turns around, getting in her knees, pulling Erik’s trunks down. His dick was indeed hard. Deep veins fat with blood under the brown skin of his dick. The tip of his thickness so swollen and purpled from all the blood. Balls tight like he was ready to cum. Dick thicker and longer since the sight of her on her knees turned him on. He just wanted it sucked so damn bad.

“Come on, ma,” Erik grabs the back of her head, “You taking to long for me.”

Y/N wraps her lips around him, Erik’s head falling back. His ass clenched when her lips went back and forth tightly on his dick.

“Fuck fuck FUCK.” He held her head in place so she wouldn’t move away.

“Mmm,” She moaned with his dick deep in her mouth.

“I’m so fucking hard,” He hisses, “Suck it like that, baby, fuck.”

She had him seeing stars.

“Keep sucking on me and watch how much cum I make you swallow you nasty bitch.”

Y/N went faster.

“Oh? Oh yeah? Hmph, yeah?”

She slurped and gurgled around him.

“SHIT.” Erik could feel himself ready to erupt, “Fucking yes, baby, mmmm, please Daddy, yessssss, Mhm, fuck!”

Y/N’s nose pressed into Erik’s groomed pubic hair while he explodes down her throat. Erik pulls his dick out slowly, his eyes staring down at his shiny it is and still very very hard.

“Let me suck on you. I’m hungry.”

Y/N got up from the floor, Erik grabbing her neck to kiss her. She sucked on his bottom lip, earning a smack to her ass.

“Get in the bed right fucking now.”

Y/N went to lay on the bed, her breasts splayed out for him and him only. Erik walked up to her, crawling in the bed to rest between her legs. He gently removed the pads and tape from her nipples. Once she was free, he could already see her milk spilling. It rolled down the sides of her breasts since the fell off to the sides from being so damn heavy. Erik picks her left breast up, Y/N whimpering.

“Daddy, please be gentle.”

“I promise, I promise,” Erik took in a deep breath before opening his mouth, his tongue dragging over her entire areola and nipple. Y/N moans, her eyes closing while her chest pushed further into his mouth.

“So sweet and tastes yummy, girl,” Erik sucked, “fuck, yes.”

Y/N could not stare at the erotic sight, watching Erik’s full lips suck on her sensitive nipple and his thick tongue drag over it so desperately made her reach between her legs to rub her clit.

“Daddy, you’re making them feel better,” She bites her bottom lip, “Umph, Daddy that feels so good.”

Her soft spoken voice and the taste of her milk had Erik’s dick leaking with precum.

“Daddy...please...suck on me,” Y/N moves his head so he can show the other breast some attention.

“I got you, baby girl,” He gave her the same pleasant torture that had her pussy dripping to the bed.

“Mmm, My pussy is so wet,” She licks her lips while watching Erik lightly suck on her, “Daddy, my pussy is so wet.”

“You want me to put my dick in you, huh?”

“Please,” Y/N’s legs went wider.

“If I do that I’m cumming in you deep. I want that puss messy. Gon’ have all my cum swimming in there fucking around with me. You want this dick I’m impregnating your fine ass again.”

“Yes!” Y/N could feel Erik’s dick spread her pussy lips. Her hand left her clit, both of them cumming up to grip his shoulders.

“Remember how I got that ass knocked up? I fucked the pussy just like this didn’t I? And you still remember to keep them legs wide for Daddy, mm, girl.”

His dick slid into her tightness. Pussy still tight even after pushing out a 9lb baby.

“Ooooo, this shit is super wet,” Erik looked down at his dick, “you making a big mess on Daddy,” His lips went back to her titties like they never left, “Make a big mess in Daddy’s mouth too with all this milk.”

Erik moved his tongue over her nipples so good her body shivered, that didn’t include the way he beat her walls up. He was up in a push-up position with all his strength as his dick drilled in and out. He was fucking her pussy so hard that Y/N felt her body bouncing. He was really horny for her. She could do nothing but moan and gasp while Erik sat up with a milk covered chin. He used his hands to hold the back of her thighs while his dick went in and out...in and out with just the power of his hips. Y/N’s toes curled. She could see her breasts lactate while Erik fucked her.

“I’m fucking that pussy, baby?”

He had the nerve.

“Look at you, creaming on me,” Erik swiveled his hips inside of her, “And I feel that pussy, cum on me while I bust this phat pussy open!”

He seemed to go faster and faster each time. His dick was damn near a blur. Y/N pushed at his chest, her eyes shutting and mouth unhinged as she squirted and orgasmed on his dick. Her lungs burned with the deep breath she took. He was still going, another orgasm hitting her suddenly. She thought her pussy wouldn’t be able to work like this again after pushing out Omari but boy, was she wrong.

Erik sucked on her breasts before licking milk from his lips, “You just keep leaking. My dick is deep in here, baby, and my balls ready to empty all my nut in this phat puss.”

“Fuck, Daddy, fuck,” Y/N’s thighs shook, “Daddy, I love the way you suck on my nipples...I love the way you fuck me.”

“You beautiful, bitch,” Erik was cumming, “I’m forever gon’ be your Baby Daddy. Have all my kids. Give me all the milk I can have.”

“Yes! Yes!”

He growled, his nails sinking into her thighs, Y/N’s hips lifting off the bed. Erik’s dick made her pussy spread wider because of how thick he gets when he is about to cum. Like a present, Erik gifted his Baby Girl with more of his seed. He still stroked and Y/N could feel just how thick and veiny he is because of her wet pussy and all his cum. She could even feel the shape of the head of his dick as he slowly stroked her phat cunt to empty all of him. He was so textured and big. Her eyes rolled shut, Erik not helping by leaning forward to suck on her nipples. His dick made her pussy jump around him. Y/N pouts, pushing at Erik. He didn’t move. He still slow stroked.

“Don’t push me again,” He spoke through clenched teeth.

“Daddy, my pussy can’t take no more.”

“You gon’ take me. Got these big ass titties spilling milk and this pussy creaming. Ain’t no way Daddy finished with you. Just wait, watch how you end up pregnant.”

Y/N was in for a long ass night.

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#killmonger imagine #killmonger x reader #killmonger fanfiction #nahimjustfeelingit-writes #erik killmonger

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skzafterdusk · 4 years

Text

lee minho + "And July"

request from the Dean Title Track List

tags: vampire!reader, immortal!minho, daddy kink

The sun has already set; you can tell that much. If it hadn’t been for the darkening cracks in your closed blinds, you would have never noticed the way the room around you has grown dim. You could turn on the kitchen light, flicker on a lamp in the living room, but you were almost petrified in your spot on the kitchen counter; your right leg bent so your arm could rest on your knee, and your left leg dangling over the edge. Any bruises you probably had on your face hours ago have already healed, the pain long gone, as well.

Minho’s body is just in eyesight from where you’re sitting. Splayed out and unmoving, you pay close attention to this heart in his chest that remains still. You’d snapped his neck hours ago, but you count down the moments.

10 metaphorical heart beats…

9…

8…

7…

The silence should be deafening with not a single breath to inhale. But you quite enjoyed the feeling. Even after years of being undead yourself...to not need the oxygen in your lungs...but to prefer it. Odd.

5…

4…

You like to wonder if this time will be different. So many shows would like to have you believe that coming back to life is like crashing into your own body, the sudden way one wakes up after dreaming of falling to their demise. Minho never came back in that manner.

3...2...1…

It’s always the first beat of the heart. The first noise to fill the apartment in so many hours. Then it’s the rush of blood as they circulate through his veins. And he takes his first breath...his lungs fill with a mighty gulp of air...but he remains still. And it’s the softest sound, but you can almost make out the flutter of his lashes when he blinks his eyes open. And thus, Lee Minho has come back to life, yet again. And the fun shall continue.

“Good!” You exclaim, moving your stiff joints to hop down from the counter. On the impact of your bare feet hitting the floor, it’s met with the crunch of some snack-like food; chips, perhaps. But the crumbs under your feet are of no importance as you make your way through the doorway and into the living room. That is when the comparatively softer bed of broken chips turns into a gravely path of broken glass. Never the most comfortable, but you’ll live.

Minho is just beginning to stir, sitting up in his spot and going to nurse his head as if he suffered from a night of drinking heavily, to the point where his body screamed at him in agony from the inside out.

“You’re awake,” you say cheerfully, a too innocent grin on your lips.

The man huffs as he rubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms. “You bitch.” Such a simple statement that holds the weight of his anger.

Anger, of course, that can only spell fun for you.

“You’ve called me much worse.” Your statement only holds objective truth.

He’s finally able to stand up, slow at first, but his energy seems to flow through him once his eyes land on you. Are you the predator or prey? It’s usually so hard to tell, really.

He stalks towards you in an instant, making sure to crowd your space and look down at you from under his nose. “Why the fuck did you kill me?”

You shrug with a scoff, electing to move past him and further into the living room. You’d left it in disarray after you guys had begun fighting. Drinking glasses hurled at walls, chairs and tables strewn about. You go to turn on that lamp, the only one still managing to stand after the hurricane that is you and Minho.

You’re not entirely sure what his excuse is, but immortality has left only two states of mind for you: insufferable boredom or rollercoasters of emotions. Clearly, one of them sounds more entertaining, yes?

The warm light of the lamp illuminates the chaos around you. Your voice, as you answer, doesn’t necessarily fit the current state.

“You were getting annoying. You probably would have tried to stab me if I hadn’t gotten to you first.”

Unfortunately for Minho, though, is that in some places, stabbing is quite...exhilarating.

The immortal other seems to be at a loss for words, since he decides to go to the kitchen rather than come up with a response to your excuse.

“All the time I was out and you couldn’t bother to clean this place up?” grumbles Minho, searching through a cabinet before finding the prize, a bottle of whiskey.

You turned your nose up at the sight of the bottle. You hated the taste of whiskey, and you hated even more the way Minho’s blood tastes after he had his fill. It was a sure way to make sure you didn’t feed on him, which must be the payback for...well...yknow.

“I didn’t make the mess by myself. We clean it together if you’re so worried about it.”

He doesn’t even bother getting a glass (possibly he wouldn’t be able to find one), just tears the cap away and starts taking swigs.

“Only thing I’m worried about is how I’m gonna get you back for snapping my neck.”

You roll your eyes as you lean against the wall adjacent to the kitchen doorway. He’d turned on the dim fluorescent light. The scar on his lip and cheek are still there because his bruises don’t heal quickly like yours. No matter for you. You’ve always preferred the look of him a little beaten up.

“Think this through, babe,” you start. “If you try anything, you’ll be stuck with this messy place until I can wake up.”

He makes sure to take a longer drink before slamming the bottle on the counter. Again, as he stalks towards you, he almost looks like the predator, like he’s capable of doing any real harm to you. He’d get pleasure out of it, regardless.

His grip is firm when he grabs your face, fingers digging into your cheeks until they plump up and pucker your lips.

He spends a long while just examining your face, eyes flitting to your lips, searchin your eyes, observing and appreciating the slope of your nose. What he sees makes him smile; it’s a sadistic premonition for the near future, the dark behind his white teeth.

“How about I whip out the cuffs? Know how much you hate being tied down.” His breath already smells like the cursed wood barrel that stored his whiskey, but you make sure to keep your face cool, so as not to show him how he’s already getting under your skin.

“Please, you love it when I scratch you up. No need to torture yourself, as well, daddy.”

His smile drops immediately at the pet name, eyes of fire suddenly bursting with fury. “Told you never to call me that.”

You shrug. “Not my fault you can’t handle your own kinks.” He snaps your head back until it meets the wall. The angle is awkward enough for it to not cause much impact, unfortunately. “Aw,” you coo. “Did I make daddy angry?”

His hand goes down to close around your neck, just under your jaw. The air you’d been breathing cuts off immediately. He already knows it doesn’t make much difference to you, but the pleasure still starts to travel south, waking your core to the possibility of what Minho might do to you in his fit of rage.

“You’re so lucky you’re already dead. How would you and your filfthy mouth survive otherwise?”

Your time as a human started fading by the end of your second decade as a vampire. It wasn’t much of a life, and Minho had known exactly why. A survivalist like yourself knew when to speak and when to keep her mouth shut. But being at the top of the food chain...well…

“And you’re lucky you found me.” You bring a hand to rest against the hand fisted around your neck. You can feel the pulse of the veins in that hand. Maybe he didn’t drink enough to make his blood taste so strongly of the alcohol. Maybe you’ll be able to bypass it. “You know how boring your immortal life would be if I hadn’t come along?”

He laughs loudly, but no humour resides in its hearty sound. His jaw is clenched, grasp growing stronger around your neck. Cutting off circulation to veins that need not produce new or fresh blood. You’d say his efforts were all for naught, but then that wouldn’t take into consideration the way liquid fire seemed to drip from your pores in anticipation.

“Do you think I enjoy being killed?”

“Don’t make it sound like I do it that often, daddy, be reasonable.”

If you were a human in this moment, everything would have happened like a blur in front of your eyes; the way Minho dragged you from the wall, throwing your body to the floor -you probably wouldn’t have noticed the shards of glass that broke through your clothes and cut through your back-, how he suddenly was on top of you, taking one of the bigger shards and pressing the jagged edge to your throat. One wrong move as a human, and you would have been dead.

But you’re not, and the thrill that comes is not of terror, but of excitement. See? Had you been wrong?

You can feel his semi-hard length against your stomach. It makes a smarmy grin grace your lips, challenging eyes looking at his. “Fucking knew it. Daddy gets so hard-”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

With a nod, you answer matter-of-factly. “Yeah, when you’re dead. Then I don’t have anyone to play with.”

The glass must have cut Minho’s hand, for soon the sweet smell of iron fills your nostrils, and the crimson drips to the point of the glass that meets your skin. Automatically, your fangs elongate from your gums, and your mouth begins to salivate.

“Let’s stop fucking around,” you suggest, voice a mere hiss. “And let’s play some games.”

Minho doesn’t see the world as you do, doesn’t get the advantage of the same reaction time. That’s why he isn’t able to stop you before you can rip the glass from his hand and sink your teeth into the heel of his palm. It’s not the best place to bite from, but the skin there is always easiest to puncture, and the blood likes to flow freely there.

The first mouthful of blood is always bliss, so satisfying like jigsaw pieces slotting into place. It’s so euphoric, you remember you’d have tears in your eyes your first few feeds. Immortals like Minho are rare, but they’re the best source to feed from. His blood doesn’t taste any better, but he’ll be around way longer than any human can.

He grinds his hips down, looking for friction, pleasure. You pull away, reveling in the blood that slides down your throat, before sitting up, your faces breadths apart.

“Looks like daddy wants to play.”

“(Y/N)...” he only calls your name like a warning, seemingly somewhere between anger and pleasure. He still wants to have an upperhand.

Maybe tonight you’ll let him. As an apology, of course, for killing him.

#skz #stray kids #lee minho #lee know #dean title track series #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids headcanons #stray kids smut

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

didn’t know me.

pairing. jhs x reader. rating. general! we are family friendly. tags. this is just... cute. there’s a bit of swearing, teasing, mentions of beer, etc. but nothing bad. wc. 2k. beta reader. my beloved @hobi-gif and my wofe @periminkle! 💖

You’ve always been one to take the things you want, pursuing them with a ferocity your mother calls intense. You have no qualms about decorum or bashfulness. To you, if you’re not the first - you’re the last.

You’d done it all your life. First, in kindergarten, when you’d taken the orange blocks because they were your favourite colour. Then, in high school when you’d tried out for three varsity teams and made it onto all of them. More recently, at work, where you’d demanded (read: gently requested) a raise after you’d consistently been covering for your less-than-reliable manager.

If you wanted something, you went for it. There was seldom anything that could stop you - including your soft-spoken best friend.

“I’m gonna do it.”

It being asking the cute guy waiting in line for his number. It being embarrassing your poor best friend who’s got her face hidden behind your shoulder, soft blonde bangs brushing your cheek as she shakes her head in a poor attempt to deter you.

“Don’t make it weird,” she whispers into the collar of your coat, denim rough against your neck.

“You’re the one making it weird!” The hiss is quiet, gentle. More coaxing than reprimand or displeasure. This is a usual occurrence for the two of you.

Whereas you were relentless, unrepentant - rays of sunlight on the hottest day of summer - she was the softest breeze, barely a ruffle of leaves. You complemented and completed each other and had for the better part of your lives. Exactly why you’d opted to take this trip with her and only her; she was the one person who didn’t drive you absolutely insane after a certain number of days together. She filled all the empty spaces of your puzzle, rather than smothered you with her own shape.

Still, you sometimes had disagreements. Now was one of those times.

“What if he doesn’t speak English?”

She’s being far too realistic, of course, in her patented Ivy way. You have to admit - she has a point. The likelihood of this random stranger even understanding you is slim but you figure it doesn’t hurt to ask. When in Rome Okinawa, right?

“Then I’ll use Google translate,” you retort around a mouthful of laughter, the sound buzzing around your teeth. You’d think they’d stung her by how Ivy recoils, grimacing at you in the same instance you advance a step. “Wish me luck!”

She doesn’t. You don’t care.

A hand reaches out, two fingers poised.

And then he - the cute fellow customer with jet black hair and expensive sneakers on - faces you, but not because you’ve spoken. He turns because his companion has caught his attention, jerking his platinum blond head toward you. At least, you think it’s blond. You really can’t tell with how his bucket hat is pulled so low over his ears, the bottom half of his face obscured by a plain black mask.

The words die on your tongue, suddenly stolen by the sheer beauty of cute guy’s face. He’s disarmingly handsome, with high cheekbones and a perfectly upturned nose. His mouth splits - heart-shaped around bright white teeth - and you can’t help the little tumble your heart takes when he smiles. It brushes itself off before falling all over again, nearly launching itself out of your chest and at his feet.

“Hi?” There’s something lyrical about his voice, like summertime and riding in the car with the windows down. It’s also accented - peculiar in a way that’s strangely familiar. You can’t quite place it.

“Hi!” You all but chirp, probably with the dumbest look on your face. You hope your smile offsets it. “Could I have your number?”

Sunshine - because that’s his nickname for now and it feels terribly fitting - blinks at you, head tilting in a way you can only describe as adorable.

“My number?” It’s an echo, in less of a what the fuck way and more of a did-I-hear-you-right way.

You nod once, twice, a hopeful laugh rolling off your tongue. It slots into the spaces between you and settles, strangely nervous. You’re not used to the anxiety that’s thrumming through your veins and causing a ruckus in your ears.

There’s just something about him.

“Yeah, your number?” As if to illustrate your point better, you raise your phone and wave it about, tapping against the back of your fluorescent pink case. “To text you?”

Realisation dawns, passing in pretty rays over his face. “Oh!” For a moment, he seems ready to give it, every inch of his expression wide open.

Then, all at once, it falls - blinds dropping across a window. He seems deep in thought, his gaze jumping to the blond that’s now made himself comfortable at a table a few feet away, back hunched and attention focused solely on the screen of his Samsung. Your stare follows, traipsing the narrow ridge of the other’s shoulders before swivelling back to the ball of light before you.

God, you can’t get over how good looking he is. It’s almost hard to look at him, yet somehow harder to look away.

“You want… my number?”

“If that’s okay,” you murmur, with your most disarming smile. You know it’s a solid effort - you’ve won parents and bosses over with it. Three years of braces had done you good.

He’s seemingly stuck, torn between giving into the strange girl in front of him and something else you have no idea about. You can practically feel Ivy burning a hole into the back of your skull with each moment that passes. She’s definitely going to hold this against you for at least an hour.

“I can have yours?” A sleek iPhone - no case, to your horror - is fished out of his pocket and offered to you. You can’t help but admire his hands, the way his knuckles wrap around the slim device. “I’ll take your, um, number?”

It’s not what you’d expected. Truthfully, a part of you wonders whether this means he’ll take it and never use it. You hope not.

“Sure,” you agree readily, nodding with a delight that feels a little much for a chance meeting in a random mochi donut shop. You try not to dwell on it as you enter your contact details, passing the phone back over with two hands. “Don’t forget to use it!” It’s meant to be flirtatious, friendly without being too forward. You’re unsure if it’s lost on him. You think it might be by how he beams at you, offering nothing in return.

“Gaja.”

The interruption breaks the stillness between you, spoken so quietly you almost miss it. It comes low and swift from the blond that’s joined Sunshine’s side, stealing his attention from you. You try to hide your disappointment, though it’s quickly replaced by wide-eyed wonder.

You don’t mean to stare - you probably look like a fish out of water - but realisation brings with it unflattering expressions. It’s a simple fact of life.

“Kamsahamnida.” Your Korean is rusty - clearly without practice and uncomfortable on your tongue. For not the first time, you wish you’d been more receptive to your parents’ insistence that you learn.

Surprise flips across Sunshine’s face, thrusting his eyebrows to disappear behind his fringe. Then he grins, so big and unreserved that it really is blinding - like staring directly into the sky on a day without clouds. He looks on the edge of speaking - as if all the words are balanced right behind his teeth, ready to spill out with the same abandon as his joy - before Blondie repeats himself, this time with more urgency.

You’re holding them up. Oh god.

With a swiftness usually reserved for the volleyball court, you sidestep, nearly knocking a lurking best friend over in your haste. Your head is bowed - a decidedly strange gesture for you - and you glance up through a curtain of swept bangs and thick lashes. “Mianhaeyo.” You want to say more but you’re fumbling, trying to find the words you’ve never taken the time to properly study. “I… um...”

There’s a hand in yours, squeezing in reassurance. Or maybe frustration. It isn’t always easy to tell with Ivy.

“It was nice to meet you” is what you settle on.

“You too,” Sunshine returns, far too kindly, with that same brilliant smile that has your jaw aching with the intensity of your own. He’s all but ushered out the door, though he turns at the last minute to wave - a sweet thing that makes you laugh. “I will call!”

Waiting isn’t something you do well. As evidenced by your go-getter attitude, your patience tends to run thin. You want things and you want them now - but it seems that isn’t in your cards. Shit hand, you think.

So you sit and you wait and well, you’re not really sitting and waiting. You’re still living your life and enjoying your vacation. You’ve been to the beach - there’s a neat underground tower Ivy had dragged you to that had you gaping at the fish swimming by at eye level - and you’ve had probably too much taco rice than is strictly speaking necessary.

But you haven’t been able to get him out of your head and it’s driving you more than a little crazy on the third day that you haven’t heard from him.

“Are you listening to me?” It’s Ivy, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed with two intricately woven bracelets held aloft. They’re both pretty and hardly discernible in their differences. One’s blue and the other is… a slightly darker shade of blue?

“Huh?” Your thoughts are a million miles away, focused solely on the memory of a certain Sunshine boy.

“Which one!” She’s exasperated, flailing her wrists just enough that one trinket whacks you right between the eyes. Okay, so you deserved that.

You’re rubbing at the red mark, turning away in the same instant you speak. “That one.”

“That one?”

“The one on the right!”

She grumbles something that sounds awfully like I hate you but you’re too busy checking your phone to really call her on it. No new messages, save for the three group chats you’re in that absolutely refuse to shut up. You don’t count those.

“A watched pot never boils,” she hums from somewhere behind you, before lapsing into stilted Japanese with the kindly old woman behind the counter.

You know she’s right but that doesn’t change a thing. You check your phone twelve more times between exiting the small jewellery shop and stepping into the karaoke bar. It’s not really that often, you tell yourself. Most millennials sit on their phones for hours! You’re a step above, truly.

Until Airi’s husband is grilling you, poking fun at the fact that you can’t seem to tear yourself away from the device in your hands.

“Don’t forget you’re out,” he teases around the rim of his beer, arm slung comfortably across his wife’s shoulders. “Live in the moment, y’know?”

If you weren’t so close - if they weren’t hosting you at their apartment for this leg of your trip - you’d probably ignore him. As it stands, he’s like an annoying older brother and receives a swift kick to his shin. You grin just as he grimaces, nearly spilling his glass of Sapporo all over his front.

“Hey— you brat!”

“Takes one to know one,” you retort, tongue out and mischief wrapped into every syllable. “Don’t know how you’re married. Didn’t think kids were allowed to.”

Across from you, Airi stifles a snicker and the rest of your group breaks into laughter. You’re in the middle of throwing middle fingers at Sunny when a hand clasps your forearm with an aggression you can’t ignore.

Ivy’s staring at you with eyes the size of saucers, mouth curled into a perfectly shaped ‘O’. A part of you wants to shove a limp fry into it - until you follow the line of her arm, the length of her finger.

Because on the screen - serenading your ragtag group of friends in the terrible voice of Airi’s little brother - is cute-guy-from-donuts. Sunshine.

What the hell?

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound

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incoherentbabblings · 4 years

Text

An Endless Hope (1/9)

After a horrendous blizzard falls over Gotham, Tim undergoes a sharp change in character before disappearing. Upon discovering what has become of him, Stephanie sets off on a solo journey in a magic realm to bring him home, meeting some faces which seems awfully familiar along the way.

New fic time! Archive Of Our Own Link Click Click!

“Can’t believe he’s gonna be forty-five.”

“I know, right?”

“Bruce’ll be an old man soon.”

Tim tutted, herding Stephanie down an aisle with the metal cart he was pushing. “Don’t tell him that.”

Stephanie scoffed. “What? Has he got a younger clone of himself in a giant egg somewhere ready to pop when someone utters those words?”

Tim stopped pushing the cart, turned ninety degrees, and gave Steph an indescribable look.

“I was being sarcastic, Tim.”

Tim said nothing, then slowly rotated back to push the empty cart, Stephanie trailing behind.

They’d gone to the garden centre because Stephanie was willing to look everywhere and anywhere for inspiration for Bruce’s upcoming birthday. Tim, ever dutiful, followed along. It was a rubbish time of year to go to a garden centre – late January – as the entire place was filled with on sale Christmas decorations and half dead flowers that would no doubt complete their journey to the grave if buried in the frigid soil. The poor choice of plants was reflected in the number of customers, of which there were maybe three others trailing up and down the greenhouse aisles.

“I guess that’s not fair,” Stephanie continued to voice to the relative silence, only the distant tinny music and the dodgy wheel squeaking as they rolled along filled the lulls in conversation. “That would make Alfred positively decrepit.”

“And that he is not.” Tim said very firmly.

“No…Oooh?” Stephanie became distracted. “Oh, Tim look at these!”

Heaving the cart round the corner after her with an almighty sigh, he found her standing next to small potted flowering plants. Stephanie was pilfering through them, looking for particular colours.

Tim peered at one of the little cards slotted in the soil and chortled.

“Roses? Really? Steph I’m not sure roses are gonna cut it for Bruce’s forty-fifth.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that you big baboon—”

“’Scuse you.”

“– I’m looking at these for us, not him.”

Tim gazed at Stephanie. Stephanie, in her bright blue hand knitted beanie that she had made for herself over the Christmas break to distract from finals. Stephanie, in an oversized fluorescent plastic jacket (the kind that belonged in an early episode of Power Rangers) that somehow managed to make her look twice as wide than she truly was. Stephanie, with her flushed cheeks from the cold and little pearly teeth showing off in a big grin, golden hair bunched up into two pigtails that fell down her back.

Tim couldn’t help it; he melted a little at the sight of her.

“You’re staring.” She murmured, not looking away from her task.

Tim sucked on his teeth. “Maybe I want to. That allowed?”

“Sure. You have my permission.”

“Gracious.”

Tim pecked her on the cheek, causing Stephanie to laugh like a snorting pig. With a little happy noise, she found the two plants she wanted. One lilac and one deep red bunch. They didn’t look like ordinary roses to Tim, not like the kind you would pick up from a convenience store in a small bundle for an anniversary. No, these roses were flatter and broader, and he could see a number of buds on both sets of plants.

“I want these.” Stephanie said. “Help me pick two nice boxes to put them in?”

“Do we have space on the windowsill?”

They didn’t have a garden. Not truly. Though Tim’s apartment did allow roof access, it was not really the place to be growing a little garden. They also didn’t really have a balcony to fill with plant pots. Places for greenery were limited in their home.

“They’ll fit.”

Tim nodded, and she sat them down in the cart. A moments silence passed, and she pouted.

Sighing, Tim breathed, “What is it?”

“Ask me why I want them.”

Nodding with his entire torso, Tim moved off, heading towards glazed plant pots and boxes.

“Why do you want them?”

“’Cause they’re pretty.” She skipped after him and saw as he ran his tongue along his teeth, amused at her glib nature. “Aaaaaand, I wanna do an experiment.”

“Experiment?”

“Yes. I gathered you like those.”

“Steph.” His tone was a gentle warning.

“’Kay, ‘kay. Sorry. I just thought…” She paused, tapping her nails against a terra cotta pot. The sound was nice to listen to. “Well, you know how people say you should live together before you get married? To make sure you can actually stand being around each other twenty-four-seven?”

Tim clenched his jaw and nodded. “Yes?”

Stephanie said nothing, gnawing her lip. Tim tried to comfort her, to reassure her, by smiling, but even he felt it come across more like a grimace. Setting the empty pot back down, Steph leaned over and selected two narrow glazed boxes, ones long and slim enough to slot on their windowsill.

“It’s the same with kids. You gotta do a test run first. A proper test run. And I don’t mean what I did when I was fifteen.” She laughed uncomfortably, then looked very sad. Tim went to grab her hand, but she snatched it back and snorted, bravado back in place. “It’s a challenge. We can’t have a kid until we can keep a pet –”

Tim couldn’t help it, he finally butt in, exclaiming, “Who said we’re having children?”

But Stephanie soldiered on, “—And we can’t keep a pet until we can look after a plant. Both of us.”

“I… I’m nineteen Steph. We can get a plant in ten years or so.”

Weird conversation.

Stephanie sighed, setting the plant pots in the cart. “I feel old. Much older than twenty sometimes.”

“We’ve been through more than what some people experience in a lifetime.”

She patted his cheek. “I guess so.”

“You can still be a kid.” Tim said later as they loaded up his car. No luck with finding anything for Bruce, but at least their living room windowsill would look nice. “There’s no timeline for this kind of stuff. Well, in your own head at least… society may side eye it but honestly –”

Stephanie slapped the trunk down with a loud slap and changed the subject. “I’ll think of something else. Don’t suppose he’d want a scarf or anything?”

“If you made him one Steph, I’d think he’d like that.”

“Huh.” They both got in the car, Tim in the driver’s seat, Stephanie googling nearby craft stores. “There’s a thought. I can pick up some nice wool round campus on Monday.”

Tim paused after he lit the ignition, eyebrows furrowed in thought. A moment passed, then he turned the car back off, and rotated to look Stephanie in the eye. Warily, she watched him.

“You mean it,” He asked, “about the whole plant thing?”

She growled, growing defensive. “I want to look after something and do it well. Sue me that it’s just starting off with a plant.”

“No, no. I get that. I mean do you not feel like a kid anymore?”

The bubbling anger melted away, and she cooed sympathetically. “Do you?”

“Did I ever?” Huffing, he tapped the steering wheel, then he looked distinctly guilt ridden. “No. That’s not fair. I did. Especially compared to you.”

“My childhood was mediocrely bad, Tim, but I did have one.” She tugged his earlobe. Tim frowned at her downplaying her pain, as always. It was impossible to get her to be serious about herself nowadays. Tim’s pain she took seriously. Cassandra’s pain she took seriously. Damian’s pain she took seriously. Her own pain though… “No comparing hurt. How does that help you or me?”

“I know, I know,” He conceded. Then he was silent, musing something still.

Stephanie’s hand moved from his ear to his jaw, cradling it. Lowering her tone, she asked,

“Where’s your head taken you?”

“I’m gonna be twenty this July.”

“Mhhmm! It’s a big one. The end of your teenage years.”

“I just… don’t know if we’ve got to do everything we should have done. I mean, so much of our adolescence was taken up with…” He trailed off. “And what makes an adult an adult anyway? I mean, look at Bruce.”

“I try not to.”

Tim actually giggled. “I just mean, he has the emotional maturity of a ten-year-old.” A sudden idea came to Tim, and he perked up in his usual manner once hit by his clever notions. “Hey, how about we travel over the summer?”

“What?”

Tim started the car back up and began the drive to his apartment on Park Row.

“It’s your final year at college, and you’ll be turning twenty-one in August. I’ve got my twentieth in July. Let’s do one last hurrah. Go to Disneyland.”

As they exited the parking lot Stephanie burst out laughing.

“Is that what childhood is? A trip to Disneyland?”

“No!” He exclaimed, face red. “No, that’s not what I meant… I just mean… I just mean…”

“Be selfish for a while. Forget all those responsibilities for a few weeks?”

“Yeah. You deserve that.” Breathing a sigh of relief, he smiled. Stephanie had a knack for cutting through to the bone of an issue. She understood what he was trying to say.

“So do you.” She smiled and tapped his cheek fondly, then settled in for the drive.

They got stuck for twenty minutes trying to cross from one island to another, but it didn’t bother either of them. Stephanie playfully being bad at singing at whatever nineteen eighties anthem came on over the radio. Tim knew she was just playing. She was as good a singer as she was a pianist – unpractised and a little clumsy – but it caused Tim to stop and watch every time. Her screeching to Take on Me was not her best effort, but it made Tim smile all the same.

She snatched the keys and rushed inside when they got back, leaving Tim to trundle behind her, balancing pots and flowers in his arms.

“I seriously have to look after this plant?” He moaned. With a grunt he got down on the floor by the window, setting everything out in place.

“Yes,” muttered Stephanie, throwing towels on the floor and reading instructions online of how to transfer plants from pot to pot. She had thought ahead – for once – and realised that maybe flinging dirt around would damage the living room rug.

Stephanie had moved into his apartment last August, about four months after they had returned to being a couple. For honest and goodness for real this time.

Dick and Babs had made many a teasing (but fond) comment. Cassandra and Duke had been happy, but largely unaffected by the decision. Damian had not been impressed. Jason really didn’t care.

Bruce had said nothing, which was somehow more worrying than his usual disapproving grunts.

So they had, for the most part, been left to it. Stephanie had swiftly turned the apartment (and the Nest) into as much her space as Tim’s. He didn’t mind, as she had a knack for clutter which made the town house feel less like a base and more like a home. Nothing made him feel more happy than coming home from Wayne Enterprises to see Steph sat on the floor, battered laptop on the coffee table, highlighted pages and mugs scattered everywhere, as she screwed up her face trying to write another essay on John Locke and Jean Jacques Rousseau’s theories on social contracts. The normality was an anchor, one he had so desperately needed in recent years.

Stephanie, meanwhile, had relished the chance to have her own space. To leave her mother had been hard, harder than she had realised at first, but it wasn’t like she wasn’t on the phone with her twice a week, and still compelled to attend scrabble night every Friday (Tim semi reluctantly in tow occasionally). She just hadn’t realised how difficult it would be to leave again. Even if it was, this time, under totally normal circumstances. Every kid has to move out, right? And it’s not like she’d never see her mother again, right? Stephanie’s mother was an adult, she could take care of herself. Steph wasn’t needed to watch her night and day.

But still, there were days when she craved her mother’s morning waffles, or warm shaky hugs.

Tim was a pretty good substitute though.

Speaking of, Tim crawled over to her, snuggle bug that he was, not so subtly looking for affection. He grabbed one of her pigtails and tugged the elastic off so he could braid her hair. She really had let it grow to a ridiculous length, long enough for Bruce and Babs both to chide her. One day it would get caught, or someone would grab it, or it would catch fire or something. The honest reason for letting it grow was…well it was embarrassing and shallow.

Steph sat quietly, letting Tim very carefully and methodically Dutch braid her hair, as she read. Even now, after several months reunited, she could tell he was still testing boundaries. Not just with what she was comfortable with, but also himself. Casual intimacy. Frightening stuff. Well, maybe for him. Steph adored the attention and giving attention in return. Tim’s affections were not to be tolerated, or even endured. They were something to enjoy and indulge in. They were something to grow obsessively fond over, especially after the dry spell of their late teen years. She had got it back and was not going to let it go again so easily.

So, she let him hold her hand whenever he reached for it. She let him lean against her during long hours of stakeout during patrol. She let him kiss her whenever he wanted. She wanted it too. Constantly. Like she was playing catch up with the last three years.

Tim finished one braid then shuffled around so he could start the second. Stephanie sat still until he finished his task, then signalled for him to pay attention as she moved her lilac roses into their new home. He observed carefully, as Tim never half-assed anything, then he cautiously began to pack fresh soil into his glazed box. Stephanie watched him and his concentrated face. Furrowed brows, chewed lips, unsure but steady fingers. Very slow. Very methodical. Textbook job.

He looked at her when he was done though, expectant of some sort of comment. Still desperate for approval.

“Good.” She said, raising her eyebrows. She sat the two boxes on the windowsill, slotting them into place. “Now don’t let it die.”

*****

“Before you all head out for the night, I believe you have some gifts that require opening Master Bruce.”

Bruce peered over the half-eaten slice of cake Alfred had baked yesterday evening and swallowed dryly.

“Right.”

Tim could tell Bruce was just a little disappointed at the showing for his birthday. He would never admit it, no, no, but still. Dick, Jason, and Babs’ absence was noted. They had been good though and posted their presents ahead of time. Well, Dick and Babs had. Jason had sent a card. Which was both more than he had done some years and less for others, so the family all took a card as a good thing. Babs had wrapped up a large basket of bat memorabilia that would unironically get usage up and downstairs.

Dick had forwarded a photo album. Bruce’s lower lip had wobbled (once) on the first page, then he did not look any further into the album and shut it. Probably would cry over it at four am later this morning bundled up in bed. Or at least that’s what Tim imagined he would do.

Cassandra had made an actual teapot during her day classes. It was very cute, albeit just a little lumpy. Damian had done a painting. Duke had bought a pair of nice cufflinks. Tim had been as subtle as a brick to a glass greenhouse and had bought two vouchers for a fishing trip. Bruce had noted to check his diary tomorrow, hearing the pleading in the present for alone time.

Stephanie rested her present reverently on the table in front of Bruce. He eyed it and her a little suspiciously, which Tim tried not to get offended over on Steph’s behalf. He knew she had worked stinking hard on the present. Harder than anything she had ever made for herself. Not as hard as the gloves she had made Tim late last year though. No, he had seen her cursing up a storm trying to get those black and red fingerless mittens right, but she had – just in time for Christmas.

Point was, Stephanie worked hard when she sewed/knitted/embroidered, and Tim hoped Bruce wouldn’t do anything too callous when he opened the gift.

She had indeed knitted a grey-blue zig zag patterned scarf. It was thick, warm, and long. She had carefully embroidered the edges with golden thread. It was nothing short of a labour of love.

Bruce saw this, did the thing where his lip quivered, and quietly thanked Stephanie.

“Happy Birthday!” She replied, smiling brightly.

“It’s very well made.”

“I tried.” She teased gently. Tim squeezed her hand.

“Can I see?” Duke asked, to which Bruce handed it over. Duke whistled. “Can I get one too?”

“Sure.” Stephanie shrugged, still grinning. “It will cost you though.”

“Aw, no fair.”

The wind picked up then, howling louder than it had all day. The windows of the manor creaked, and even in the dark, everyone could see the sudden blizzard that had begun.

“Snow?” Cass asked. “Since when?”

“The weather does that. It changes.” Duke noted with a shrug. Even so, he seemed to regret speaking the more the wind screamed.

“No. Not like this. Rain sure. Sleet sure. Not a blizzard.” Tim peered out the window. “That doesn’t come from nowhere.”

Tim watched as there was already a solid layer of ice on the floor, the snow less like fluffy crystals and more like hail. The skies above churned rolled up clouds. It was harsh and ugly.

“No way.” Duke murmured, seeing the weather deteriorate.

Stephanie did not miss Bruce silently sigh at his pile of presents, the physical proof of how fortunate his life had become in recent years, despite the sometimes oppressive setbacks. It was just a moment, then the Bat was in place.

“Let’s head out. This doesn’t look natural. Split up and hunt for causes. Manmade or otherwise. Help anyone who seems stranded.”

Damian finally piped up. “Are we splitting into pairs?”

He crept towards Stephanie. Without Dick in Gotham she remained the person he was most keen (if Damian could be such a thing) to work alongside. Bruce notwithstanding.

“Damian go with Duke. Cassandra with me. Stephanie and Tim.”

Well never mind.

Stephanie pinched Damian’s cheek, and he groaned and twitched away, running downstairs.

They all made their way to the cave, Alfred opening up the clock, when Stephanie looked back, seeing Tim was still stood, still as a statue, watching through the glass.

“Tim?” She called.

His right hand twitched, hanging limp next to his thigh, at the sound of her voice. Almost reluctantly, he replied,

“…Yeah?”

“Ready to go?”

She held out her hand for him to take, though he was still looking out the window. Slowly he turned at the hips, head remaining still, staring at the storm. When her hand found his, he shuddered, like the warmth of her fingers and palm shot straight through his arm and up through his chest and head. He finally whipped round to look at her and smiled tightly.

“Ready. Sorry.”

Stephanie said nothing and pulled him away from the window.

#dc #tim drake #stephanie brown #timsteph #my fic tag

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villlainarc · 4 years

Text

(I Could Put) A Little Stardust in Your Eyes

Summary: Stars are beautiful things. They glitter in the sky, blessing all those who wander the lands beneath them with soft, silvery light, and stars, being beautiful things, help others to find beautiful things of their own.

Humans, too, are beautiful things. That’s why the stars favor them especially, granting them another to spend their life with. These are soulmates; beautiful things drawn together to create yet another beautiful thing, a fate for each person written in the stars.

Pairings: romantic Losleep, queerplatonic Roceit, platonic Logince, platonic Sleepceit

Warnings: internalized arophobia for one (1) part of one (1) scene, let me know if i missed anything else

Word Count: 12,498

Taglist (ask to be added!): @max-is-tired @raaindropps @kiribakuandcats @main-chive @emo-disaster @wingedsoulmatedreamer

Notes: *shoves everything that happened in yesterday’s video aside except from the name reveal thank god for the find and replace feature* wdym roman and janus were mean to each other

for @sleepless-in-starbucks’s a meter of space contest (belated congrats on 1k and 1 year!)

fun fact i’ve been working on this since december and i remember this was based on a half-prompt or two (i think it was pining losleep from lia and then soulmate au from meri? We Can Pretend That’s Right) that i got when i asked for some but at this point i’m too tired to find the post and also if lia’s memory fails aer then i’m just gonna. Remain An Anonymous Anon fhdkfjd

ao3

_________________________

Logan likes to study the stars.

There are several reasons for this: they’re beautiful, they fill the sky, bringing light to the darkest of times, they’re constant, ever-shining, they speak of a wider universe.

And of course, they lead you to your soulmate.

Now, Logan hasn’t met his soulmate, but he’s still awed by the stars.

And he doesn’t need his soulmate anyway, not when he has Remy.

Remy. His best friend, full of beauty even at his most broken. His constant, ever-brilliant best friend who convinces him that life can be more than just facts and numbers, who taught him to look at the stars as more than just stars.

Logan knows that stars are glowing balls of incredibly hot gas. He knows that they’re primarily composed of hydrogen and helium, and he knows that their colors differ depending on their temperature.

And yet, when Remy says, “Each star is a lost dream, hoping to return home,” with such conviction, Logan has no choice but to believe him. When Remy proclaims, “Stars are hope for those who have nothing but their light,” Logan knows that in many senses, he’s right. And of course, when Remy purrs, “Ah, but you see, the stars are really just the sparkles I see in your eyes come to life,” Logan can only blush.

Stars aren’t just phosphorescent spheres of hydrogen and helium, and they aren’t just a tool used to find soulmates. Remy proves that, and that’s why Logan finds he loves both him and the stars so very much.

_________________________

Remy likes to study the stars.

There are several reasons for this, and they all lead back to Logan. His best friend, his very own star.

Remy had always wondered why anyone needed the stars when the people around them could shine so brightly on their own, but then he’d seen the way that Logan’s eyes lit up when he was given the chance to talk about them.

Then, he thinks that maybe the stars exist only to sparkle in his friend’s eyes. Maybe the stars exist just so Logan’s whole being can glow when he tells Remy that “Most stars come in multiples and orbit one center of gravity,” and does he think that this could be another reason that stars are the things that determine soulmates? Maybe the stars exist solely for Logan to look so radiant as he mentions to Remy that, “The stars with the most mass burn out the fastest,” and doesn’t he find it fascinating that some of the brightest things in the universe are so short-lived?

Or maybe the stars exist so he can watch as Logan stops talking about them at the slightest hint of a smile on Remy’s face, voice falling into nothing as he sits and stares. Maybe the stars exist so Logan can look at Remy as though he is one too.

Then again, maybe it doesn’t matter why the stars exist. Maybe they and their soulmate determining properties don’t change anything. Maybe the stars can’t change anything at all, especially not where Logan and Remy are concerned.

_________________________

But nothing so beautiful lasts forever, nothing so bright will survive for long. Even the night—the mystical, magical night, a time so shrouded in mystery—must fade, its secrets unveiled as the black velvet lifts away.

And as morning dawns once more, all is revealed. Nothing remains hidden, and the protection of everything held dear is no longer granted so willingly. In a world where light once again reigns and all is laid bare, something as fragile as the happiness Logan and Remy share can not and will not possibly survive.

Every beautiful thing must die, after all.

_________________________

They meet Roman first.

Roman, who Logan’s star finally shines for. Roman, the beautiful, perfect man who’s demeanor is just as bright as Logan’s star. Roman, the actor, the celebrity, Logan’s soulmate.

Logan is, of course, immediately smitten. Who wouldn’t be? This is Roman Prince, after all. He’s everything anyone could ever dream of having in a soulmate. And Remy’s not jealous of that, not jealous of him.

He’s not.

Remy likes Roman. He’s eccentric, but caring and sweet and sensitive and better with emotions than Remy will ever be. Logan deserves someone like him, someone who’s the fire to his ice, someone who’s just the right amount of extra to serve as Logan’s foil, someone whose head is high enough in the clouds that he lifts Logan ever so slightly from the ground upon which he’s so determined to stay.

Remy likes Roman. He likes that Roman is Logan’s soulmate, believes that two people so perfect must be right for each other.

And they are. Remy sees how easily they fit, how precisely they slot into the other’s life. They’re soulmates—of course they belong together. Of course they fit, of course they work, of course they’re… perfect.

Remy doesn’t know what he’d expected. Of course Logan has a soulmate who’s thousands of times more wonderful than Remy could ever hope to be. Of course he does. Remy shouldn’t have ever expected any different, not for Logan. Logan deserves all of this, deserves Roman and his romantic tendencies and pampering and love. Logan deserves all of that and so much more.

And Remy, no matter how much he cares for Logan, could only ever be so much less.

_________________________

They meet Janus next.

Janus, who Remy’s star finally shines for. Janus, the handsome, perfect person whose intelligent eyes shine with more intensity than any star in the sky. Janus, the flirt, the sophisticated and elegant, Remy’s soulmate.

Remy is, of course, immediately smitten. Who wouldn’t be? After meeting Janus, you’d understand how hard it would be to not fall in love with them. He’s everything anyone could ever want in a soulmate, and Logan isn’t jealous of her. Not jealous at all.

He’s not.

Logan likes Janus, truly. Janus, who’s so smooth, suave, and charming. Janus, with words like gold and a tongue of silver, so much more eloquent and self-assured than Logan could ever dream of being. Yes, Remy deserves someone like them, someone who can give him everything he’s ever wanted and more, someone who can wax poetic about him with all the ease of breathing, someone who’s dramatics give Remy’s heart a reason to soar.

Logan likes Janus. He likes that Janus is Remy’s soulmate, believes that two people so perfect must be right for each other.

And they are. Logan can see how easily Janus can bring a blush to Remy’s cheeks, how much she can make him smile. They’re soulmates—of course they make each other happy. Of course they laugh together, of course their eyes are brightest when they meet each other’s, of course they’re… perfect.

Logan doesn’t know what he’d expected. Of course Remy has a soulmate who’s trillions of light-years better than Logan could hope to be. Of course he does. Remy deserves all of this, deserves Janus’s brilliant mind and sparks of romance and love. Remy deserves all of that and so much more.

And Logan, no matter how much he cares for Remy, could only ever be so much less.

_________________________

On the night Logan and Remy have their first kiss, it’s raining—storming, really. The raindrops fall in sheets, and it’s a struggle to see anything more than a foot away. The sky has clouded over too, and the world is lit only by neon signs and street lamps, car headlights and refractions. There isn’t a single moonbeam to light the sky and not one star glimmers.

Perhaps that’s why they feel emboldened enough to talk to each other—really talk to each other—to confess, to pull each other close, to put everything they’d ever known in jeopardy. Perhaps, once the source of their fear had drifted out of sight, Logan and Remy understood for the first time that there was nothing to fear at all, that there never had been.

Perhaps, then, it is the trade of starlight for city lights that causes Remy to take Logan’s hand without a care for who’s watching, to spin him around with a laugh beneath a sky full of storm clouds, to twirl him ever closer before they stop in the middle of the sidewalk—does that all just to see his face, to have him near, would have always done all that and more. Perhaps it is the way the neon lights are reflected in the sheen of water on Remy’s face that causes Logan’s breath to catch in his throat, perhaps it is the fact that the raindrops coating Logan’s glasses looked like stardust that causes Remy’s heart to do that same.

Perhaps it is everything that was and is that lifts Remy’s hands to Logan’s face, keeps their eyes interlocked, lets the words “you’re beautiful” spill out of one of their mouths, out of both of them, out of none. The words might have been spoken with the way their eyes sparkled, hearts pounded, breathes quickened, smiles deepened, but they are there, floating in the air between them. They’re there as Remy wipes the streams of rain from Logan’s face like they’re tears, with an impossible sort of gentleness reserved for only the most precious of things. They’re there as he continues to brush his thumbs over skin dark as night and just as beautiful, they’re there as smiles fade into hopeless longing. They’re there as Remy’s gaze asks what words cannot, as Logan responds with a nod, both imperceptible to anyone outside of the now silent world of their own creation.

This time, Remy knows he says, “You’re beautiful, Logan.” He knows this because he feels Logan’s cheeks heat up beneath his hands and though his self-control had been a lost cause from the start, any that he may have still possessed vanishes in an instant. Remy’s eyes slip shut, and he’s falling.

Remy and Logan kiss like falling stars, doomed from the very moment their lips meet. They kiss like a star about to go supernova, like they know their time is limited to this instant and this instant alone. Their kiss is Gliese 436b, a paradox that occurred against all odds. Like Gliese 436b, the world around them is so cold, and yet they burn from the inside out. They are shooting stars, and they wish upon each other, neither wanting time to start up again, for everything to fall in on itself, for their universe to collapse.

But they burn too brightly to survive for long, so a collapse is inevitable. The light that was their kiss transforms to the complete absence of it as they both go dark; for Remy and Logan are not only stars, they are also a black hole—cosmic quicksand, dragging each other into the unknowable as they hold on with everything they are and it is still not enough, never enough. They can’t hold on forever, and so they must let go and they must breathe. That is their first mistake: extinguishing their shared light.

As they stop burning so intensely, they make their second mistake: allowing the light to stay dark. They still have their hands placed in rain-soaked waves of hair, running over cheeks streaked with what could be raindrops or tears, gripping wet shirts that cling to torsos, gliding over arms made smooth by water, but they will not kiss again. And that is a terrible, horrible thing because it allows for mistake number three.

Their third mistake is one that would have happened one day, even without mistakes one and two, one that is so inescapable that nothing could ever dream of stopping it. The third mistake Logan and Remy make is allowing for their once-burning light to collapse in on itself, to fall apart so thoroughly that the place they shared their kiss will never again allow anything near it to shine that brilliantly or at all. The street lamp that watches over them now will never again be illuminated after tonight, impossibly dark no matter what lightbulb is twisted into it. The car headlights that pass by will flicker, and any neon signs nearby will dim before going out with a pop of sparks. The collapse they will allow creates a darkness so profound that one cannot pass under the street lamp, stare into the headlights, wander past what used to be a neon sign without shivering—not from the cold, but from an atmosphere so desolate that anyone who bears witness to it will remember it with a feeling like a dagger to the heart for the rest of their days.

Their third mistake brings about an all-encompassing darkness, but the all-encompassing darkness is a result of the collapse that precedes it, a collapse that begins when Logan untangles one hand from rain-soaked waves of hair and yanks the other away from its grip on a wet, clingy shirt, and a collapse that is their third mistake, not the darkness that follows. The collapse only grows more devastating as Logan, still gasping for air, breathes out an apology. “I’m sorry,” he says, and the rate of the collapse increases astronomically.

“Why are you sorry?” Remy asks, about to destroy any hope that the black hole they’ve created might not rip entire galaxies apart. “Did you not want to kiss me, babe? No, forget I asked that,” he laughs, shakes his head, interrupts himself before continuing on a course set towards destruction, “of course you wanted to kiss me. I know you, doll, and I know you wanted to kiss me, and you said you wanted to kiss me, and I know that you love me. You must, and even though the stars say you don’t, I know you do and I know I’m right.”

“Remy,” Logan breathes, not wanting to say anything else at all. “Remy, I—” he hesitates once again, and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest hitches as Remy leans forward in anticipation. Logan wants to prevent the shattering of the hope etched on his face, wants to offer an explanation that could somehow minimize the damage of the most destructive thing in the universe. But he doesn’t. He, in fact, does the exact opposite of that. By simply saying, “You’re wrong,” Logan has effectively sealed his and Remy’s fates.

“No,” Remy says, walking over broken glass with his voice, “I’m not wrong. You’re lying, babe. I know you are.”

In a sharp contrast to Remy’s, Logan’s voice is colder than space itself, freezing anything remotely human immediately and without remorse. “What does it matter? We both have soulmates, and mine is not you.”

“What does that matter?”

“What doe—” Logan looks incredulous, and the divide between him and Remy widens as he takes a step back. “I’m afraid I don’t see what you mean. Soulmates aren’t the sort of thing you can ignore quite so easily.”

“Come on now, babe. You of all people have heard stories of people who never find their soulmates, who find love in other places, who—”

“But those people haven’t found their soulmates. That’s the point, and that’s where we differ from them. We have found our soulmates, and ignoring the stars so blatantly will only break their hearts. I refuse to do that.”

“They’ll understand though, I know they will.” Remy’s voice sounds infinitely less sure than it had when he’d begun this conversation. The conviction has drained from his words, drawn into the endless depths of the ever-growing black hole.

Logan shakes his head, expression closing off entirely. “No. They won’t, and you know that as well as I do. You’re only deluding yourself if you truly believe otherwise.”

“Babe—”

“Please don’t.”

Remy knows what Logan’s tone means. That discomfort, that refusal to accept the pet name that’s normally thrown around so very casually, that icy expression twisting for barely the blink of an eye into involuntary fondness—Logan does love him. Not that Remy had ever doubted that fact, not really, but the confirmation is a comfort to hear. “Logan, then,” he amends, making a point to speak his name as reverently as possible, fitting as much love and adoration into one word as he can. “Logan, my darling, my dear, my light, my star—you will never know until you try.”

Logan, as a general rule, doesn’t blush. His skin is too dark for the red heat rushing to his cheeks to stand out and even if that wasn’t the case, he is impossible to fluster. But tonight, under a street lamp that will all too soon flicker out for good, Remy can see the barest hint of color gracing Logan’s cheeks. His mouth opens as he tries to form a response, but it shuts again just as quickly.

“No,” he settles on after a moment that had stretched on for a short eternity. “No, I am not going to risk hurting them. I care for Roman, and Janus is… she’s important to you. So we will not speak of this again. It would be best to forget this happened entirely.”

“Logan—” Remy begins, saying that name with the same sweetness he’d used before, reaching a hand across the darkness between them with a wish for one last brush of his hand against Logan’s cheek, one last touch.

Logan takes another step backwards. “I think it would be best if I didn’t see you for a while.” Another step. “I’m sorry,” he says. I’m sorry for kissing you when I knew I shouldn’t, I’m sorry if you loved me and I hurt you by pulling away now, by always pulling away, I’m sorry for falling in love with you when I knew we were never meant to be. I’m so, so sorry, he doesn’t say.

“I—” I love you, Logan. Nothing you do now or ever will change that, Remy doesn’t reply. “I’m sorry too,” Remy decides to say instead.

As the black hole from their supernova of a kiss forms fully, Logan walks away, rain streaming down his face once more, tasting oddly of salt when a droplet catches on his lips.

As the black hole from the supernova of their kiss forms fully, as Logan walks away, Remy stands beneath the street lamp, watching him go before the lights surrounding him all flicker out.

As the black hole from the supernova of their kiss forms fully, as Logan walks away, as Remy stands beneath the street lamp, every spark of hope either of them had ever held is extinguished by the rain that pours down around them; each dream of what could have been is consumed by the black hole of their own creation.

Everything beautiful must die, after all.

_________________________

Roman has been fighting for perfection his whole life.

From the moment he was born, he’d been expected to do everything right. Not one slip-up had been allowed, not one action that could in any way be perceived as wrong.

He’d been able to appear flawless—he still can, of course, and he doesn’t want to know what would have happened if he hadn’t been. His smiles glitter, the light hitting them just right each and every time. His grace is unprecedented, his skin unblemished, each curve of his muscles chiseled to perfection. Roman’s ideas are always polished when he presents them, and you’d have to comb through hours of footage to find a second of any of his performances that could be considered anywhere near average, and you simply wouldn’t find anything below that standard. Each word he says is picked out meticulously, long before he plans to speak them, and each laugh is even more carefully timed.

There is not a single aspect of Roman that wouldn’t be considered enviable. He has everything—star status, money, friends, fans—and it’s all due to his absolute perfection.

And it was hard to get there. God, it was hard. Being held to such a standard, constantly on display, each move he made being judged to the highest extreme imaginable—to anyone else, it would be impossible.

But for Roman? This has been his life for as long as he’s lived it.

The only thing that’s ever-so-slightly imperfect about him is the distinct absence of a soulmate in his life. It’s okay though! The world is more accepting these days, and soulmates no longer define you. The fact that Roman doesn’t have one hardly ruins his perfection.

Still, though, it does. The world may be more accepting, but not having a soulmate is far from destigmatized, and Roman is the only person of his caliber to be so very… flawed, in that sense.

He tries not to show how much it hurts to be looked down upon for something entirely out of his control, but it does. It hurts, and it hurts more than he will ever say. Roman’s fight to be perfect is doomed to fail unless he can manage to fix how utterly broken he is.

So that’s why, when he meets Logan and their stars light up the whole sky, he falls hopelessly in love in the very next breath he takes. The stars chose Logan for him, and the stars would not be wrong. It doesn’t matter who Logan is, what he’s like, if he likes Roman in return—it’s all negligible.

It’s all so very negligible because now, at long, long last, Roman is perfect.

_________________________

Janus has been perfect his whole life.

From the moment she was born, everything they’d done had been effortless. It was unfathomable that he’d make a single slip-up; not one action that they could ever make would be perceived as wrong.

Janus is, of course, far from perfect—and to be completely honest, he’s not sure why anyone would view him as such. Sure, she’s impossibly suave, causing anyone who crosses their path to swoon with the slightest of winks and sure, their cleverness enchants anyone who hadn’t yet fallen for them. Even with half of his face horrifically scarred, she is still one of the most utterly gorgeous beings to have ever lived—all glitter and mismatched eyes and charm, lit from within with confidence and smirks and eloquence. His words can convince anyone of anything, yes, but that isn’t to say that they’re manipulative. That would make him imperfect, and Janus is not imperfect—she is quick-witted and full of class, voice sugary sweet in a way that can’t possibly be genuine and yet is almost always entirely so.

There is not a single aspect of Janus that wouldn’t be considered enviable. He has everything—a brilliant mind and looks to match, riches, influence, people who would kill for them—and it’s all due to her indisputable perfection.

But the thing is—they aren’t perfect. Appearing to be perfect doesn’t mean that they actually are. And now— now he can’t be imperfect. Now, she’s held to a standard she can’t possibly keep meeting, constantly being observed and studied and judged—to anyone else, it would be impossible.

But Janus? They make this impossibility look effortless.

The only thing that offers him any reprieve from his neverending performance is the fact that he doesn’t have a soulmate. It’s the one thing that keeps her even slightly imperfect, and Janus is perfectly fine with it staying that way. All they want is to prove—one flaw at a time—that they aren’t infallible.

Still, though, no one believes him. They’re kept on a pedestal, their lack of a soulmate going completely ignored. Everyone she knows remains stubborn in the belief that she can do no wrong.

They try not to show how much it pains them to be living a constant lie, to never be allowed to act in a way that’s true to who they are, but it does. It pains him, and it pains him more than he will ever say. Janus’s quiet struggle to be herself is doomed to fail unless she can manage to prove to someone how truly broken she is.

So that’s why, when he meets Remy and their stars light up the whole sky, he nearly falls apart right then and there. It doesn’t matter to them why the stars had chosen Remy for him, and not only because the stars wouldn’t be wrong. It doesn’t matter who Remy is, what he’s like, if he too feels panicked and suffocated by the very idea of a soulmate—it’s all negligible.

It’s all hopelessly negligible because now, on a day that’s come entirely too soon for her liking, the stars have torn away her one hope at being perceived as imperfect.

_________________________

There is no such thing as perfection, not a single person who could ever be considered flawless. Even the day—the glorious, golden day, a time so saturated with majesty—has its faults, its radiance paled by the multitude of stars that pierce the night.

And as the sun does rise, each fissure that’s torn its way through each person is revealed. In the harsh light of day, there’s nowhere to hide and each stain lain upon a pristine world is thrown into sharp relief. Unable to conceal anything else, darkness retreats and, having been so thinly veiled, there was never any way Roman and Janus’s perfection could have withstood the onslaught of daylight.

The idea of perfection is a beautiful thing, but like all beautiful things, it can never last.

_________________________

Roman loves Logan. His boyfriend is brilliant and funny in a dry way Roman hadn’t ever thought he’d grow to adore, and Logan’s mind is one of the most beautiful things Roman has ever had the honor of being in the presence of. He is in awe of the darkness of Logan’s skin and how he can run his own hands over it, making golden lights spread over the night sky of Logan’s face or take Logan’s hand in his, causing warm starlight to glow from between his fingers.

And Logan is his soulmate. The stars brought them together, and Roman couldn’t be happier, couldn’t be luckier.

Roman loves Logan, really, he does, so why are his eyes constantly drawn to Janus? Janus, Remy’s soulmate. Janus, with the scar on his face that they make beautiful by framing it with shimmering golden highlights and the confidence to wear it proudly. Janus, whose smile could light the night sky all on its own. Janus, whose winks and compliments cause Roman to melt a little more every day. Janus, who— oh god. Janus, who—

Janus, who Roman’s in love with.

Janus, who Remy’s in love with, who’s Remy’s soulmate.

Janus, who isn’t Roman’s soulmate. Janus, who he can’t be in love with. Janus, who wouldn’t ever love him.

Roman realizes this, of course he realizes this. He understands that he will never be allowed to be with Janus, no matter what he may want. He knows that he still cares for Logan, albeit not in the way he’d originally thought. Spending his life with Logan won’t be so bad.

Even if Janus is right there, her gorgeously mismatched eyes taunting him every time they’re in the same room. Even if they continue to wink, to smile, to compliment, to flirt, Roman knows they cannot ever and will not ever be together. No matter what he may want.

So he ignores his feelings. Ignores Janus’s incessant winks, his smiles, compliments, flirtations. Roman ignores it all, making a point to dote on Logan ever more, take him on increasingly extravagant dates, use every opportunity he can to kiss him. He knows that doesn’t equate to love. He knows that he isn’t proving anything to anyone. But what else can he do when his mind short circuits every time Janus so much as looks at him, when it goes completely blank each time they laugh?

Nothing. Roman can do nothing about this, and it’s driving him insane. So what if this doting, these lavish dates, those unabashed displays of public affection are all performed to stop himself from further examining his own feelings? So what if it isn’t truly helping? So what if he can’t help but imagine running his fingers through Janus’s hair even as his hand ghosts over Logan’s? So what if he dreams that the fingers his are laced with belong to Janus instead? So what if fantasizes about holding them close to his body and burying a kiss in her hair while it’s Logan who leans against him?

Most days, faking everything works. Most days, everything feels almost normal. He’s been a perfect actor his entire life, and he’s not about to stop being one now.

And if no one notices that something isn’t normal, then maybe nothing is.

_________________________

Janus loves Remy.

…That’s a lie. He doesn’t love Remy.

…That’s not quite true either, though. Because they do love him, they do love his snark and sarcasm, his smirks and coffee-brown eyes so often hidden behind his sunglasses. It’s not true at all, really, because she does love all that and more. Just not in the way soulmates are, according to society, supposed to love each other.

So they aren’t in the wrong exactly, and she isn’t truly lying every time they tell Remy ‘I love you,’ but he also isn’t truly free of blame either. Her feelings may not be her fault, but the way they handle Remy’s feelings is. So she’s careful, so incredibly careful. His actions don’t betray a thing. To an outside observer, he would appear to be utterly, perfectly in love.

But that’s just the thing. She’s not.

…That’s a lie too. They are in love, just not with Remy.

At least, that’s what he thinks he feels. She thinks she’s in love, but then again, they’ve never been in love before. He has no idea, if he’s being honest, what love feels like. All she knows is that when she looks at Roman, she feels something entirely different than what she feels when she looks at Remy.

Remy feels like comfort and stability—something to hold onto when the rest of the world falls to ruin, a star that remains set in the sky, guiding you home.

They’d always been told that romantic love would feel like fire—something that burns on contact, a wonderful, searing pain that scorches you from the inside out, illuminating the best parts of you and incinerating the worst.

Whereas Roman… Roman feels like sunlight—something that’s not quite intense enough to burn on contact but still managing to light up corners of you that would otherwise remain hidden, casting shadows on things you’d rather not see, a ray of light that fills you with warmth and happiness and something just slightly to the left of what you’d imagine true love to be.

Janus doesn’t know a word for that feeling, though. It’s not quite as intense as love has been described to her as, but what else would it be?

No, they’re definitely in love with Roman. Roman, who’s spun of sunlight and pure gold. Roman, who’s outer physique betrays just how strong he is inside. Roman, with his bright laughter and genuine words and a mind full of ideas so intensely radiant no one else could have possibly dreamt them up. Roman, who she could wax poetic about for hours on end.

Roman who, yes, is Logan’s soulmate and not his. But that’s just a technicality, isn’t it? No star had ever stated that soulmates had to be strictly romantic. And the stars are wise. Soulmates were their gift to the world, they wouldn’t mess something like this up. Society is what dictates that soulmates indicate romantic attraction and romantic attraction alone.

And society is often wrong, is it not?

So perhaps Janus and Remy are, in fact, still soulmates. Perhaps Roman and Logan are as well.

But perhaps they’ve all been wrong about the sort of soulmates they are.

But then again, what if Janus is wrong about this? What if the stars do only deal in romance and her feelings for Roman are nothing more than infatuation? What if—god forbid—society is truly right this time? What if they just… choose to ignore their gut feeling this time? What if it’s better to continue pretending, just in case? Because what if he’s the reason Remy’s heart breaks, that Logan’s heart breaks, that his own heart breaks when he realizes his love for Roman is unrequited?

Yes, that’s what she’ll do. Keep pretending. Doing anything else won’t be worth the pain.

So Janus goes on pretending—pretending to be in love with Remy, pretending to be perfect. At times, it comes as easily as breathing. But at other times, she has to imagine Roman’s face in the place of Remy’s. Replace pale skin for golden, add warmth to his eyes and hair, sharpen his jawline and cheekbones, fill out his frame with just a touch more muscle. Pretend the cocky smirk is a blinding smile. It’s still easy enough, most days, and that’s all that matters.

They’ve been pretending their whole life, it’s not as though anything will go wrong now.

_________________________

The day of Janus and Roman’s first kiss is not “most days.” It’s the opposite, really. Logan and Remy aren’t there, for one. Janus is awake before the day has truly begun, and the scene in front of him is painted with golden fire. The sky is perfectly clear, and the only thing needed to light up the world is the soft glow of the sun.

Perhaps this radiance is why Roman too is awake at such an early hour. Perhaps that’s why he’s sought out Janus, why he’s approaching the steps of their porch with such light in his eyes. Perhaps, once the dark of night had passed, the truths Roman and Janus had held so close are finally brought with them into the dawn.

Perhaps, then, it is the trade of a midnight-colored sky for one spun from gold that causes Roman to fit himself next to Janus on the top step without a passing thought spared for the rest of the early-morning stillness, to allow his hand to linger just slightly too close to hers, to watch as the slow rise of the sun creates a perfect halo around their head. Perhaps it is the warmth of Roman’s hand that rests so close to theirs and the matching look on his face that causes Janus’s breath to catch in her throat, perhaps it is the way that the sky full of fire sets Janus’s eyes alight that causes Roman’s heart to do the same.

Perhaps it is everything that was and is that convinces Roman to place his hand over Janus’s, interlocks their fingers, lets the silence linger for a moment, for an hour, a year, a lifetime. The silence persists and though there is such intense meaning in the heat that ignites in their eyes and in the way their hearts pound, breaths quicken, faces glow—the air remains heavy without their voices to fill it. The world goes quiet as Roman lifts Janus’s hand off the ground like it’s a rose made of glass. It stays quiet as he becomes transfixed by the hand resting in his own, it stays quiet as he looks up to meet eyes of molten gold and sunlit skies. It stays quiet as Roman’s gaze asks what words cannot, as Janus responds with a nod, both actions imperceptible to the rest of a world still held captive by sleep.

Like the breaking of porcelain, Roman’s voice shatters the silence with the words, “You’re beautiful, Janus.” The destruction of something so pristine is more than fine though because as he says this, Janus’s face begins to glow with even more warmth and any restraint Roman may have previously been inclined to show vanishes in an instant. Unwilling to break anything else, Roman’s eyes stay open as he falls.

The kiss Roman lays on Janus’s hand is delicate, softer than the drift of cherry blossom petals floating to the ground. He’s impossibly careful with every movement he makes, picking his way through a cluster of thorn-covered roses—both avoiding drawing blood and basking in the beauty that surrounds him. Roman may have only kissed Janus on her hand, but that simple action causes both of their bodies to go alight with tongues of fire. They are the coming of dawn, bright and brilliant and inevitable; they revel in their warmth and the hope that they represent.

Sunrises don’t transform into black holes, don’t destroy everything they touch, don’t cause the universe to collapse. They simply are, certain and pure.

Nothing is ruined when Roman lifts his lips from the back of Janus’s hand. There is no tragedy that follows his next breath, no misfortune that befalls him. He merely sits there, breathing, living, waiting for Janus to make the next move as his hand remains wrapped around theirs.

“What was that?” Janus asks finally, choosing those words to fracture the silence while already knowing the answer to them. It was a confession, a confirmation, a spur-of-the-moment decision, a kiss.

“A kiss,” Roman replies, echoing Janus’s thoughts. “Did I overstep any boundaries?”

“No, no. I would have stopped you if I were uncomfortable.”

“Then what is it, my dearest?”

“I just— I need to think. I promise it’s not anything you need to worry over, but… I need time.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” Roman says, worrying anyway.

Janus’s head drops into their hands, and the world falls into silence once more. With nothing else to do, Roman leans back on his arms and lets his mind wander aimlessly as well, trying his best to stop himself from catastrophizing. He replays the kiss in his head, a soft smile growing on his face before he gasps and his eyes go wide with a realization.

Pushing himself off the ground, Roman turns to Janus. Placing a hand lightly on her knee, he proclaims, “I think you’re my soulmate, Janus.”

Janus blinks, startled. After going completely still for a moment, the reply he ends up giving is, “Are you sure?”

Now it’s Roman’s turn to blink in incredulity. “Yes, of course!” he says, a slightly conflicted frown growing on his face. “I know I have to have a soulmate because everyone has a soulmate and I know I don’t like Logan in the way you’re supposed to like a soulmate because the feelings I have for him are in the same vein as the feelings I have for my other friends—really, I’ve begun to think of him as my best friend because I do love him so very much, just not like that—and I love you in a different way, so you must be my soulmate. Since I can’t— I can’t just not have a soulmate, it has to be you. I love you, Janus, and I love you differently, so this is the only explanation that makes sense.”

“Roman, darling, that’s not how soulmates work.”

“What do you mean? Of course it is!”

Janus takes a deep breath, resolving to keep his voice gentle upon realizing he’s likely about to completely shatter Roman’s world-view. “Soulmates aren’t strictly romantic, you do know that, right? Often, they can take the form of a best friend or, when one or more of the soulmates in question is aromantic, a queerplatonic partner.”

“That can’t be right,” Roman says, scrunching up his nose in thinly veiled disdain. “Soulmates have to be romantic, that’s just the way things are.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, love,” Janus says, tacking the bit of affection onto the end to soften their words. “They don’t have to be romantic, and there are more cases than you can imagine that prove that. Your soulmate is determined by the glow of your star, not through your own interpretation of how you feel. You may love me, but that doesn’t mean I’m your soulmate.”

“So then… what are you saying? Do— do you not love me as anything other than a friend and you don’t want to properly reject me? Is that why you’re making up this elaborate story? Or is it because you don’t want to hurt Remy or Logan? Or—”

Janus cuts him off before he can come up with anything else. “What? No, it’s not that at all! Besides, Remy and Logan are so clearly in love that I don’t think they’d mind us being together at all and—” Janus cuts themself off, clearing their throat. “—and we can worry about those two gay disasters later. That’s not where I was going with that, apologies.” She rakes a hand through her hair before continuing with considerably less frantic energy, “I’m telling you the truth, Roman. I wouldn’t make something like this up, especially not since I—” Janus frowns suddenly, cutting off her words.

“You…?” Roman prompts, a glimmer of hope spreading across his feature.

Taking a steadying breath, Janus replies, “Since I— I love you too. But,” they add, holding out a hand once they see Roman’s mouth open, words on the tip of his tongue, “I don’t think I love you in exactly the same way you love me.” When Roman’s joy turns to confusion, she quickly begins speaking again. “It’s… a bit hard to explain, in all honesty. I know I don’t love you in the way I would love a friend, but at the same time—” Janus stops, unsure of how to continue. “You know how romantic love is supposed to feel like fire?” he decides to ask, changing approaches entirely. “And how platonic love feels like… a fixed star?”

And, weirdly enough, Roman does know. He understands Janus’s strange comparisons because he feels exactly the same way, and he’s so startled by the way that they’ve apparently seen into his heart that he merely nods in response.

“Well,” Janus continues slowly, “what I feel for you is something in between. Think of it as sunlight, almost. It’s still a force of golden heat, but it feels less like burning and more like a soft warmth that saturates your entire being. It may come from a fixed star, but the sunlight itself is more fluid and of a far warmer hue. It’s love, undoubtedly, but not exactly in the way you’d think of it.”

Roman nods again, Janus’s words resonating with him in a way nothing has before. Then, realizing again what she’s saying, shakes his head rapidly. “No. No, you’re wrong. That sunlight feeling is what I feel for you, and I know that’s romantic love. It has to be. Just because it’s less fiery than we’ve been told it should be doesn’t mean it’s not romantic love.” Roman shakes his head again, repeating in a whisper, “It has to be.”

“I’m not telling you what you’re feeling, Roman. Your sunlight feeling can still be romantic, I’m just trying to explain that mine isn’t.”

Roman knows, somehow, that his sunlight feeling isn’t romantic either. Calling it romantic simply doesn’t feel right, but he ignores that sense of wrongness. If this isn’t romantic love, then Roman has never felt romantic love and that means he’s broken and— “I can’t be broken,” Roman rasps out.

Janus reacts immediately, taking Roman’s face in her hands. “You aren’t broken.”

“But if that sunlight isn’t romantic love—”

“I told you it could be,” Janus interjects.

“—and I know it’s not and I’d only be lying to myself if I said it was—but if that’s the only thing I’ve ever felt that gets even sort of close to fire, that means I’ve never felt real romantic love and that means I’m broken.”

“No, it doesn’t. You aren’t broken,” Janus repeats again, the sunlight in their eyes turning her gaze that much more intense. They take a breath, taking one hand from Roman’s face to run it through his hair almost unconsciously. “Have you heard of the term ‘aromantic?’”

Roman shakes his head slightly, careful not to dislodge Janus’s hands from where they’re currently tangled in his hair and brushing over his cheek.

“It refers to someone who doesn’t feel romantic attraction in the same way the term ‘asexual’ refers to someone who doesn’t feel sexual attraction. Neither one means that the person is broken, or unfeeling, or in any way flawed. It’s simply a part of who they are—and a part of who I am.” Janus untangles his hand from Roman’s hair before shifting to sit on his knees. “Whether you also choose to adopt this label or not, whether you relate to it or not, whether you want to wait and find out more before you do anything or not, you, Roman Prince, are. Not. Broken.” With those words, Janus raises herself up until her forehead is level with Roman’s, resting it against his. “You. Are. Not. Broken,” they repeat, putting as much emphasis as they can on each word without screaming it.

“Thank you,” Roman says, and he means it with all of his heart. “I love you,” he adds, and he means it not as an afterthought, not in the way that feels like fire, and not in the way that feels like a star, but in the way that feels like sunlight.

“I love you,” Janus replies, and he too means it in the way that feels like sunlight.

She tilts her head down, Roman tilts his up, and their lips meet in the middle.

The first kiss Janus and Roman share is full of warmth, of passion, of love.

The first kiss Janus and Roman share is in the light of a sunrise that’s barely begun.

The first kiss Janus and Roman share is, even with all of their flaws, somehow, someway, impossibly perfect.

_________________________

“I kissed Janus.”

“That’s nice, Roman dear.”

“Logan, I love you with all of my heart, but did you hear a word I just said?”

Logan blinks, looking up from his book. “Of course I heard you, darling. You said you kissed Janus, which to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure why you expect me to have some kind of reaction to—” he freezes, realization lighting his features. “Oh my god. You kissed Janus.” A thousand different emotions flash across his face at once; relief and betrayal, joy and pain, uncertainty and fear and confusion. “Explain,” he finally settles on saying.

“Easy. I love them, and they love me. When two people fall in love, they often choose to—”

“Roman.”

“Right, sorry. Before I continue though, I feel like I should mention—and this may seem a bit out of the blue, but I promise it’s relevant—you’re in love with Remy.”

“…I’m what.” Logan peers at Roman through squinted eyes, his deadpan voice at once skeptical and utterly baffled.

“In love with Remy, but I’ll get back to that in a second. Firstly though, have you heard of queerplatonic partners or queerplatonic relationships?”

“I am familiar with the terms, yes. What does this have to do with—”

“Shh, just listen for a moment, Lo.”

Logan raises a sardonic eyebrow, not saying a word as he waits for Roman to continue.

“Yes, silence is good for listening,” Roman says with a grin. “Anyhow, what I was getting at is that essentially, Janus and I are in love, just not in the way one would be… romantically in love like, say, youandRemyare.” Roman coughs at the end as though clearing his throat. “He taught me about how he doesn’t feel romantic feelings for me, but rather something just a bit… different. I realized I felt exactly the same, she kissed me, you know the drill. That moment had all the makings of a perfect love story, if I’m being honest,” Roman swooned.

“That’s lovely, but I’m fairly certain that I, and not Janus, am your soulmate.”

“Ah, that’s where Janus’s genius comes in. Again.” Roman fluttered a hand to his chest, swooning once more. “They did research on that exact topic after realizing that ignoring their feelings would only lead them to more pain that they didn’t need, and you know what she found?”

“…Am I supposed to ask you a question for dramatic effect?”

“That would be ideal, yes.”

Logan sighs. “Whatever did she find?” he drones, barely an iota of energy put into his look of mocking curiosity.

“Close enough!” Roman declares. “Since you asked so kindly, I’ll let you know that Janus found out that soulmates—drumroll, please—don’t have to be romantic.”

Logan’s exasperated expression dropped from his face immediately and his whole being seemed to brighten with new hope. “What did you just say?”

“Soulmates! Don’t have to be romantic!”

“Are you certain?”

“Are you doubting the research capabilities of the love of my life?”

“I thought I was the love of your life.”

“Exactly!” Upon seeing Logan’s frown, Roman amends, “I mean, you can both be! That’s what’s so great about this discovery! Soulmates don’t have to be romantic, and in fact, there are so many precedents for them not being romantic that I’m shocked, I’d never heard a word about any of them before today.” Roman’s bright expression dimmed the smallest bit as his voice became more serious. “My point is though, you can both be the loves of my life since there are so very many types of love to be expressed and I have a nearly infinite supply of love to go around.”

“Oh.”

Roman looks at him incredulously. “‘Oh?’ Is that all you’re going to say?”

“If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll provide you with a more satisfactory reaction. I need to think about—”

“—what this means for you and Remy. Yeah, I know, I get it. You love him and he’s the best friend that you could ever ask for and you don’t want to ruin that by changing the label on your relationship.”

“…No. Not that at all.”

“No?” Roman asks, sounding genuinely confused. “Was that… was I not right?”

Logan tilted his head from side to side in contemplation. “Mm, those were my feelings before, but then—” he suddenly clamped his mouth shut. “Never mind.”

“No, please continue.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Aw, come on Lo. I won’t be upset.”

“Oh, I know you won’t, not after what you just explained. I’m more worried about— about Remy right now.”

“Sorry?”

Logan takes a deep breath. “I kissed him.”

“You what now?”

“Or he kissed me, or… it’s a bit of a blur, actually. I can’t seem to remember exactly what happened, but—”

“Logan, love, why would Remy be upset with you because you kissed him?”

“It’s not— it wasn’t—” Logan scrunches his face up as though trying to hide the emotions reveal themselves upon it. “It wasn’t the kiss.”

“What was it, then?”

“It’s… after the kiss, I… may have freaked out just a bit and decided it would be best for us to leave each other alone… ‘for a while’ I said, but I meant indefinitely.”

“Logan.”

Logan holds up a placating hand. “I’m perfectly aware that this was a terrible decision on my part, but in all fairness, I have never once claimed to be good at handling my emotions, especially not ones as overwhelming as what I feel for, uh. You know.”

“For Remy,” Roman says, looking expectantly at Logan. “You realize you’re going to have to admit out loud that you love him someday, right?”

Logan coughs awkwardly, looking to the side to hide his flushed face. “Yes, for— for Remy. Yes.”

“…That’s a start,” Roman concedes. “Now, what do you plan to do about your grade-a idiocy?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“Yes, well, perhaps you should’ve.”

“I’m aware, Roman.”

“Would you like some assistance?”

“With… apologizing?”

“Mhm.”

“You know, I think that’s one thing I’ll be able to handle myself. I just have to call him, and everything will—”

“Hold on, hold up, stop right there. What, exactly, do you think you’re doing?”

Logan freezes, fingers hovering just above his phone screen. “…Calling Remy to apologize to him?”

“After breaking his heart, you’re going to apologize with a phone call?”

“That was the plan, yes. Why?”

“Because that’s a terrible apology!”

“As far as apologies go, I think it’s actually pretty standard.”

“Sure, but this is the love of your life, we’re talking about, Logan. You can’t apologize to him over the phone. You need to shock him with a romantic gesture so grand that he’ll have no choice but to forgive you!”

“Do you think— do you think there’s a chance he won’t forgive me?”

“No!” Roman corrects quickly. “That isn’t what I’m saying at all. I just think that this is a bigger deal than you’re pretending it is, so a bit of romance certainly couldn’t hurt.”

“You may be right, but I’ve never…” Logan shakes his head. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Well… if you don’t want to do something too grand and romantic, you can at least take him somewhere special.”

“Like a fancy restaurant?”

“No, not quite. More like… someplace that holds meaning for the two of you, you know?”

Logan lights up, positively glowing. “I think I have just the place.”

_________________________

“Remy darling, have you left the couch at all today?”

Remy pouts in response. “So what if I haven’t? I’m in emotional distress, babes.”

“Hm,” Janus hums. “While that’s fair, I still don’t think merely sitting around all day is going to do much to help with that.”

Remy’s pout grows. “Just because you’re right doesn’t mean you have to say it.”

Janus laughs lightly. “Come on a walk with me? You need to leave the house again someday.”

“I don’t, actually. You’re a fancy lawyer, so I can become a lonely hermit who never leaves his house with no consequence. Besides,” he grins, and after so much practice, it hardly looks forced at all, “I have you, and what more could I want?”

Janus raises an eyebrow, but they don’t comment. “How about if you come on a walk with me anyway, and if you really want, we can even go to that criminally overpriced coffee shop you like so much.”

“The one that’s over a mile away?”

“That’s the one.”

“And we’d have to walk?”

“Remy, darling, walking is good for you. A mile is hardly anything, anyway.”

Remy continues pouting, hoping that something in his face will make Janus relent. “You’re starting to sound like Lo—” his voice gives out, and he has to clear his throat to continue sounding unaffected, “—like Logan,” he finishes. “And why do you want to go on a walk so much anyway?”

“I have something I’d like to talk to you about, and if we start having a conversation while you’re seated, you’ll inevitably start pacing around the room. I’m just taking preemptive action to avoid that, love.”

“Good point, but now I’m worried. What do you want to talk about?”

“Come on a walk and I’ll tell you,” Janus says, a wry smirk on his face.

“This is blackmail.” Remy looks at Janus dolefully, his pout having taken up permanent residence on his face at this point.

“Oh, you don’t have to come if it would inconvenience you that much. I can always go out and get coffee by myself.” She blinks innocently, knowing perfectly well that no matter what she says now, Remy’s mind has been made up. There’s no way he’s going to be able to sit at home knowing that Janus wants to talk to him about a very mysterious, very anxiety-inducing something.

“You know what—” Remy trails off mid-sentence, realizing he’s been beaten. “I’ll get my jacket,” he says begrudgingly, finally standing up from his spot on the couch.

Janus smiles in reply, standing up to go wait by the door. “Good choice.” When Remy returns, leather jacket wrapped around himself, they gesture to the now-open door. “After you.”

“Thanks bunches, doll. Now,” he says, the moment he’s stepped past the threshold, “what’s this you wanted to talk about?”

“Why don’t you wait until we get outside at the very least? It wouldn’t do for us to have made it all the way out the door only for you to return home after barely a minute.”

“Sounds like you’re making excuses, Janus, my darling, my love, light of my life.”

“I would never,” she replies easily. “That’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.”

“Sure it is.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.”

“Just… walk down the stairs. That’s all I ask, love.”

“Yeah, and I couldn’t possibly complete such an arduous task.”

“Remy—” Janus sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb.

“I’m joking, I’m joking. The task is arduous, I’m just skilled enough to complete it without even breaking a sweat.”

Janus raises a skeptical eyebrow, shaking their head at that. “Why do I put up with you,” she deadpans.

“Because you love me,” Remy sing-songs, bounding down the stairs ahead of them.

“How could I forget,” he murmurs, watching Remy with thinly veiled amusement.

“How indeed,” Remy agrees, having just barely overheard them from partway down the staircase. “Now come on, I don’t want to be kept waiting after you’ve mentioned an important conversation.”

Janus descends the stairs after Remy, silent until they reach the bottom.

“What’s up?” Remy asks again, stuck to Janus’s side once more like a lost puppy. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s… wrong, exactly. And we aren’t outside yet,” she points out.

“That’s not ominous at all, babe.” Remy rolls his eyes, but Janus can tell he only does it to mask his nerves.

“I suppose it is,” Janus muses.

“…So’re you gonna elaborate on that?”

Janus steps outside. “One block first, so you don’t decide to turn back as soon as I start talking.”

“You’re stalling,” Remy points out, but he doesn’t press the issue any further.

“So I am.”

The two walk almost one full block in companionable silence before Remy asks again, “What d’you want to talk about?”

“It hasn’t been a block yet,” Janus insists.

“Technicalities bore me. Spill.”

Sighing, Janus says with no preamble at all, “I kissed Roman.”

“Stop right there, hun. Now, I’m sorry, but you what?”

“Kissed Roman,” they repeat.

“Anything else you’re going to say about that? At all?”

“So many things.” Janus takes a breath, opens his mouth, closes it again.

“Go on then,” Remy says, gesturing for her to do so with a nod of his head.

“Right. Essentially, soulmates aren’t necessarily romantic, and I don’t love you in a romantic sense. I don’t love Roman in a romantic sense either, technically—but that’s an explanation for another day. All that matters right now is that, provided you’re alright with it, Roman and I would like to be in a queerplatonic relationship and would far prefer to be nothing more than friends with you and Logan. Close friends,” he adds, “best friends, even, but not romantically involved. There’s precedent for this sort of thing if you’re wondering, and I can pull up a few sources that I have saved—”

“No, you know, I think I’ll be fine without a lecture. I get the picture, but what do you expect me to say? That I’m not heartbroken, that I wasn’t ever in love with you either?”

“Pretty much, yes.” Janus narrows their eyes at Remy. “You aren’t heartbroken, and you weren’t in love with me, correct?”

“I, uh—”

“You don’t have to lie, especially not after I told you the same was true for me.”

“Yeah, okay. I haven’t been in love with you, I just thought that you loved me and I didn’t want to hurt you by telling you the opposite was true.”

“Well, you can stop that now. And you can admit you’re in love with Logan.”

Remy freezes. “Sorry?”

“You’re in love with Logan.”

“I mean, I’m not going to tell you that you’re wrong, but how did you manage to figure that out?”

Janus fixes him with an incredulous look. “Are you serious?”

“…Yes?”

“Oh, Remy, darling, your crush was so obvious that I’m shocked the entire world didn’t see it.”

“It was?”

“Once I knew to look for it, very much so, yes. And you’re aware Logan loves you too, yes?”

“Mm, I’m pretty sure you’re wrong there.”

“And I’m pretty sure I’m not. What makes you think he doesn’t love you?”

“Well, he sorta kinda said that we shouldn’t ever speak to each other again? And like, he kissed me before that—or maybe I kissed him? And I know I was a bit pushy afterwards with confessions and all that, but I thought he was alright with me kissing him or with him kissing me and I’d been certain he was in love, but then he sort of freaked out, so I’m getting a few mixed messages. But at the same time, I think saying ‘we shouldn’t see each other for a while’ is a pretty clear rejection, don’t you?”

“I think that Logan’s a moron sometimes.”

“Hey!”

“Hush now, I meant that in the kindest way possible. He’s not very skilled at recognizing or dealing with his emotions, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Well, you aren’t wrong—”

“I know.”

“—but I’m still not sure if he meant it?”

“He didn’t, Remy. I can assure you of that.”

“How do you know, though?”

“Observation. That, and the fact that he tried to distance himself from you after your kiss. He didn’t want to hurt you.” Janus pauses in mock contemplation. “That, or he truly does hate you with his entire being and never wants to see you ever again in his entire life.”

“What?”

“I’m kidding, darling.”

“Why do I put up with you?”

“Because you love me,” Janus says, echoing Remy’s previous words back at him with a smirk on his face.

“Mm, right.” Remy goes silent for twenty whole seconds before speaking again. “But like, should I talk to him? Just in case, or something?”

“Well, I don’t think that’s entirely necessary, and Roman should be updating him on this whole situation as we speak, but if you think you should clarify, then I suppose you— hang on.” Janus frowns, pulling their phone from their pocket and answering it.

“Roman? Yes, I’m with Remy. Why do you ask?”

She goes quiet, listening to the voice on the other end of the line before replying, “Oh?”

They laugh lightly. “Anything for you, love.” A smile still on his face, he hangs up and puts his phone away.

“What was that about?”

“That? Nothing, darling, nothing at all. If you feel so inclined though, you might want to stop by wherever it was that you first met Logan.” Janus gives him a knowing smile. “Just a thought.”

“What if I choose not to?”

“Well, I can’t exactly make you go, but I think you’d regret it if you didn’t.”

“And that means…?”

“I’m afraid that’s Logan’s secret to tell, not mine,” they say, blinking innocently. “Now, unless you absolutely have to get coffee, I’d recommend you go find the love of your life. It’s getting dark, and I wouldn’t want you to lose your way.” She flutters her fingers in a wave, turning away. “Feel free to join me if you’d like, though.”

Even though they’d offered, she knew that Remy, of course, would never put anyone or anything before Logan and sure enough, when she turned back, Remy had already vanished around the corner.

_________________________

Everyone is made of stardust; each and every creation born of the remains of long-dead stars. This dust scattered across the universe at the dawn of time, forming galaxies and planets and stars—so very many stars—continuing to do so until the inevitable heat death of the universe, a constant cycle of creation.

If everyone comes from beauty, it only makes sense that they all contain it within themselves too, and it only makes sense that all creation is, in some way, magically, enchantingly interconnected. It also makes sense, then, that the stars—having come before nearly every other object in the known universe—understand these connections better than any other. Once those facts are taken into consideration, it’s no wonder at all that it is the stars that determine soulmates, and it’s the most widely accepted scientific theory as to why they do.

Logan knows all this about the stars, knows that everything that is and was is connected in impossible, unimaginable ways.

Remy knows this too, knows that things that come from beauty have every capacity to be beautiful themselves.

They both understand this, and yet it has taken them so long—so long—to apply that knowledge to themselves. It’s only as they walk alone upon tree-lined paths lit by twilight and look up at the sky, the first stars twinkling in their eyes, that they realize that if everyone and everything is beautifully connected, then they are too. And if they’re connected so beautifully, then what force in the universe could possibly keep them apart?

_________________________

“Do you think they’ll manage to work everything out?”

“Logan and Remy?”

“Mhm.”

Janus laughs, and it sounds like a fairy tale, like a golden bell forged from magic. “Contrary to popular belief, Logan is smart, so—”

Roman snorts, and it doesn’t sound like anything more than it is. It’s not poetic, it’s not the sort of thing to be lingered on in pretentious descriptions—it just is, and that’s why it’s perfect.

“Don’t laugh,” Janus says, laughing, “He is, albeit incredibly oblivious.”

“You can say that again.” It’s a muttered phrase, never one meant to be taken seriously, but Janus hadn’t ever claimed to play by the rules.

“He is, albeit incredibly oblivious,” they deadpan before continuing as though Roman hadn’t let out a laugh like light itself, shimmering so brightly that even in its softness, it couldn’t be missed. “But either way, I have no doubt that if you could come to your senses, they will too.”

Roman shoots up from his position lying across Janus’s lap. “What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice may sound offended, but the glimmer in his eyes betrays him.

“Oh, nothing at all, darling. I was merely implying that if Logan is oblivious, then we would need to invent an entirely new word to describe you.” Roman gasps, and Janus can see so many of her own mannerisms in the movement that her fond smile grows, could only ever grow around him. “I mean that in the best, most adoring way, of course.” His smile may have been replaced by a smirk then, but it doesn’t stay that way as not a moment later, Roman kisses it away.

“Of course you do,” he says, leaving behind another kiss—this one on Janus’s cheek—before adjusting his position. Now his head rests on Janus’s left shoulder, and he has much easier access to the line of their jaw and unfairly beautiful cheekbones (for kissing purposes, but also for admiration ones). “I know you love me.”

“Lies and slander,” Janus claims, but she’s burying her rapidly reddening face in Roman’s hair to breathe in the sunshine and cinnamon, so her words hold little weight.

Roman only laughs again, and this time Janus can feel the way the time pauses for the briefest of moments as their boyfriend blankets the world with his own form of magic, with a laugh that feels like fairy dust.

When the world resumes its usual rotation, Roman is smiling at him again. “I know you love me,” he repeats.

“I love you,” Janus agrees, voice softer and more honest than it’s ever been. Roman melts into him, humming contentedly as his face turns upwards, eyelashes fluttering in a silent request. And how could Janus possibly say no when her boyfriend has eyes burning with such light?

Janus kisses Roman, and the sky blazes with sunshine and fire. They meet, and they are a kilonova, showering the universe in gold. They aren’t soulmates, and they aren’t quite in love, but they are everything to each other and more and somehow, some way, they are perfect. So perhaps it’s fitting, then, that they aren’t soulmates. A word such as that couldn’t possibly define all that they are.

They both know intrinsically that there is no such thing as perfection, that it’s human to be imperfect. They know that some cycles are forever fixed and that somethings are meant to end.

So even though they know this and even though they may not be soulmates and even though they are aware that it is because of the stars that they met and because of the stars that they’re together, Janus and Roman will still never go gently into darkness, into the night. Just because they understand that perfection is an impossibility does not mean that they will not fight for something as near to it as they can get in every waking moment.

And as they rage against the dying of the light, the golden star that illuminates the world fights too, and it rises once more. Bathed in its glow, Janus and Roman are both unwaveringly confident in the fact that this moment, this sunrise, this picture-perfect kiss is… perfect. They know without a shadow of a doubt that no matter how unlikely, how impossible, they are perfect.

_________________________

“It’s been a while since we were here,” Remy muses, cresting the top of the hill, smiling when Logan comes into view. “I’m glad to be back.”

“Me too,” Logan says, returning his smile, so close to appearing calm, to hiding his nerves. “Why don’t you sit down?”

“Anything for you.” Remy’s words were meant to sound cheeky, but they come out genuine in a way Logan can’t even begin to process.

Logan takes a breath when Remy is seated in front of him. “I have an apology to make.”

“Oh?” Remy cocks his head curiously. “Hun, if anyone should be apologizing, it’s me. I was the one who overstepped my boundaries when I shouldn’t have and kept pushing for a confession of what I thought was the truth even after you denied it so vehemently and I—”

“Remy,” Logan sighs, “you have no reason to be sorry, I assure you.”

“I— what?”

Logan takes a breath, steeling himself. “Remy, I know I hurt you when I walked off the way I did and ceased all communication with you. And I— I also lied to you that night because I was… scared. I was scared to admit what I felt because I was scared that it would hurt someone else I care about, so I denied that I— Uh, that is to say, I denied what you said. I know that’s no excuse for not telling you the truth, but I hope you can forgive me nevertheless. I’m truly sorry for hurting you, Remy.

“And I— I love you. Hurting you broke my heart, and I never want to feel like that again.” Logan clears his throat, trying to continue speaking past the emotion beginning to clog it. “In any case though, even though we aren’t star-determined soulmates, if you’ll accept me, I’d still like you to be my boyfriend, and I yours. Because if I’m being perfectly honest, no matter what kind of relationship they dictate, the stars don’t matter, not really, because I choose you. I have always chosen you.”

Remy sits there for a moment, star-struck and silent. At long last, he finds his voice returned to him. It’s breathy and barely audible, but it’s there without a doubt because Logan knows—he knows—he hears Remy ask, “Can I kiss you?”

That isn’t, after all, the sort of request you would miss for anything less than the world.

And Logan knows—he knows—he’s been gifted the most beautiful thing in existence when he replies, “For the light of my life? Anything,” and Remy leans closer and he knows—he knows—that everything in the universe is right when they collide.

Together, they are stars. And like stars, they glow brighter together, side by side before they meet and emit a light so brilliant it could be seen across galaxies. Like stars, they collide and fall into each other and become one. Like stars, once they’ve touched they steal the light from the air around them to aid their luminance, and they shine and they glimmer and they gleam and they don’t want to ever let go.

And yet, they are more radiant than the most brilliant constellations, than quasars, than every star in the sky combined—so radiant that whole galaxies pale in comparison. Logan and Remy are stars, but they are also so much more.

They are human.

They are human, and that’s why the stars look upon them with such favor. They are human and imperfect, they are human and ablaze with more dazzling, glittering, intense light than even the stars themselves could possibly fathom, they are human and they are in love.

They are human, and as they kiss beneath the clear, bright sky, they realize that this—whatever this may be—is right. Logan and Remy are not soulmates, but the stars don’t make mistakes. Logan and Remy are not soulmates, but they were meant to find each other. Their kiss was meant to happen.

Logan and Remy are not soulmates. No, Logan and Remy are something ineffable, something human, something more, and if that means the stars painted their destiny in a different hue, then they are glad they can see all the colors of the sky.

_________________________

It is said that nothing so beautiful lasts forever, that nothing so bright survives for long. It is said that even the night—the mystical, magical night, a time so shrouded in mystery—must fade, along with any secrets it holds. It is said that every beautiful thing must die.

It is said that there is no such thing as perfection, that not a single person could ever be considered flawless. It is said that even the day—the glorious, golden day, a time so saturated with majesty—has its faults, its radiance paled by the stars of night. It is said that everything beautiful must die.

And it is true that beauty never lasts, but it isn’t meant to. Beauty so often exists because of uncertainty, because of the flighty nature of life. Everything beautiful must die, and that is why these beautiful moments are as beloved as they are. That is why Remy and Logan look at each other like they’re stars, why Roman and Janus allow themselves to be imperfect, why Remy allows himself to be vulnerable, why Logan admits that he’s not always right, why Roman stops putting on his never-ending show, why Janus allows themself to be truly honest, and why all of them will treasure each precious second from now until the end of time.

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find other stuff i’ve written under #writings from the stars

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