#i have so many more thoughts that r impossible to articulate

[they-hermes]

Ahh, yes, Cyrod one of the rarest ship yet.... Go on, give us more, feed us more for as we are thirsty for Cyclonus and Rodimus

here ye here ye come all to have more cyrod!! a feast for everyone!! the captain of this ship implores you to eat to your hearts desire!!

seriously im so glad you all enjoy my art so much :) seeing ur guys tags is amazing. shout out to that one person who scream then liked and reblogged all my cyrod posts. i live to serve you.

as thanks heres some headcanons ive been cooking up of these two:

rodimus is has a very warm frame that makes cuddling with him amazing in cold temperatures. Cyclonus likes cuddling a lot and has no shame for pda

rodimus likes cyclonus voice a lot, he gets him to read stories or to sing because its a very nice voice! deep and smooth vocals

they trust eachother a lot, this is canon as we've seen how positively rodimus thinks of cyclonus and vise versa. they've watched each others arcs and growth to become better people. captain and knight trope baby!!

they spar a lot. roddy gets his ass kicked a lot because he sucks ass at close combat but cyclonus admires his tenacity.

for cyclonus their relationship was a 100k slow burn enemies to allies to friends to lovers where he slowly but surely developed feelings for his captain. rodimus saw cyclonus beat up a guy and has been swooning ever since

did I mention they bond over history. like the nerds they are they swoon over a past cybertron and its incredible historical history but both prefer what the present has brought them

thats all i have for tonight. eat well cyrod believers

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

Death is Not a Teacher

a reflection on lessons human beings cannot learn

I put my grandfather in the ground last weekend. His death prompted the usual sorts of things that, as you will know from your attendance at funerals and experiences with people in mourning, tend to occur when someone dies. You know, as I know, that people say a lot of things, not because they are useful to say, but because one cannot escape the feeling that something must be said. You have perhaps tried to remain silent—but only for a time—as you will have found that it simply does not do. Eventually you say the same kinds of trite things that everyone else says.

His death cannot be said to have been unexpected. I watched his decline for what must have been at least twenty years. My wife remarked upon seeing him in his casket that he looked surprisingly like he did in life—a reflection of how very nearly dead he had been in his twilight.

I say that to say, now, that even watching his death come, as it were, from afar, even at a leisurely pace, when the end finally came, my father probably articulated best the sense among our branch of the departed man’s family.

“I really took him for granted.”

—

Because death involves reflection on life, and the life of the deceased, as one encounters people who knew the departed for longer, or in another capacity, were more or less close, we come to appreciate something we could have realized if we’d thought about it—that the person was in many ways unknown, that we mistook our small piece of their existence for a whole, that their life in its complexity and interiority involved many stages and many experiences they never shared with us. We didn’t know them at the time, they never volunteered the information, we never thought to ask.

But all this is well known. The piece upon which I wish to focus is the always implicit, but often explicit, pang of regret, and attendant call to action. We ought to have spent more time with them. We ought to have asked them the questions it never occurred to us to ask. We ought to have told them how we felt about them.

We ought not to have taken them for granted.

—

These pangs and appeals add to their triteness a certain edge when death arrives suddenly. A friend’s mother recently passed; she’d had a cancer diagnosis a year or so prior, but one Friday took a dramatic turn for the worse, and by the end of the weekend she was gone. He reported with gratitude he had some time to tell her, as she laid in bed, how fortunate he had been to have her as a mother, &c &c. When my wife was 16, her mother died at 40. She’d gone to the hospital for what appeared to be a severe panic attack and was gone within hours. No goodbyes.

Be sure to tell people how you feel about them, because you do not know how long you will have them. So the wisdom goes.

In my final year of undergrad I became an eleventh hour addition to an honors colloquium that I had learned late I needed to take to complete the honors program. That spring the course was to be taught by a literature professor I had seen but did not know, and I and some two dozen students were to read The Brothers Karamazov. The course immediately took on a mystical significance; professors saw me carrying the book and gave me strange looks, cryptically referring to it as the greatest novel ever written. One class the professor mentioned the example of the novel had prevented a fellow professor from suicide. The novel appeared to carry and to portend mysterious powers.

It is perhaps impossible to overstate the significance of this man to my life. We became Facebook friends soon after I graduated and I stayed on that website in large part to maintain contact with him, commenting here and there on his posts, but, eventually I felt like I didn’t really have much to contribute to his conversations. They tended to unfold between himself and some old friends and I felt like I was sort of a third wheel, and so my admiration took on a greater distance.

I learned recently that in the spring of 2023, that professor threw himself from a bridge.

Suicide makes the question stranger still, because suicide carries a sting of implication. I have observed suicides in other circles, and we are often admonished that we must check in with the people we love and assure them we love them. We are told the warning signs but are told the warning signs are not obvious, and the formal resources our society has for the suicidal are so dramatic and themselves so life-altering we question when it is appropriate to summon them.

I ask you, if he had known that I love him, do you really suppose that would have stopped him from jumping?

Try to find someone in your life and tell them how you really feel. Think carefully of everything they mean to you, stare into their eyes, and say those unspeakable things. Can you even do it? Will they even believe you? You cannot, as you yourself know if you have lost someone, even know—know—what they mean to you until they are gone, in the same way that you cannot know what food means to you until you are starving, and what air means to you until you are suffocating.

—

Death’s lessons do not stop there. Consider this lyrical example from a song that I hate:

He said "I was finally the husband That most of the time I wasn't And I became a friend a friend would like to have And all of a sudden going fishin' Wasn't such an imposition And I went three times that year I lost my dad Well I, I finally read the Good Book, and I Took a good, long, hard look At what I'd do if I could do it all again And then I went skydiving I went Rocky Mountain climbing I went 2.7 seconds on a bull named Fumanchu And I loved deeper And I spoke sweeter And I gave forgiveness I'd been denying" And he said "Someday I hope you get the chance To live like you were dyin'"

The twee sentimentality of this saccharine appeal hides more than it shows. None of these things require a death sentence.

What do you suppose it would really mean “to live like you were dyin’” ? Would it look like this? If you knew death was a week away, if you could grasp that rue oblivion waited and soon, where would your time and your money go? Would your posture toward your credit cards change? How would you eat and drink? Where would you go? What would you say to people? How do you imagine a society that embraced this posture on principle would look? Will you go on living that way now?

As G.K. Chesterton wrote in Heretics of life under the shadow of Death:

Many of the most brilliant intellects of our time have urged us to the same self-conscious snatching at a rare delight. Walter Pater said that we were all under sentence of death, and the only course was to enjoy exquisite moments simply for those moments’ sake. The same lesson was taught by the very powerful and very desolate philosophy of Oscar Wilde. It is the carpe diem religion; but the carpe diem religion is not the religion of happy people, but of very unhappy people.

The threat of Death carries rather a more sinister implication than even Chesterton allowed. It is not solely a question unhappiness numbed through hollow pursuit of transient pleasure. For this we will turn to The Brothers Karamazov and the philosophy attributed to brother Ivan Fyodorovich, summarized in this instance by Pyotr Aleksandrovich Miusov:

Ivan Fyodorovitch added in parenthesis that the whole natural law lies in that faith, and that if you were to destroy in mankind the belief in immortality, not only love but every living force maintaining the life of the world would at once be dried up. Moreover, nothing then would be immoral, everything would be lawful, even cannibalism. That’s not all. He ended by asserting that for every individual, like ourselves, who does not believe in God or immortality, the moral law of nature must immediately be changed into the exact contrary of the former religious law, and that egoism, even to crime, must become not only lawful but even recognized as the inevitable, the most rational, even honorable outcome of his position. From this paradox, gentlemen, you can judge of the rest of our eccentric and paradoxical friend Ivan Fyodorovitch’s theories.

The lessons of Death include not merely fear but terror, narcissism, immiseration, dissipation, desperation, and resignation.

But it is not merely evil to take Death as your teacher, and to internalize these lessons.

I wish to submit to you, as you yourself know, that it is impossible.

—

Whenever anyone tries to take Death as their master, to live out these lessons, reality soon presses against them, and they set themselves at odds with the life they are seeking to cherish to its fullest. Those who “seize the day” in the form of the hedonism that the carpe diem religion encourages invariably hasten the very thing they seek to defy, their embrace of momentary pleasures soon landing themselves and others in misery, and often an early grave. We simply cannot live like we are “dyin’”.

More abstract but no less important, I rather doubt that you or perhaps anyone who has ever lived seriously believes that you will die someday. You know it will happen. Sometimes perhaps the awe of the realization creeps up on you and you become very close to grasping it but life itself soon whisks it away. Even when the philosophers and the theologians tell you memento mori, they are setting you up not to die, but to live. They tell you to remember this to impel you to orient yourself toward what follows your death, which is to say the thing you wish to outlast you, to live on, or else to mind your own eternal destiny.

Which is to say, they say it in expectation not that you will die but in fact that you will live for ever.

And here we come to an odd point. One of the exquisitely pious mourners at my grandfathers funeral said at one moment as an aside and with significant tone, “well, it is just sad, because, well, we tried to get him to go to church but he was just never very open to it, and so, it is sad...”

Did that person seriously believe he was in Hell? Does anyone seriously believe in this place? No, for the same reason that nobody seriously believes in Death. It is so astonishingly incapacitating that life simply refuses to allow you to go on in this posture. You may feel yourself come close to grasping it—close enough even for conversion—but the most devout, the most relentless, the most frantic evangelist cannot even at the very height of their exertion truly live out a belief that the vast majority of souls are destined for eternal misery. The magnitude of the prospect exhausts individual capacity far before it exhausts itself.

We find ourselves, when faced with That prospect, wondering things that sophisticated and dogmatic theologians tut-tut—asking simple questions to which they have powerful refutations, while forgiving quite easily offenses we know cannot be forgiven. We are faced with the impossible prospect, the great heresy, that we desire their good more than God Himself desires it.

As I reflect on my grandfather, who bore no visible sign of faith, I ask even as I know better, is it possible that I am more merficul than God? I reflect on my professor, who died committing a mortal sin, is it possible—is it possible—that I love my professor more than God?

—

The point that I wish to make is not a philosophical or a theological one, though it is those things, but a practical one.

Life itself forces us to live as though we will go on living. To connect as though we will connect forever, to love as though we will love forever.

Even to take people for granted, because we feel—even when we think we know otherwise—that it cannot ever be The End.

We will see them again.

[singhtopp39]

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[flickeringart]

Satanism - a way to embrace Pluto?

My mind has been occupied with Pluto lately, the planet, god and symbol of “the hidden things”, the occult, the underworld, darkness, fate, rage, destruction, transformation, abduction, man’s primitive nature, life and death, power and powerlessness, fear, violation and fertility. There’s so much nuance to all planetary (archetypal) principles and there’s always more to explore. Pluto especially is a mysterious and threatening figure (force) in our lives and in the world at large. I have talked about it in previous posts, here / here and here… I’ve also explored the 8th house, which is the astrological house of Scorpio and Pluto here and here.

Many people understandably avoid anything that has to do with the darker elements of life and human nature until they are forced to deal with them. This is possibly why Pluto has been associated with violence because we are typically dragged into the depths; we don’t go there willingly. Some people, however, have lives that are marked by Pluto to such a degree that they can’t pretend that he doesn’t exist. By deciding to consciously accept him and embrace his influence it is possible to live a richer life. After all, Pluto is not only a god of destruction; he is also a god of riches. It seems to me, that the worship of Satan (as practiced by members of the Church of Satan) is very much in line with Pluto’s gifts and his riches. It’s an attempt to embrace the carnal nature. However, this Plutonian carnality is not as basic as it seems. It has its own intelligence, its own spirituality and its own laws. It seems to me that Pluto has to do with survival – psychological, emotional, spiritual and physical. He stands for survival and life at all levels of the being. As stated on the official website, “To us, Satan is the symbol that best suits the nature of we who are carnal by birth—people who feel no battles raging between our thoughts and feelings, we who do not embrace the concept of a soul imprisoned in a body. He represents pride, liberty, and individualism—qualities often defined as Evil by those who worship external deities, who feel there is a war between their minds and emotions.”

I think, that this philosophy attempts to treasure the whole (hu)man, to recognize his divinity even in his subjective thoughts and feelings. It’s an attempt to honor the darker aspects of human nature – anger, rage, and instinctual responses. It’s essentially to honor the earth, the dark void, and the merciless existence. Putting faith in external deities is robbing the individual of his divinity; it’s separating him from life. Christianity has, at least in part, made people think of Evil as an autonomous force (an external deity), corrupting good souls and creating fear and panic. By avoiding seeing reality as a whole, Christianity perpetuates fear instead of confronting it. As I understand it, Satanists don’t invest belief in any gods (symbolic of human drives and instincts) because they see that these mind-made constructs are part of their own psyche. Satanists place themselves at the center of their own subjective universe without seeking to befriend or worship mythical entities that are separate from them.

It seems to me though, from studying astrology, that there’s no way to escape deity. In the effort to not have any god, to place the self at the center, as is characteristic of the Church of Satan, one is in fact aligning or siding with an archetype. It’s impossible not to. I think this is made quite obvious when using astrology and analyzing natal charts. The archetypal energies are expressing themselves through and as the individuals.

In fact, let’s take a look at the chart of the founder of the Church of Satan, Anton Szandor LaVey. I would expect him to have a strong Pluto because of the emphasis on embracing the carnal side and the spiritual dimension of it. There’s also a big emphasis on being whole (a solar principle) through recognizing the totality of life, facing the strength and power within oneself and using the necessary tools to improve one’s own life. This would include consciously using symbols and images (like the image of Satan) in order to get the desired effect. If symbols are given autonomous power it’s a problem only if it puts the individual in a disempowered position. Personal integrity and liberty is also of utmost importance, which sounds rather Aquarian to me. Let’s have a look.

The chart of Anton Szandor LaVey, as found on astrotheme.com.

The Sun is in Aries, which is not surprising considering his strong faith in individuality, his initiative to start a “new religion”, to provide a contrasting influence, to place himself at the “center”, to go by no other rules than his own, to welcome opposition, the desire to be his own master and a leader of his own life. Aries as a sign is strongly linked to the warrior archetype, of fighting for what one believes in without compromise, to claim authority in spirit, to conquer, to place subjectivity over objectivity (because there’s no real difference from the perspective of Aries). Selfishness is the basis for existence; it is through honoring the self that one can honor other people’s independence. Mars, which is the planetary ruler of Aries, is concerned with personal strength and potency (note; Mars is sometimes referred to as the lower octave of Pluto). It seems like LaVey lived on his own terms, relying on his own natural instincts and gifts to get by in life. This is all very typical of Aries people, to live of off a self-generated optimism and conviction of one’s own ability. “The rules don’t apply to me” is the overall sentiment – the rules originated somewhere and that which originates from my own self is no less valuable or divine, even if it’s raw, ugly or imperfect it is still of “The Self”, the force that animates existence.

To no surprise, Pluto makes a square aspect to his Sun. He would’ve lived with the threat of his own destructive rage, his own inner violence and uncompromising desire. To him, it was probably difficult to consciously accept this side (the square aspect always represents a conflict) but he certainly tried to acknowledge his “darkness” through founding the Church of Satan. A person with a trine aspect between Sun-Pluto would not have been as motivated or pressed to bridge the gap between the self and the primitive and taboo because there wouldn’t have been anything to bridge. The square relationships between two planets usually motivate the individual to try to solve dilemma of conflicting principles within the psyche through external work. Squares usually force work in a very concrete fashion. When a person is serious about something, and is trying to make something happen it’s usually indicative of a square aspect within the personal chart. For example, I have a Neptune square Mercury aspect. I try to read and write and educate myself to some kind of higher state, some transcendent and elevated experience because the connection is not smooth between these planets. I try to articulate things properly in order to bridge the gap between personal mind and the nuance of collective feeling. I try to reflect the essence or feeling tone of energies through my writing.

The interesting thing about LaVey is that he truly took on the appearance of a devil – he was probably aware of the power of looks, the impact that certain clothing or symbols have. He was undoubtedly theatrical. Pluto in the 5th house might have something to do with this, as it’s the house of individual expression. The 5th house is all about personal creation; it’s the realm of children and play. In a sense, he was no different from a child dressing up in costumes and playing “the dark one”, which is probably why people mocked him for it. Even when Pluto is in the 5th house it is never light-hearted, he is all in, ruthlessly determined. Pluto placed in this house takes play seriously. He takes personal expression seriously. His creations are his and he should be at the center of them. The individual should be credited for his abilities, not the other way around, just as the individual shouldn’t be appreciated because his gifts are “of the gods”. They belong as much to the individual as it does to the deities. This is certainly the spirit of Pluto. He answers to no other god than himself and he sees life as it is, in its most vile forms, without flinching. Life is in all expressions, in the primitive as well as in the sophisticated. This is, in many ways, a deeply honest way to live. Another thing that catches my attention is the bi-quintiles Pluto makes to the MC (public image) and the AC (personal image/persona). The bi-quintile aspect is generally considered to say something about a certain talent or style, a mercurial quality or skill. He truly has the style of Pluto, both in his countenance and in his societal achievements. He looks dark and mysterious, preoccupied with the occult side of life. Perhaps he even had a certain talent for “magic”, at least he claimed to.

Satanists believe in indulgence (which doesn’t imply compulsion) over abstinence, primarily because there’s no belief in heaven or an after life. The individual is placed at the center of his own universe as his own master – through and through. Although many people would agree that self-mastery is a good thing, many also tend promote, in the same vein, that “people make mistakes” and that they “should be forgiven”. As I understand it, Satanism as a philosophy would state that mistakes are only mistakes if the self-mastered individual firmly believes it to be so in complete honesty and integrity. Self-deceit is considered to be a sin, unless of course it’s done intentionally - it would then not be a sin. Going along with roles that other people have cast one in is self-deceit – that is, for example, shouldering the role as a “sinner” because other people have imposed that label or role onto you is not indicative of self-respect, it’s a betrayal of your own reality. Notably, LaVey has an Aquarius Ascendant, Lilith in Aquarius in the 1st house and Uranus widely conjunct his Sun (both in the independent sign of Aries). He is definitely not a person to follow the herd – in fact “Herd Conformity” is one of the Cardinal Sins in Satanism. He leads life through the principle of being his own godhead, his own intellectual genius, and his own unique and separate individual, detached from the norms and conventions enough to go against them if he pleases. Aquarius is a sign that considers the map of life in an intellectual sense. This sign is also the sign of the progressive individual, someone who wants to make a difference on a larger scale. He certainly did, through constructing a thought-system that could benefit people. It’s no wonder that the first of the Nine Cardinal Sins (as found on the official website) is Stupidity. Of course it would be to an Aquarius Rising! “Think for yourself; don’t go along with everything you’re told” is the plea.

[valdomarx]

La Campanella

McShep + Rodney plays the piano Rodney never could resist a challenge, especially when it’s set by Sheppard.

Atlantis is a place of many wonders, but Rodney's favorite is this:

In a distant part of the northern pier is a short, squat tower which he and Sheppard investigate on a routine patrol.

And in that tower is a large, unassuming room like a lecture hall.

And in the center of the room is an object seven foot long and three feet high, elegant, delicate, and familiar.

“Is that…” Rodney practically runs over to touch it, as reckless as that urge can be in Atlantis, but he knows this isn’t a weapon or a piece of broken technology or some dangerous machine. It’s a thing of beauty.

It’s an instrument remarkably like a piano: white and black reversed, keys slightly different lengths, but the same 12-step configuration making up an octave. Keys which strike strings stretched over a wide frame with soft hammers, and this can’t be a coincidence.

“How... ” he starts, and then he answers his own question. “The Ancients must have invented this instrument and brought the concept with them to Earth. But that would overturn so much musical history they’ll have to rewrite the textbooks, can you even imagine the implications -”

John does not look as fascinated by the profound repercussions of this discovery on the history of western classical music as Rodney is.

He waves questions of history aside and sits on the low stool in front of the keyboard, blowing away the years of accumulated dust. His hands instinctively settle into arches, his wrists loose, and he plays a few simple scales. The notes sound out clear and true, but -

He frowns.

“Something wrong?” Sheppard is leaning over the instrument, studying him and it with interest.

“This is tuned half a tone lower than an Earth piano. Feels a bit weird, that’s all.”

“How do you know that?”

Rodney affects his smuggest smile. “Perfect pitch, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Sheppard says, rolling his eyes.

Rodney looks around the room furtively, keen for reasons he can’t articulate that no one else should observe them, and he starts to play.

-

It becomes a habit, a place to unwind, somewhere they visit on off hours and in quiet moments.

Today Sheppard is flicking through a golf magazine while Rodney warms up with some Bach. The music is pleasing and orderly, and the sparse, bright notes explode in fractal-like patterns, unfurling and changing and becoming more complex the closer you look.

John tilts his head to one side and says, “You know there’s a whole bunch of classical music on the Atlantis server?”

Rodney grins. He did know that, in fact. Never get between a team of scientists and their file sharing. “I may have heard.”

“I listened to some of the Chopin you like. Then some other piano stuff as well.”

“Yeah?” Rodney picks at a fingernail. Something about the idea of John listening to music just because Rodney likes it makes his heart beat a little faster. “Find anything you liked?”

“A bunch actually. Have you heard of a piece called La Campanella? By a guy named Liszt?"

"Have I…" Has he heard of the single hardest piece in the entire solo piano repertoire? The fact he could never get those double stops right haunts him to this day. "Yeah, it rings a bell."

"I like that one," John says decisively. "It's nice."

Nice??? Sheppard thinks the most epic and demanding piece of all time is nice? Of course he does.

"You should learn to play it," John says casually, like he's suggesting they watch an action movie instead of a scifi.

"I should -" he splutters. "Do you have any idea how difficult that is? It's practically impossible."

John smirks and says, "I thought practically impossible was your specialty?"

Rodney is still spluttering when John throws him a wink and walks out.

-

And then, because despite being the finest mind in two galaxies, on some level he truly is an idiot, he stretches out his fingers and starts to practice.

-

It's not like he had copious free time to start with. But he makes space whenever he can to come to the piano room, chipping away at this ludicrous piece, bit by bit, phrase by phrase, over and over and over.

People think that learning to play is artistry, and maybe it is that too, but mostly it's a grind. You keep doing it again and again until you get it right. It's as much about stubbornness as about skill.

And stubbornness is something Rodney McKay has in abundance.

-

Liszt really was a sadistic old bastard, Rodney thinks sourly as he works on the right hand jumps until his fingers turn to lead.

-

Sometimes Sheppard comes and sits with him while he practices, and on those days he plays easier pieces, things which are familiar and casual. Not that John seems to pay much attention, but Rodney has the urge to impress him all the same.

He’s always having that urge around John.

-

He spends an entire week working on his goddamn trill.

It shouldn’t matter and it’s not like anyone will really listen to it. But it seems to represent something important — a sequence of paired adjacent notes, next to each other but never quite touching, bouncing off each other time and time again, a dance of two — though he doesn’t want to examine that too closely.

-

He doesn’t tell anyone else about the piano. He tells himself that’s because it’s convenient that he doesn’t have to share and can use it whenever he wants.

But really, he likes that it’s his and Sheppard’s; their own tiny secret in this vast and sprawling city.

-

He hears the piece in his sleep, and on missions, and when he’s working in his lab. It becomes a background hum of his brain, always there, a sort of yearning for the possible, the platonic ideal, the way that things could be.

He tries not to examine that too closely either, though the weight of the realization is becoming harder to ignore.

-

Eventually the piece is as ready as it's going to be. He scribbles a quick note during a meeting, folds it into a paper airplane, and throws it at Sheppard's head. He hits him right in the temple, and he manages to avoid cheering when Elizabeth glares at him.

I have something to play for you, the note reads. Meet you at 7? You know where. - R

He jots it down without really thinking, and only once he's thrown does it occur to him how soppy it sounds.

John doesn't seem too perturbed though. He smiles down at the note and meets Rodney's eye with a little eyebrow wiggle which Rodney takes to mean, Gonna impress me?

-

By the time John arrives, Rodney is all warmed up and more nervous than he's ever been about a performance. His heart is racing, and when John gives him a fond look and says, "Hey," it trips even faster.

Once he settles in to play though, there's a certain kind of mental clarity that settles over him. His hands know how to do this, he just has to sit back and let them.

His wrists are still tense as he sounds out the first few bars and then, all at once, he relaxes into it and lets the music carry him. Hours of repetition have made every chord, every melody, every insane and unreasonable jump into something almost effortless. He even forgets John is there: there’s only him, and the piano, and the music.

The music builds and builds, each section becoming more and more ornamented, more complex, more physically demanding, all at a relentless pace that sends most players reeling. But he's got this, he can do this, it turns out all he needed was a bit of motivation.

The penultimate section is his favorite: The technical parts are done and here he can throw himself into the wild, over the top glory of the final melody. And perhaps he shows off a little bit, catching John's eye and grinning at him, but that's all part of the fun.

The piece ends with a crashing, massive finale that makes him feel like a virtuoso, and then in a last few epic chords it's done, as tight and perfect a five minutes as you could wish for.

The final chord reverberates on and on through the stillness of the room, glowing out beyond the city and into the night.

"Wow." John's eyes are wide. "That was great."

Rodney preens, because that ineloquent little comment somehow means more to him than an auditorium full of ecstatic applause. Having John look at him like that makes the months of practice worth it.

"You liked it?" He's fishing for compliments, but he figures he's earned it.

"I did," John says, staring at Rodney's hands like they hold the secrets to the universe.

He looks up and blushes at having been caught staring. Then he deflects and shrugs one shoulder. “Honestly, though, it’s not my favorite piano piece.”

Rodney narrows his eyes. He has the distinct impression he’s been played. “What was your favorite then?”

"I prefer Songs Without Words."

"Mendelssohn?" he explodes. "You wanted Mendelssohn? Jesus Christ, I learned to play that when I was eight!"

John grins. "I appreciate simplicity in music."

"Then why on earth did you make me learn Liszt?!"

John has this joyous, manic light in his eyes, like he's having the time of his life here, messing around with Rodney, of all the things he could be doing. "I like watching you do impossible things."

He sucks in a breath. "I hate you."

"No you don't." John leans in, smug and delighted, and oh, Rodney is so in love with this ridiculous, infuriating man that he could burst. "You learned La Campanella for me."

"It wasn't that hard," he says quickly, because he has a reputation to maintain here. But John laughs and gives him this soft, teasing look, one eyebrow quirked at a ridiculous angle beneath the chaotic mess of his hair, and Rodney is defenseless.

"Whatever you say, McKay," John says, and Rodney has the feeling he sees straight through him. "Now play it again."

[akugumi]

Quotes from A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara that remind me of Banana Fish

note: if you haven’t already and you like to suffer, go read this absolute masterpiece, however, this book is also a very heavy read, i myself had to put it aside for weeks before continuing on countless ocasiones. here are the trigger warnings for the book (which i took from here): sexual abuse, child sexual abuse, scary verbal abuse, psychological manipulation and gaslighting, kidnapping/imprisonment, many modes of self-harm, a violent accident, a few moments of prejudice against the disabled, drug use, addiction, grief and loss of a loved one. Many of these aren't just mentioned, but described at length in graphic detail.

“They were inventing their own type of relationship, one that wasn’t officially recognized by history or immortalized in poetry or song, but which felt truer and less constraining.” 

“I was aware that I had been looking for him on every street, in every crowd.”

“But what was happiness but an extravagance, an impossible state to maintain, partly because it was so difficult to articulate?” 

“Wasn’t friendship its own miracle, the finding of another person who made the entire lonely world seem somehow less lonely?” 

“...things get broken, and sometimes they get repaired, and in most cases, you realize that no matter what gets damaged, life rearranges itself to compensate for your loss, sometimes wonderfully.” 

“We don’t get the families we deserve,” 

“You won’t understand what I mean now, but someday you will: the only trick of friendship, I think, is to find people who are better than you are—not smarter, not cooler, but kinder, and more generous, and more forgiving—and then to appreciate them for what they can teach you, and to try to listen to them when they tell you something about yourself, no matter how bad—or good—it might be, and to trust them, which is the hardest thing of all. But the best, as well.”

“But mostly, I missed watching you two together; I missed watching you watch him, and him watch you; I missed how thoughtful you were with each other, missed how thoughtlessly, sincerely affectionate you were with him; missed watching you listen to each other, the way you both did so intently.”

“You’ll find your own way to discuss what happened to you. You’ll have to, if you ever want to be close to anyone. But your life—no matter what you think, you have nothing to be ashamed of, and none of it has been your fault. Will you remember that?” 

[menalez]

i wonder if you have any advice on how to stop viewing myself through this voyeuristic lens. like I prejudge anything I do by what I imagine some stranger (usually male) would think. i view my body that way, wonder if men whom I don’t know and don’t care about or even like think I’m pretty. I absolutely hate doing this, I hate hating my body hair and soft bits but I don’t know how to stop! all my sexual experiences were pretty bad, assault-y (i think it’s likely r*** but idk it feels weird to call it that when it wasn’t as clear cut). i am intentionally celibate now and don’t interact with men as much as I can help it, but they still make me nervous and uncomfy. I’m also desi and just feeling very hateful towards myself esp with body hair, like many white radfems don’t understand how much brown girls get made fun of for hair. Idk if this makes sense, and of course you don’t have to answer this! but I do love your blog and the way you articulate your thoughts!

i feel u on all this and even with the bit about not wanting to call something rape bc of it not being so clear. and in terms of making sense, you absolutely do make sense. in terms of not viewing yourself from a voyeuristic lens, i cannot give advice there unfortunately as i also do the same. and whenever i start to manage to get out of that, people like my mother and other female relatives will repeatedly point out my flaws and how i can be better looking which brings me back to it. it’s also hard to toe the line between self-care and playing into beauty standards placed on women. however, with body hair, what worked for me at least for leg and arm hair was: to try not to remove the hair. i used to hide like i was some sort of criminal whenever i had any hair on my legs. wouldn’t show my legs, wouldn’t let anyone touch my legs, constantly was hyperaware of them in fear of people seeing my legs and making fun of me for having body hair. it’s excessive i know, but i had been bullied and mocked as a child by random people and started removing my leg & arm hair by the time i was 9. so letting the hair be was a big first step for me. letting my body be hairy as it naturally is was a necessary first step. after that, i started to let the hair show. i saw similar women who had done the same to remind myself of how possible this is to do. i eventually stopped paying attention to the hair being there and would notice it once in awhile, and the shame slowly went away. i would sometimes partake in casual competitions (“i bet im hairier than you!”) with other women where we show our body hair and talk about it neutral ways. and being away from my female relatives was also helpful because i didn’t have them reminding me constantly of how im somehow like a man or animal or not caring for myself or whatever else bc im not removing my body hair. also making note of and reminding myself when i see people don’t even notice my hair or don’t care about it. most importantly, don’t push yourself too far out of your comfort zone. if something makes you uncomfortable, take a smaller step. pushing yourself too far out of your comfort zone risks strengthening the issue rather than fighting it. take it step by step and take your time overcoming this. who knows, maybe if you start with normalising your own body hair and seeing that there’s nothing wrong with it, you’ll perhaps also care less about how others perceive you as well and live more for yourself. it didn’t work that way for me, but i don’t think it’s impossible since they’re all somewhat connected.

[kjack89]

Determination of Death (pt. 2/2)

Continued from here.

All of the angst. If y’all thought this was going to secretly be angst with a happy ending, well...you’ve got another think coming.

Former E/R, modern AU. CW: car accident, major injuries, discussion of end of life care, referenced major character death.

Joly led the way out of the meeting room, and Grantaire remembered only upon seeing the expectant faces staring at them from the waiting room that no one else knew what was going on. “Oh, and can you, uh, fill everyone else in?” he asked Joly weakly, unable to bring himself to look any of them in the eye. “You have my permission, or whatever.”

“Of course,” Joly said quietly. “Though you should know...they’ll probably have some opinions on what decision you should make.”

Grantaire snorted. “Your friends? Having opinions? I’m shocked, I tell you. Shocked.”

Joly cracked a small smile. “Sarcasm doesn’t become you,” he informed Grantaire. “It never has. Besides, it’s ‘our’.”

Grantaire frowned at his back. “Our what?”

“Our friends. Not just mine.”

Grantaire’s expression softened. “Maybe that was true before—” he started, but he broke off when Joly came to an abrupt stop outside of a hospital room door. “Is this it?”

Joly nodded. “Do you want me to come in with you?”

Grantaire’s initial instinct was to say no, but judging by the look on Joly’s face, it wouldn’t hurt to have someone with him, at least at first. “Yeah,” he said. “Please.”

“Of course.” Joly pushed the door open and held it for Grantaire, who took a deep breath before stepping into the room. It was quiet, especially compared to the chaos of the hospital; the only sounds were the beeping from the heart monitor and whooshing sound from what Grantaire assumed was the ventilator. 

And there, lying on the hospital bed, more still than Grantaire had ever seen him, was Enjolras.

Even with Enjolras’s head bandaged, even with his face bruised and bloody, even with tubes coming out of him from seemingly every angle, Grantaire still would have recognized him. Every line in Enjolras’s body was as familiar to Grantaire as breathing, even now, even like this, even after so much time had passed since he had last seen him.

He crossed to him almost without thinking, drawn as always to Enjolras like a moth to a flame. But this time, Enjolras didn’t glance up at him in irritation for disturbing him when he was working, or with his expression softening when he saw it was Grantaire. He didn’t tilt his head up automatically for a kiss or roll his eyes and brush Grantaire off. He didn’t scrunch his nose and groan because the alarm clock just went off and he didn’t want to get up yet.

He just lay there, completely still, and even though Grantaire had been expecting it, had been bracing himself for it, it still knocked the breath out of him.

Grantaire reached automatically for his hand, running his thumb automatically over the bare spot on Enjolras’s ring finger where his wedding ring had once sat. He wondered briefly what Enjolras had done with it. Grantaire used to joke to anyone who would listen that he had chucked his into the ocean because good fucking riddance, but he hadn’t – his wedding ring was in the back of the top drawer of his dresser. 

He had never been able to articulate why he kept it, but looking at Enjolras lying there like that, feeling the way his own heart stuttered in his chest, he thought he might’ve finally figured it out.

“He’s so warm,” he remarked absently, turning Enjolras’s hand over in his own, rubbing the pad of his thumb across Enjolras’s palm in a way that used to make the man laugh and scold him for tickling him, though there was no reaction now. “I don’t know what I was expecting—”

That wasn’t quite true. He had expected him to be cold.

He had expected him to be dead.

Sympathy was clear in Joly’s expression, and he reached out to gently touch Grantaire’s shoulder. “Are you ok?” he asked softly. 

Of course he wasn’t ok – he was never going to be ok again. But he forced a smile for Joly, and jerked a nod. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m fine.” He cleared his throat, looking back down at Enjolras again. “How – how soon do I need to make a decision?”

“Like I said, we’ll retest for brain activity in a few hours. If we still see some functioning, you technically have as long as you want or need—”

“Joly.” Grantaire didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t need to know – Joly knew him well enough to know he just wanted a straight answer.

“But I’d recommend making a decision on withdrawal of care sooner rather than later, especially if you want to donate his organs,” Joly finished. “The sooner we can harvest them, the better the chances are that they won’t suffer any damage.”

Grantaire nodded again, and Joly squeezed his shoulder. “If you need anything, just push the call button. I’m gonna…” Joly had to pause and clear his throat. “I’m gonna go fill everyone else in.”

“Good luck,” Grantaire told him, meaning it more than he could possibly convey. Joly patted him on the shoulder once more before leaving, and Grantaire was alone with Enjolras.

He had imagined this moment so many times, but never like this.

He sat down in one of the chairs next to Enjolras’s bed without letting go of Enjolras’s hand. Part of him wanted to touch Enjolras, to run his fingers across his cheekbone or trace the line of his jaw, but the bruising and swelling stopped him.

The last thing he wanted to do was cause Enjolras any more pain than he already had.

Instead, he raised Enjolras’s hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to his knuckles like he had done a thousand times before. “Hey Enj,” he whispered. “It’s been a long time, huh? I know you said you never wanted to see me again, but...I think given the circumstances, we can make an exception.”

Enjolras didn’t respond, and Grantaire just sat like that for a long time, holding Enjolras’s hand in both of his, completely unaware of anything else, including the tears that streamed down his cheeks.

----------

Maybe it was the fact that he’d gotten no sleep the night before, or maybe it was the unbearable emotional trauma, but at some point Grantaire must’ve fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, someone was shaking his shoulder gently. “Hey,” Joly said, sounding just as tired as Grantaire felt. “I figured you could use some company.”

Grantaire slowly sat up, looking automatically at Enjolras, who hadn’t so much as shifted in the bed. He was still holding Enjolras’s hand, and he squeezed it once, even though he knew he wouldn’t get a response. “I’m always happy for company, but you’ve had an impossibly long day. Shouldn’t you be getting home and getting some sleep?”

“I actually wasn’t talking about myself,” Joly said, opening the door. “I brought some other folks who want to see Enjolras.” Grantaire blinked as all of Les Amis filed in, many with telltale red eyes and exhaustion tightening their features. “Visitors are supposed to be limited to no more than four, but I figured no one in the hospital would mind. Provided, um, you don’t mind either.”

As if Grantaire could very well kick them out now that they were all in there, looking at him expectantly. “Of course not,” Grantaire mumbled, looking back at Enjolras before standing up stiffly. “Someone else can sit with him for a bit—”

The words were barely out of his mouth before Combeferre and Courfeyrac had sat down, Courfeyrac taking Enjolras’s hand, and Grantaire bit back the jealousy he had absolutely no right to feel at that.

He ducked his head as he pushed through to the back of the room, nodding in response to the few murmured greetings he got from the friends he hadn’t seen in almost as long as he hadn’t seen Enjolras. He found himself next to Jehan, who didn’t even hesitate, looping his arm through Grantaire’s and pulling him close, resting his head against Grantaire’s shoulder as if no time had passed at all.

“You doing ok?” he asked him in an undertone, and Grantaire just shrugged.

“Define alright,” he murmured, giving Jehan a tight, strained smile. “I’m alive. Which is about where the bar is at right now.”

Jehan stifled a laugh, which Grantaire found a little gratifying. Then again, if anyone would appreciate morbid humor at a time like this…

Judging by the dirty look Feuilly shot him from his other side, Jehan was about the only one who appreciated it.

He forced himself to look at Enjolras, watching as Combeferre reached up to rest a hand lightly on the top of Enjolras’s head, almost as if he was trying to stroke Enjolras’s hair despite it being hidden by bandages. Courfeyrac let out a shaky sigh. “He could almost be sleeping,” he said.

It took everything in Grantaire not to laugh, though clearly something of what he was feeling must’ve shown on his face, because Jehan arched an eyebrow at him. “What?” he whispered.

Grantaire shook his head, not intending on explaining, but this time, it wasn’t just Feuilly who gave him a look – everyone swiveled to stare at him, as if he had just sworn in church or something. “Nothing, it’s just…” Grantaire cleared his throat. “Clearly none of you ever saw Enjolras sleep. He was the least peaceful sleeper of all time. I think I’ve still got the bruises on my legs from him kicking me as he thrashed around, and it’s been a few years since I was subjected to it. It was like sleeping with a very large, particularly violent fish.”

Bossuet looked very much like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or cry. “That’s – that’s horrible.”

Grantaire shrugged, managing another small smile. “Maybe. But it’s also true.”

“I really don’t think,” Combeferre interjected, his voice sharp, “that this is an appropriate topic of conversation. If this is the type of thing you want to talk about, maybe you should step outside.”

Combeferre’s disapproval was hardly anything new, and maybe it was just because Grantaire’s nerves were stretched to the breaking point as it was, but he met Combeferre’s icy glare with one of his own. “And seeing as how this is still my husband and I’m still his medical proxy and you’re all here with my permission, maybe you should go fuck yourself,” he said pleasantly.

Combeferre stood up so suddenly that Courfeyrac, who had been resting his head against Combeferre’s shoulder, was almost knocked out of his chair. “Is that really how you want to do this?” he snapped, angrier than Grantaire had ever heard him. “You want a long, protracted legal battle while we get a judge to agree that while you were married to him for all of thirty seconds, we’re his family?:

Joly cleared his throat. “Guys—”

“Good luck with that,” Grantaire said with a smirk. “Just because you hate me doesn’t change the law. I know this wasn’t what you had in mind when you marched and protested in favor of gay marriage, but unintended consequences and all that—”

“Guys,” Joly repeated, louder this time. “All of you need to go outside. It’s time for us to do Enjolras’s repeat brain function tests.”

It was as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Combeferre’s shoulders slumped, and all the fight left Grantaire just as quickly. They all filed out just as they had filed in, though this time, Grantaire went with them, refusing to look back at Enjolras, mainly because he wasn’t sure he would make it outside if he did. 

As soon as he got out in the hallway, Grantaire slumped with his back against the wall, slowly sliding down until he was sitting on the floor. He wanted nothing more than to hide his head in his hands, to block the world out so that he could pretend this was all a bad dream that he might still wake up from.

But that would just delay the inevitable, and Grantaire had never much cared for that option.

Instead, he forced himself to look up at Combeferre, who was avoiding looking at him. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, and Combeferre’s eyes met his. “Of course I don’t want that. And I didn’t mean—”

“Neither did I,” Combeferre told him, exhaustion clear in his expression. “I know Enjolras loved you. Even after everything. We all do.” Grantaire glanced around the circle of his former friends, and all of them were nodding. His chest suddenly felt too tight, but before he could say anything, Combeferre continued, “And you know just as much as any of us. Probably better than most of us.” Combeferre gave Grantaire a tentative smile. “Besides, he and I had to share a bed at a conference once and I’m pretty sure I limped for about a month afterwards from how many times he kicked me.”

But Grantaire didn’t smile, Combeferre’s words picking open a scab on his heart that he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying with him. “I don’t know him anymore,” he said softly, and Combeferre’s smile disappeared. “I mean, honestly, I don’t know if I ever did. I thought I did once, maybe. But now…”

He trailed off, and they all fell into silence. After a few minutes like that, quiet, unrelated conversations broke out. Grantaire watched all these people he had once considered his closest friends, watched Courfeyrac wrap his arms around Pontmercy from behind, resting his head against Marius’s back because Marius was too tall for him to rest his chin on his shoulder. He watched as Jehan and Combeferre sat down across the hall, discussing some article they had both read in quiet tones, both clearly looking for a distraction. Bahorel and Feuilly offered to get coffee for anyone who wanted it, and both headed in the direction of the cafeteria, neither walking quite as fast as they usually did. Bossuet sat next to a pretty woman in scrubs who Grantaire didn’t know but realized must be Musichetta, who he had heard about but never gotten a chance to meet before everything fell apart. 

That was nice, Grantaire thought distractedly. They all had someone.

Well, except for him. 

Grantaire was alone.

When the door to Enjolras’s room opened and Joly stepped out, all conversation died. Joly’s expression was unreadable as he looked down at Grantaire. “We should talk privately,” he said, but Grantaire shook his head.

“Whatever you have to say, you might as well tell all of us,” he said tiredly. “Saves you from just having to repeat it in five minutes.”

Joly nodded. “Ok,” he said before taking a deep breath and glancing around at all of them. “The scans revealed the same level of brain activity as before. Meaning he is not legally brain dead.”

Grantaire groaned, tipping his head back to rest it against the wall. “So the ball’s in my court,” he said heavily, and Joly nodded again.

“Yes. It’s your decision where we go from here.”

Grantaire exhaled sharply before barking a laugh. “You know, the irony is, he said that I would know,” he said to no one in particular.

“What?” Combeferre asked, his brow furrowed.

“That’s why he picked me,” Grantaire said, staring up at the ceiling. “I told Enjolras when we got married that he should still make Pontmercy his medical proxy like everyone else did. Told him that I would probably be right there with him getting my ass kicked so I’d be useless anyway. But he said that he trusted me.” Tears pricked in the corners of Grantaire’s eyes but he didn’t bother trying to stop them as they fell. “He said that I’d know when his work was done, when it was time to let him go.”

Silence again fell over everyone, but this time, it was Bahorel who broke it, blurting, “That’s seriously what you two would talk about?” Everyone stared at him, and he shrugged, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I just – I always wondered.”

“I think we all did,” Jehan muttered, and Grantaire cracked a smile.

“In fairness, we talked about a lot of things, not just what to do in the case of a traumatic injury.” His smile faded. “But given the likelihood that he’d get his head bashed in at a protest one day, it wasn’t exactly a random hypothetical.” 

But in the end, it hadn’t been Enjolras’s activism that had killed him, the way Grantaire always feared it would. It had been a car accident, a random, cruel accident that had ended his entire world, and he was sure there was some lesson to be drawn from that, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care.

Instead, he twisted his head to look up at Joly. “Anyway, I, uh, I need some time.”

“Of course,” Joly said instantly. “Take as much time as you need.”

Grantaire looked away, glancing around the circle before adding, “And, um, everyone should take some time with him. To say...whatever you need to say.”

He let them work out who was going to go in first as he instead picked himself up off the floor and made his way over to Marius to ask in an undertone, “Can we talk?”

Marius nodded, looking concerned, and they walked away down the hallway. “What’s up?” he asked when they were out of earshot.

Grantaire let out a shaky breath. “I, uh...honestly?” He let out a noise that might’ve been a cough, or a very dry laugh. “It’s going to sound stupid, but I wanted to make sure I haven’t committed tax fraud.”

Whatever Marius had been expecting, that was clearly not it, since he stared at Grantaire as if he’d grown a second head. “Tax fraud?” he repeated.

“Yeah, since I’ve been under the impression that I’ve been divorced, I’ve been filing my taxes as single.”

Marius barked a laugh, quickly covering his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s not funny. None of this is funny. I just can’t believe that’s what you’re worried about.”

Grantaire flinched. “I mean, I’m worried about a lot of things. This is just something that I can do something about.” He glanced at Marius. “Or not, and the IRS is putting a warrant out for my arrest as we speak.”

Marius laughed again, but gentler this time. “You will not be going down for tax fraud,” he said. “The designation is single or married filing separately, which you technically are. Or were.”

The past tense was like a knife to the gut, and Grantaire jerked a nod. “Good,” he said hollowly. “Because if I go down for tax fraud because Enjolras forgot to file our fucking divorce papers, I swear to God, I’ll kill him myself.”

Something shifted in Marius’s expression. “You know, I’m not sure he did.”

“Did what?” Grantaire asked tiredly.

“Forget,” Marius said, before adding in what he clearly thought was a helpful way, as if Grantaire was incapable of following the simple thread of the conversation, “To file the papers, I mean. I think he didn’t file them on purpose.”

Grantaire stared blankly at him. “And yet he clearly didn’t want to be married to me, so…”

Marius shrugged. “Maybe not. I can’t speak to that.” He hesitated before telling Grantaire, “Technically this is breaking attorney-client privilege, but...he came to me, after you had signed the papers. And he asked me what would happen to his trust fund in the divorce.”

“His trust fund?” Grantaire asked blankly.

“Yeah,” Marius said. “According to your pre-nup, in the case of divorce, all of his original assets revert to his sole ownership, save for what he would owe in spousal support.”

Grantaire shifted uncomfortably. “Look, I never wanted his money—”

“But Enjolras didn’t want that,” Marius continued as if Grantaire hadn’t spoken. “He wanted to make sure you had more than that. So I started to tell him about the process of signing over certain trusts to your name, and he blew me off. Said he’d take care of it.”

“Right.” 

Grantaire wasn’t sure what he was agreeing with, but it didn’t really matter, since Marius ignored him. “But I think what he meant is that he’d take care of you.”

Again, Grantaire’s chest felt painfully tight. “By pretending we were divorced?” he asked skeptically.

Marius shrugged again. “Well, I’ve never once argued that the man’s methods were anything resembling sane, but…” Almost despite himself, Grantaire laughed and Marius managed a small smile. “But yeah, I think that was what he was trying to do.” 

Grantaire shook his head slowly. “After all this time...I really didn’t think he could surprise me anymore.”

“He loved you,” Marius said simply. “I don’t know what happened between you two, and frankly, I don’t want to. But I know that much is true.” Grantaire couldn’t seem to speak, but Marius looked like he understood. “Anyway,” he said, “can I answer any other legal questions for you? Or do anything at all?”

Grantaire was about to tell him no when a sudden realization hit. “Actually, yes,” he said. “Can you get Combeferre and Courfeyrac for me? I want to talk to them.”

---------

As it turned out, between everyone saying their goodbyes to Enjolras and the general chaos of the hospital, including a very angry nurse coming to tell them that they were all liable to get kicked out if they didn’t keep it down, Grantaire didn’t get a chance to talk to Combeferre and Courfeyrac together until it was just the three of them left in Enjolras’s hospital room. Combeferre and Courfeyrac were seated on either side of Enjolras, and Grantaire stood at the end of the bed, wanting to be anywhere but there, talking about anything but what he needed to.

“What would you two do?” he asked finally, when the silence had gotten truly unbearable.

Combeferre looked sharply at him. “Legally, it’s not our decision to make.”

“I know that,” Grantaire said tiredly. “But you knew him better than I did these past few years, and I want to know what you would do.”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged glances, and it was Courfeyrac who spoke first. “Enjolras wanted to help people,” he said simply. “Yeah, his aim was always more systemic, because he knew as well as any of us that to truly help folks in the long term required breaking the system that was oppressing them in the first place, but that’s still what he wanted to do: to help.” He paused and took a deep breath. “And I think that in this case, even though it’s not a systemic help, he would still want to help people with his death, if he could. So I would– I would withdraw life support so that he could donate his organs.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “What about you?” he asked Combeferre hoarsely.

Combeferre shook his head, looking back at Enjolras. “I know what the statistics are,” he said, his voice low. “And logic would say that pulling the plug probably makes the most sense, given the odds of him recovering. But as long as there is a chance, any chance…” He swallowed. “Science is progressing rapidly and he could live like this for years, until they’ve developed a treatment that could bring him back to us. We learn more about the brain and healing from brain injuries every single day, and he deserves a chance to see if we discover how to heal him.” He raised his chin as he looked back at Grantaire, something like defiance in his expression. “His work is not done, and I can’t imagine him giving up that chance, no matter how slim the odds are.”

Again Grantaire nodded. “In other words, you’re both completely fucking useless.”

“Enjolras said as much, many, many times,” Courfeyrac said with something like his usual cheerfulness. “Everytime he wanted us to agree with him on something and we didn’t.”

“So like, once a week, at least,” Combeferre muttered, and he and Courfeyrac exchanged a smile at the shared memory. Then he looked back at Grantaire. “But at the end of the day, we’re not the ones making this choice. He didn’t—” His voice broke. “He didn’t choose us. He chose you. And you know him better than you think you do, because you know the parts of him that none of us ever got to see.”

Grantaire opened his mouth to argue with that, but Courfeyrac stood, squeezing Enjolras’s hand once more before releasing it. “We should leave you alone,” he said softly. “Give you some time with him.” He looked at Grantaire, his eyes shining. “Whatever choice you make, you have my full support. Because despite everything, I know you loved him. And that’s enough for me.”

Grantaire could feel tears threatening to fall again, but this time, he brushed them forcefully away as Combeferre and Courfeyrac slipped away. Grantaire took Combeferre’s vacated seat, staring down at Enjolras as if the man might give him a sign, any sign.

He had hoped Combeferre and Courfeyrac would give him some kind of clarity, but he should’ve known they wouldn’t. Especially since they were both completely wrong.

They had known Enjolras, yes, and loved him, but they hadn’t loved him like Grantaire had. Like Grantaire still did. Loving Enjolras for Grantaire had always meant seeing more than just the leader of Les Amis, but seeing the whole man, even for all his many, many faults. Enjolras cared deeply like Courfeyrac had said, yes, but not about helping any one person; he cared only about destroying the systems that kept people in whatever metaphoric chains he cared about that week. He wouldn’t be swayed by the argument that he could save lives or else he would’ve been a living kidney or partial liver donor. 

And he wasn’t a hopeless believer either like Combeferre seemed to think. The thought of Enjolras waiting around for a miracle that might not even happen was utterly laughable. The man’s patience was non-existent. He wouldn’t be content to lie in bed for years on end. He was a man of action, and if there was nothing actionable, it wasn’t anything worth his time. It was, after all, probably why he had been so quick to give up on them, since there wasn’t anything left for him to do or fix.

There was only one argument that would sway Enjolras, one way or another. An argument about the Cause, about the work left undone, and as much as Grantaire was the wrong messenger for anything relating to the Cause or Enjolras’s work, he knew that only he could tell Enjolras what he needed to hear.

Grantaire would obviously never know, but he couldn’t help but think that this was why Enjolras had chosen him. Because whatever else he was, or wasn’t, had been or hadn’t, Enjolras was already gone. Whether they removed the ventilator today or tomorrow or in a week or a year, Enjolras would not be any less gone.

But Grantaire had already lost him, years ago now, and maybe that’s why Enjolras had let this be his decision. 

Because he was the only one who could make it.

And he knew what he had to do.

So he squeezed Enjolras’s hand one more time before standing and going to the door, his eyes clear for the first time all day. “Can you get Joly for me?” he asked Courfeyrac, who was standing closest to the door as if keeping watch. “I’ve made my decision.”

----------

Grantaire stroked the top of Enjolras’s head, pretending that the rough bandages under his fingers were instead the fine blond curls he had never quite been able to capture with the right color when he painted Enjolras. He had spent hours some evenings just running his fingers through Enjolras’s hair, watching the different shades of gold tumble through his fingers, while Enjolras had worked on something or other. 

He would always miss that, in particular, those evenings they spent just the two of them. He would always miss the version of Enjolras that had been his husband. But that was an old hurt now, no matter how much circumstances might make it feel brand new again.

“Damn you,” he said, which wasn’t exactly how he had anticipated starting his goodbye speech, but if he couldn’t be honest in these last moments, then when could he? “Damn you for loving me, and leaving me, and still somehow putting me in this position. For making me be the one to decide, and the one who has to live with that for the rest of my life. You always were an asshole, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but…”

He trailed off, and took Enjolras’s hand, lacing their fingers together, marveling as he always had at how well their hands fit together. There had been a part of them that had always worked, even when nothing else between them seemed to, and it had been that part that he had clung to even when they were well past their expiration date. 

He wondered if that was the part that had stopped Enjolras from filing the papers.

“We were supposed to die together,” he whispered, the breath hitching in his throat. “That’s what I promised, when we got married. That we would be together until we were old. And even if we died early, because of a protest gone bad or something, I still just assumed it’d be you and me leaving together. I never– I never thought I’d be the one left behind.”

He lifted Enjolras’s hand to his mouth again, this time pressing a kiss to the finger where, years ago, he had placed his ring and promised Enjolras he would love him forever. “I didn’t lie, you know,” he told Enjolras. “I still love you. I never stopped loving you.” He shook his head slowly. “I will you until the day I die, no matter if you’re still here or not. And—” His voice broke. “And Joly wasn’t supposed to tell me this, I think it’s supposed to be confidential, but...at least a part of you will still be here. Because there’s a 10-year-old girl in Pennsylvania who’s going to get your kidney. And a 45-year-old father of two who’s getting part of your liver. And your heart—” Again his voice broke. “And your heart is going to keep beating for a very long time because it’s going to a 28-year-old woman.” 

When Joly had told him where Enjolras’s organs were going, when Grantaire signed all the consent forms, he had told him as if it was a comfort, somehow, as if Grantaire didn’t now have a list of people to resent because they were going to live, and Enjolras was not. 

But it was better than no comfort at all.

“You have done more in your brief life than most people could accomplish in two lifetimes,” Grantaire continued, “and more importantly, you are leaving behind people who will continue doing your work. That’s the part of you that I know you care about, so you can rest easy knowing that they will carry you with them for the rest of their lives, fighting the battles you always wanted to. And as for the rest, well—” He was sure that he was crushing Enjolras’s hand with how tightly he held it. “I’ll carry that with me. I’ve got you, I promise. I always have.”

He had figured he would cry, would weep, but instead, he felt strangely at peace, looking down at Enjolras and telling him all of the things he had always wanted to say but had never been able to bring himself to. Just their fucked up luck that it had taken this. 

He leaned in close, his voice no more than a whisper as he told him, fiercely, “Others will take your place in the Cause, and keep fighting. I promise you that. So you can rest now, ok?” He bent over Enjolras and kissed his forehead, his eyelids fluttering closed. “It’s all I ever wanted for you, was for you to rest. And maybe this is selfish of me, maybe it's the most selfish thing I’ve ever done, but I don’t care.” He opened his eyes, searching Enjolras’s face for some sign, any sign, that he heard, that he understood. He knew he wouldn’t find any, but that didn’t matter. 

“The work will never be done, but your part in it is.” His voice cracked. “I love you, and you can stop fighting now.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, Grantaire holding onto Enjolras with everything that he had left. Then a nurse poked her head into the room. “Are you ready?” she asked softly.

It was an asinine question. Of course Grantaire wasn’t ready. He was never going to be ready.

But he jerked a nod anyway and stood, taking a step back so the flurry of doctors and nurses could make Enjolras ready to move, so they could take him to the operating room where they would remove his life support and take the organs he was able to donate. “I love you,” he told Enjolras one last time, something desperate in his voice. “I love you. Don’t fight anymore, ok? Just...just rest.” 

“Sir,” one of the nurses said, her voice gentle. “Sir, you have to let him go.”

“Oh,” Grantaire said numbly. “Of course.”

And he let go of Enjolras’s hand.

[hyrule-kingdom-updates]

Can we get some spare Launo headcannons for July?

Launo sucked big time at knight school when he first arrived—he didn’t exactly have any background help given no one in his family was a knight either. He was basically assigned the equivalent of “equipment manager” during the first few months. And when he did get proper actions with a broadsword or a bow, Launo struggled with footwork and precision and all the minute details of a duel so he often got his ass handed to him.

But one the top kids in Launo’s class thought he was cool anyways—that was, one Arcadius Hartell. Pretty, rich, ace with sword, bow, spear, and anything sharp, and pretty much had no flaws or weaknesses. Launo at first thought the guy was just pitying him, the kid who has never won a single sparring match and consistently put on training dummy duty (that is reattaching their heads when they got lopped off)

So it came as a bit of a surprise when Arcadius came to ask something from him.

“How do you do that?”

Launo turned from the training dummy he was working on. “S-Sorry, what?”

“The...the thing you do. With the...thing?” Arcadius pointed to the needle and thread Launo was holding as he was reattaching the dummy’s forearm. “How do you do that?”

Launo scrunched his eyebrows in confuzzlement. “This is, uh, well. It’s just sewing I guess. If this guy were real I guess it would be stitching, haha...” He patted the dummy’s wood shoulder playfully as if joking with a pal—the dummy immediately tipped over, Launo coughed and stepped in front of the mess to ignore it. Arcadius nodded thoughtfully.

“So, do you have a special technique or something?”

“I mean, not really, it’s just regular old sewing...”

“But I assume you’ve spent years training on the art.”

“I...uh...I guess? My mom taught me.”

“Oh! So it’s like...an apprenticeship...?”

“...Are you under the impression that sewing is some sacred gift that gets passed down to the worthy or something?”

“.........no....”

The two boys just stood awkwardly for a moment longer, Launo studying Arcadius’ face.

“You don’t even know what sewing is do you?”

“O-Of course I do! It’s the...thing.” He made a sword motion with his fingers, as if wielding a tiny blade. “You stab the stuff and it repairs. With the...” Arcadius squinted as he thought for a moment, “...stool...”

“Spool?”

“Yeah! That! So, look, you’re pretty skilled at everything—“

“I am??” Launo took a step back in shock.

“Yeah! You always fix the equipment, and somehow haul around all those weapons, and make us cool lunches—“

“I don’t know, I made Rubeo vomit last week cause I forgot he hates blueberries...”

Arcadius shook his hands. “N-Not the point. And he sort of deserves it. The fact is you’re obviously leagues ahead of the game—“

“I—Actually I wouldn’t say—“

“—so you just gotta teach me everything you know!” Arcadius pumped a fist and closed his eyes. “How could I ever call myself a knight if I don’t even learn the basics of equipment management! Who will mend the wounded holes in my soldier’s pride if I can’t even fix the tears in my uniform! A mountain’s peak is equivalent to the shallow shore if you have no bearing of the heights you soar.”

Launo blinked. “Are you...okay?”

Arcadius scratched his head. “Aha...sorry. That’s a quote from Aria Nori’s newest volume. Guess I was too into the moment there.”

“Oh! The Zora poet! I’ve read her stuff! I haven’t read her latest volume, but my dad often binds her books—“

“Really?!” Arcadius’ eyes were suddenly star struck. “That’s so cool! This is all the more reason you gotta teach me this stuff.” He waved again at the collapsed training dummy. “Maybe start with the beetle and thread.”

“Needle. D-Do you not know what a needle is?”

Arcadius’ eyes glazed over. “...no...oh my gods that’s not gonna be on the test is it?? I’m so screwed—“

“Nonono it’s not, I’m just...” Launo bit his tongue. Now that he thought about it, he never really saw anyone else in his class do mundane house chore stuff. They were far too busy sharpening swords and bragging about their parents or grandparents or great uncles or cousins that totally were war heroes and high ranking political figures. Sewing could just be a Hateno thing, could it..?

“Can’t you just hire someone to teach you?” Launo started. “I mean, I’m super flattered! Just that, I’m not exactly a master at this, so I’m sure there are adults out there that are more accomplished.”

Arcadius hung his head. “I don’t think my dad would let me...Pretty much everything not sword related he just hires someone to do for me. And he’s super picky about what training I focus on.”

“Well it’s not really official training, it could just be a hobby.”

The boy raised an eyebrow, sounding out the word. “H...Hob...?”

“O-OK, just forget that. H-How about...” Launo didn’t meet his eyes as he absentmindedly kicked the dirt. “Y-You like poetry, right? You can come over to my house and look at my dad’s collection. And when we’re there, I can let my mom...” He scrunched his eyes, trying to nail down the words, “...apprentice you? On the...art, of sewing?”

Arcadius’ eyes were wide enough to reflect the heavens themselves. “R-Really?? You’d do that??”

“I don’t see why not. It’ll be after call and,” Launo’s eyes suddenly sparked, “...You can just tell your dad that you’re training me! Say that you were asked to help your fellow classmates cause you’re already so far ahead from everyone else.”

Which isn’t exactly a lie, Launo thought, bitterly.

“Hmm...” Arcadius tapped his chin, before shrugging. “Might have to tweak the explanation to ‘getting extra credit for top grades by tutoring’ cause I don’t know how he’ll feel about me helping the competition.” He articulated the last word with a mocking, adulting tone. Then he held out a hand. “But I think it sounds like a deal! I’ll give you some pointers, and you introduce me to your mentor.”

“My mom.”

“Yeah, that.”

Launo shook his hand, still a bit timidly, given he now noticed that a few other boys in the training yard were watching the prodigy student interact with the glorified janitor boy.

So they both tutored each other: Larc, in the art of knowing what sewing magic was (Larc bringing the most expensive and ornate needle Launo had ever seen, even though Larc claimed he just found it in his father’s closet) and brewing delicious broths (“Wait, you have to stand around this pot for hours and cook this stuff?? I thought you just made soup in a bowl! You know, like how servants take off the silver cover on the tray and the soup is already there?” “We...dont have waiters or anything...so our method of cooking different.”) Meanwhile, Launo was able to make some progress with knight training—keyword, “some.”

“Don’t make your stance so wide.” Arcadius shoved Launo’s back foot with his boot. “Keep your feet closer together, you only want enough distance so that your front foot can hover an inch off the ground while your back foot stays planted. Any further, and you’ll topple too easily.”

Launo adjusted his stance as instructed, and readied the rapier again. He set his jaw. “OK. Come at me!”

Arcadius nodded. He picked up the wooden sword and swung (a bit slowly and wide) at Launo’s side.

Launo immediately shoved his rapier point left to counter his attack, but instead moved with such force and vigor that he practically fell onto Arcadius’ blade.

Arcadius chuckled, dropping the sword and helping Launo up again. “You don’t need to use to much force when you swing. In fact it’s better to work with simple quick movements with any rapier or piercing sword, since the damage is done by the tip, not the weight.”

“S-Sorry...” Launo mumbled as he got up again.

“Don’t be! Oh hey!” Arcadius suddenly went back around towards the pile of weapons and pulled out a claymore. “Actually, maybe a sword like this will work better for you! You won’t have to worry as much about holding back, or being finesse. All the power is in that downward swing—!” Arcadius swung the sword into a nearby log to demonstrate, nearly cutting it asunder.

He offered it to Launo. “And don’t let the size fool you, it’s not actually that heavy. Large weapons still need to let soldiers be quick enough to parry and block attacks.”

Launo turned the claymore around in his hands, studying the blade and handle.

Arcadius gestured to the log. “Well, go on! It’s similar to the grip I taught you with the broadsword, but this time you use your other hand in the bottom to support the weight as it turns on an axis. Try that downward swing I showed you!”

Launo paused for a moment, thinking. Then, he planted his foot down, and swung the claymore down with all his might, aiming for another soon-to-be piece of firewood.

The claymore whistled as it fell, and it cut into the log deep—about halfway. Yet, still not nearly as deep as how Arcadius had done it.

Nonetheless, he was hopping with joy for Launo. “That was awesome!! You did great!!”

He sighed as he left the claymore in the log. “No I didn’t...”

“What are you talking about? That was probably the best blow you’ve done all night!”

“Yeah! And it’s not even a quarter of the damage that you did with your swing!”

“Well, it still took me a while to—“

Launo gestured to the other log. “It’s been how many weeks?? And I’m not even CLOSE to being as good as you, much less being a top student...” He plopped into the dirt and laid himself out like a starfish.

Larc stood over him, confused. “Why would you want to be a top student?”

“BECAUSE I SUCK ASS, DUDE!” Launo held up his arms, exasperated. Larc, on instinct, stepped back and held his hands close to his chest as he fiddled with his thumbs and mumbled an apology. Launo immediately sighed.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound like I’m mad at you. You’re really great, Link. You’re so nice to me and you’re talented and I’m so grateful, but I’m just...” He shifted in the dirt again. “I don’t think I could ever be like you. I’d even dare to say it’s impossible.”

Larc stilled, playing with his thumbs, before daring to step closer and sit in the dirt beside him.

“Can I tell you a secret, Launo?”

He was quiet, but he nodded a yes.

“I think my brother’s a stronger fighter than me.”

Launo furrowed his eyebrows confused, but he continued.

“He just never takes his knight training seriously, because of my father. But I bet if he really tried, he’d be great at it.”

Ah. So that’s what he meant.

“But I AM trying.” Launo whined. “I guess compared to you it doesn’t seem like much but—!”

“Nono! Sorry that’s not what I meant!” Larc quickly cut in. “I just...” He trailed off.

“...There’s a reason I have to be the best.” Larc finally said. He was looking out into the woods, but Launo felt that he wasn’t really looking at anything in particular, maybe deep in thought. “There’s a reason I can’t settle, I can’t rest. It’s really important that I get this all right. And I guess that makes me admirable to most people but...”

He looked down at Launo, still spread out in the dirt. “I didn’t really choose to be a knight, unlike you. I didn’t actually choose to be the best, and I don’t get why so many people do train to be at the top out of their own violation. It really...sucks ass.” He articulated the last part in Launo’s tone, and they both giggled.

“So...I guess that I’m trying to say here is that...” He thought one his words a moment longer. “I think so many people are afraid of trying new things, because they fear not being the best at it, not being at the top. And I suppose ambition is good but...” He tilted his head and shrugged at Launo. “As someone who’s supposedly at the top, I would say I envy anybody that can make progress that their proud of. You choose to be a knight, and you’re training for it out of your own strength and courage. That’s more than I’ll ever have, so you should probably get off the ground and realize that soon.”

Launo’s eyes widened, a bit unnerved by how uncharacteristically blunt Larc was being.

“In my opinion, anyone that aims to be better than everyone is stupid—maybe that’s just me, but...I would think that if I was you, I’d be proud of any progress I made. If I was more skilled than I was yesterday, that’s really all I would care about. Why would I care about being the top of my class? I would kill to just be satisfied with being a better me.”

There was silence as the boys took in Larc’s words. Then he suddenly stood up. “G-Goddess Hylia, sorry I’ve been talking for so long, I didn’t realize how late it was getting.” He went to collect his things. “You can keep the claymore, I think you’d be great at it, just...”

Larc packed his swords and backpack, before turning back to the flopped out Launo. “...I think you’re really cool, Launo. So don’t tap out for my sake—I’m not the person that matters in your training, am I? So don’t give up for any silly reasons like that.”

Launo perked his head up to meet his gaze. While Arcadius was usually serious and controlled during training at school, Larc always seemed to have genuine excitement about swords when it came to him. The bright smile on his face caused his cheeks to warm and he immediately flipped his head back to hide it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Launo!” Larc ran off into the night, a cobblestone streets in the distance swallowing his figure.

“See you...” Launo whispered.

He lay in the dirt a moment longer—his mother would probably berated him for the stains again—when he finally got up and looked at the claymore in the log. He walked up to it and observed it further, it was another a sixth of the way deep. He glanced at Larc’s log, which was nearly split in two, and sighed. Then he glanced back at his own work.

“Well, it’s better than when I first started I guess...” Launo mumbled.

No one responded.

The boy let out a huff, and gripped the sword again in his hands.

“But I can do better.”

By the time Launo was 16 he was finally beating his classmates with ease, specializing in longswords, axes, and hammers. And while he definitely still “sucked ass” in things like archery and lance work—to which some boys still teased him for—he found overtime that he no longer cared about what they thought. They had their strengths, and he had his. And to top it off, absolutely no one in the academy could make a lemon cookie like him. So at least he had the best in show for that angle.

Even years later, after certain incidents transpired concerning House Hartell, Launo always welcomed Larc to his house for “training.” Although after a while, it would be hard to still call it that when a large chunk of time is really just spent running their fingers through each other’s hair.

“But we’re friends, right?”

“Yeah.”

And even years after graduating as part of the top ten in his class and working as a knight, some of his old classmates would tease him for being the “rich boy’s lap dog,” Launo would find that he still really didn’t care—after a punch or two was thrown, of course. He found that his new lack of anxiety and concern heavily stemmed from that night, when Larc had told him about his envy for choice and satisfaction. Thinking back at the memory of his handling with a sword and his happy little smile once made Launo blush so hard his father teased him about it for the rest of his life—his mother claimed he went so red he would fit right in with the tomato stew. One of these days, Launo would pay Larc back for the endless teasing he got from his parents. And pay Larc back he would, indeed.

I mean, he already had the ring.

[whoknowsbud]

Stand Mutation AU

Warning, this is FILLED with body horror! And somewhat loose but present connections to the recent epidemic! Mainly in part 4...

These are mostly just lists of the designs, and this post will only contain parts 3 & 5. There’s a lot more bulk to what was written to part 4, and there’s a lot more angst written, so that’s going to be a separate post.

(Which is now here!)

The idea here is essentially taking the ‘stand sickness’ Holy and Josuke had and twisting it into overdrive. Rather than gaining stands, the infected mutate (often horrifically, but there are some who look almost unaffected) based on their in-canon stands. The uninfected don’t see the full image; the shapes and colors come through, but not completely. The common headlight-style eyes are a big giveaway (until they’re not).

The mutations here will also commonly hinder most functions, especially rational thought. It’s most often temporary as the infected adjusts to the changes of their body. This can take a number of forms, but what happened to the Nijimura brothers is the worst it gets. The term for this for now is going to be ‘fried’.

The infection is only transferred by the arrow, and genetic relation.

Part 3

Holy has flowers growing on her body. Has a way better handle on it than Jotaro; fully present and coherent, the flowers just need to sap a little of her energy to grow big and bright. So, yeah, she's completely fine.

Jotaro ends up this ethereal star man with so much luscious hair, but also partly fried at the start; ends up being essentially like a big dog for a while (acts on base instinct and can’t articulate).

Joseph’s arms become vines. That’s it, that’s all. Vines for arms.

Avdol is pretty much just fused with Magician’s Red. I say ‘just’, but he’s pretty damn rad.

Kakyoin is basically a bunch of wires, wrapped to make a more human shape. Rather than shooting solid energy bursts, he can send energy through the wires.

Polnareff, like Avdol, is also just fused with his Silver Chariot. The armor and sword are still removable.

Iggy is made of sand. Can shapeshift, often takes the form of a wolf, because he can and he wants to.

Hol Horse has a gun for a hand. Yes, that's all.

Gray Fly... tiny man. Beetle sized old man with beetle wings and dagger tongue. Nasty nasty.

Imposter Captain Tenille is a fish-man, simple as that. Basically take Dark Blue Moon and put it in the mans clothes. This makes it obvious that he’s the enemy the moment he comes out, but Anne is still under some suspicion at first.

Forever is just Strength. Green ship with orangutang face.

Devo basically is Ebony Devil. Imagine making a (somewhat crappy) almost life size doll of Devo, and there you go. Rather than needing a grudge to act, he forms his grudge as he fights, making him stronger.

Rubber Soul is just Yellow Temperance; when he went through stand puberty he just pretty much melted.

J. Geil is just Hanged Man; only seen through reflections. Tied a knife to his hand.

Nena is almost the same as canon; she assimilates a beautiful woman to host her real body (which has no skin covering, so here she needs a host, the looks are just preference), and still leaves parasites on victims through her blood.

ZZ's stand mutation is actually his arm. His arm is the car.

Enya… ghost? Still uses fog for the illusions, still does puppet stuff? But then Jotaro would still have to suck her down so NO, THANKS

Steely Dan, the crab man. Can duplicate himself but at NOWHERE near the same rate. Not as effective either. He's about the size of your average 14 year old.

Arabia Fats is just. On fire. Fire man. Human torch. But more fire. Just fire.

Mannish boy appears with a flat, jester-like face, so the group knows to refuse.

Cameo... genie?

Midler is basically herself with High Priestess's power to become any mineral. Still can shapeshift, but its limited.

N’Doul… could be a water man. Sends his hand out so he can stay safely out of most people’s range.

Anubis... is just the same Anubis as canon. It's a sword, what were you expecting?

Mariah is the magnetizer. It happens through contact, and feels like a small static shock. It does not work on normal people, although they do feel the shock.

Alessi has just become a shadow, his own silhouette, that de-ages those it touches like in canon, with the same eyes and manifesting ability, too. Cannot talk.

The D’arby brothers are a terrible amalgamation of the souls they’ve taken.

Pet Shop is... just its stand I think.

Vanilla Ice is another stand/user mix. As uncomfortable as the v o r e is, it seems like the only sensible thing...

Dio is similar to Jotaro. But green & yellow, with more disturbing growths (those... bullet chain suspenders looking things, and the apparent oxygen tanks on the back). He's a bit distorted, rippling in time with the seconds.

Part 5

Haruno becomes a plant creature (Oh you want limbs? Limbs to hold things? Too bad, you get tendrils!), changes his name to Giorno. The human body is still inside, controlling everything. When he’s truly happy, he blooms.

Bruno's body is just zippers. They can all be opened or closed (although if they're all opened he's kind of a mess, and its an awful noise), and what's under them is just a void. He seems to have glowing orbs as eyes, revealed by a single open zipper over where his eyes would be. To resemble a more human form, he has zippers on his head to look like hair. There are a few zippers that hang off his arms and legs almost like fins, and he will whip you with them.

Abbachio is a glitchy creature that looks like someone constantly flipping channels, with a sort of goo coating his body in almost the exact way it does Moody Blues.

Narancia is a ‘cyborg’, fighting logic output to stay ‘human’

Mista basically goes through mitosis, becoming 7 of himself; but it takes time for them to truly separate.

Fugo appears to be normal, but he has this ‘oxygen’ tank & connected mask. The Purple Haze virus is more of a gas here, produced in his lungs, so he has to have a way to contain it when he's around others. Once he starts getting emotional, he sort of melts into a zombie-like form; starts looking like a typical victim of Purple Haze.

(Giorno's able to take in an absurd amount of toxins and pollution and spit out a shit ton of oxygen, so there's much less concern.)

WE RETAIN THE DINOSAUR SPICE GIRL HERE, TRISH IS A STRETCHY & SQUISHY LIZARDWOMAN.

Mr President is a cube, still with the room. He's like a box. A box turtle, you might say.

Polpo is still in prison. His shadow does pretty much everything Black Sabbath does. Permanent poggers face.

Zucchero is a slug. Has spikes on his body that perform Soft Machine’s ability, and they’re barbed to grab the deflated forms.

Sale... maybe he's already dead. Infection stopped his own heart or something. Or hes like.. a landmark. Like Angelo in canon; fully immobile, but sort of immortal. /till you destroy the body I guess...

Formaggio’s size is constantly fluctuating, not always proportionately consistent.

Illuso... doesn't exist outside of mirrors. He can still communicate to those on the other side, and pull them in, but can't leave, himself. He works similarly to Yoshihiro Kira; ig seal the mirror, you seal him.

Prosciutto has so many eyes. Just all over, so so many. Somewhat shriveled up from the waist down.

Pesci has a fishing pole arm I guess...

Melone is some sort of... digital-ish cyborg thing. The Babyface kids are the same though

Ghiaccio is essentially fused with his suit, with the weak spot in the back of his neck frozen over. It’s actually like the mane of a lion, but ice; he can’t turn his head at all, speaking is near impossible, and eating is a struggle as well. The white album fight reveals a lot:

Due to literally being plants, Giorno has to revert back to Haruno or risk serious danger. This is the first time he’s come out; they knew he existed (he was mentioned in passing) but they weren't sure if he was alive or dead. When he can take his plants form again, it’s... kind of horrifying. Roots and vines coming out of his body, wrapping around him...

Risotto is basically a living Metallica colony. Take risotto, make every 5x5 pixels a metallica bean, there you go that’s him.

Squalo... Sharkboy

Tiziano looks fine, but his mouth is all wrong. Tongues like a starfish.

Secco... mud? Mudman?

Cioccolata looks like a zombie, moldy and decomposed an shit.

Diavolo and Doppio are... basically, literally, just King Crimson and Epitaph. They can apparently switch places? Maybe

[wedreamedlove]

Bai Qi’s Vitality [Character Study]

Essay train chugging away at full speed here, haha. This comparison came into my mind while I was ruminating over Xu Mo's post and it was actually what made me jump the gun to push out Xu Mo's before I read his Prison Date (more accurately Imprisoned Dreams Date...) because this essay for Bai Qi jumps off of Xu Mo's post.

Disclaimer: I use CN translations and also spoiler warning for R&S synopses for end of Season 1.

First, I want to quote some lines from weibo user @我写文太差被关了起来 (lit. "My writings are so bad I got locked up" LOL) whose post I don't really agree with, but she wrote these three lines for Bai Qi that sunk its claws into me and won't leave:

"If I can only choose one word to describe Bai Qi then I would choose 'vitality'."

"He doesn't wish to love this world."

"He has always loved this world."

If Xu Mo both yearns for companionship [Loneliness] but is innately separated from the world [Into Your World] and ruthless to himself in accepting that furthering his goals may continue to keep him alone, then Bai Qi is separated and aloof from the world by choice.

If Xu Mo has a detached view and an intellectual curiosity or fixation on the abstract concept of survival of humanity, then Bai Qi is down on the ground experiencing the world in its natural state and trying to protect it, individual by individual.

I'm not saying one is better than the other (they're both my biases) but it's neat to contrast them. I've mentioned here and there that the LovePro men are foils for each other in interesting ways.

Anyway, I wrote this piece [Price of Freedom] but there was a missing link I had a hard time articulating and now it's been delivered to me! So, while Bai Qi has made MC his home and the North Star he always goes towards, he can actually survive on his own because of his innate core of justice.

I know it's a common thought that Bai Qi revolves around MC too much and she's like a goddess placed on a pedestal because she gave him a new life, but what I want to argue is that while she did give him a new lease on life she isn't the sole meaning of his existence.

MC is incredibly important to Bai Qi, but the quote below shows what she really gave him when he awakened his Evol from her piano playing.

"His existence didn't need a so-called father, what people called friends, or an accepted meaning." [Campus Date]

He becamse self-actualized right then and there. He doesn't need to rely on anyone or anything to live now except for what he himself decides on.

Now, I'm going to plop an entire scene from his [Fullmoon Date] because it's going to lead into my next points. Please keep in mind the words from the weibo user at the top:

(But also, why did Elex translate the entire date into present tense? Ballsy LOL. Not only does it break consistency from their previous dates but the source text was in past tense and not written for present tense.)

The full moon was reflected in his eyes and in my muddled state I could faintly hear the growl issued from his throat.

His claws slowly grew and tore into his palm. A blood-red light gathered in the center of his hand and it became a sparkling crimson heart-shaped crystal.

Wizard: Bai Qi, do you really think you can defeat me?

Wizard: If you could, then you wouldn't have chained yourself here together with me for so many years.

Bai Qi: It's different now.

Wizard: What?

Wizard: Haha, don't tell me you're going to throw away your humanity? Then you really will become a monster that is neither human nor beast!

Bai Qi: I don't care.

Bai Qi lowered his head and looked deeply at the girl in his embrace, a tenderness in his eyes that he never had before.

He softly brushed the hair on her forehead and leaned close to her ear, gentle but unwilling to say goodbye.

Bai Qi: I'm very lucky.

Bai Qi: That, right before I fell into the darkness, there was someone who caught me.

Bai Qi: Whether it was apple pie or lemon pie, the things you made... they were all delicious.

Bai Qi: I wanted to lie down on the grass with you and take a nap. I could have also lent you my tail as a pillow.

Bai Qi: I wanted to be able to grab your hand every time you ran, not as a hunter and their prey and not for training.

Bai Qi: Thank you, [MC].

Wizard: What are you mumbling about?

Bai Qi didn't concern himself with the wizard's provocation and he carefully placed the girl's body in a safe corner. The next time he raised his head, his face was filled with resolve.

In the next second, he crushed the crystal in his hand.

Pausing here to point out the epic callbacks Papergames always does. I checked the ENG and while there was no problems there, the CN text echoed the same structure entirely.

"Then I'm very lucky. There was someone who caught me right before I hit the bottom." [CH7.18]

"And you saved me. Don't lower your head, look at me. Don't feel insecure and don't feel like you're useless. You caught me again right before I hit the bottom." [CH15.7]

"The day I met her, there were gingko leaves drifting and falling slowly through the air, and it was the most beautiful time in late autumn. It was also the darkest time of my life. But she was the one who caught me tightly when I fell." [Spring Festival Date]

Returning back to the [Fullmoon Date]:

I slowly stood up, shivering uncontrollably, but I did my best to keep up a smile and carefully walked towards him.

Bai Qi: Stay away from me!!

MC: ......

His voice was hoarse and rough. The snow gradually lightened and softly fell onto that enormous body, like a sad but gentle embrace.

Bai Qi: Don't...

Bai Qi: ... Don't look at me.

My mind was filled with Bai Qi's face and, before today, I couldn't have imagined the close calls and fights he had experienced.

He would wag his tail in happiness and, when he was displeased, his ears would twitch back and forth, selling him out.

His hair was soft and his hands full of calluses, but when squeezed they were warm.

MC: Bai Qi, now I finally know why you were trapped here.

MC: You locked yourself up, right?

Bai Qi: ......

MC: All these years, it was to protect the townspeople and to fight that wizard.

Bai Qi tensed his body and I slowly raised my voice, repeating my conclusions again.

MC: You chained yourself here to protect others.

MC: In order not to let people come close, did you spread the rumors about eating Red Riding Hood yourself?

MC: Everyone is terrified of you, hates you, and calls you a monster, but you still protect them.

I approached him, bit by bit, and the snow fell into the corners of my eyes, slowly dripping down.

MC: This Big Bad Wolf of yours... you aren't qualified at all.

Bai Qi: ... These are just your guesses.

MC: Then you can tell me.

MC: No matter how many times it's said, as long as you talk to me, I'll listen.

Bai Qi: NO ONE WOULD BELIEVE A MONSTER!

MC: I believe.

MC: Besides, you aren't a monster.

MC: Let's go home. I'll bring you your favorite apple pie tomorrow.

Bai Qi slowly turned around and the snow fell into his pained eyes. I saw him remain in place.

Bai Qi: ... You aren't scared of me?

MC: I'm scared.

Bai Qi: Then why...?

MC: But I... want to understand you, little by little. I want to understand the real you.

It was impossible for me to imagine how many times he had once been misunderstood and been attacked. He sifted through this heap of suffering, again and again, but all he managed to save up was a bit of sweetness.

Yet he relied on this sweetness to solidify himself into a voiceless and silent blade, standing up steadfast in the abyss and never wavering.

My hand finally touched Bai Qi's "hand". His claws were pointed and held no warmth.

MC: You defeated that wizard, right?

Bai Qi: ......

Bai Qi: Mm, he's gone.

MC: Fairytales always write about knights and a prince on a white horse defeating the evil wizard and protecting the peace of the country.

Bai Qi: I'm not as great as you say and I've never thought about changing the way others look at me.

Bai Qi: I just use my own way... to be who I want to be.

Bai Qi: I'm not that prince on a white horse written in fairytales.

MC: Prince Charming certainly wouldn't be like how you are now.

His ears trembled and it was like he suffered a bit of a blow.

MC: Prince Charming always has to ride on a horse, wear a stylish cape, and wield a golden glittering sword.

MC: He has to always be graceful and maintain a heroic appearance.

Bai Qi: ......

MC: He wouldn't be like you, in such dire straights and so miserable, even giving up your own freedom.

MC: Even being beaten black and blue, with a bloody nose and swollen face, and yet crawling up out of the mud to go and protect other people.

MC: How is this a prince on a white horse?

His claws trembled slightly and his tail drooped down. His gaze was stuck to the ground, as if he were waiting for some sort of judgment.

MC: Bai Qi, you're a hero.

After he heard my words, his head shot up and those amber eyes were filled with doubt and shock.

MC: Even when you're covered in injuries and your clothes are ripped and torn, you still continue to stand in front of everyone.

MC: Even if there was no glory or reward, you would continue to use your own way to protect them. To protect me.

MC: You're the most foolish of heroes.

MC: But you're also... my hero.

First, more callbacks to Bai Qi's view about other people:

"At that time he said to me, 'Since you can't change the way others look at you, why not just follow your heart and do what you want to do.' These words had a great impact on me." [Campus Date]

"When did I ever care about other people's views? Except for yours, I don't care about any others." [Wish Date]

HONESTLY, the entire prince vs. hero speech the MC gave was just so darn good. The bit about how he crawls through the mud, battered and bruised, to continue protecting people? I had to take a moment after reading that and recalled the weibo user's line about how she would describe Bai Qi with just the word "vitality". The crazy thing is that they wrote this BEFORE Halloween was even announced.

Now, coming back to this essay, this is showing how he can live without the heroine. That was exactly what he was doing in [Fullmoon Date]; she gives more meaning and softness to his life, but he wasn't living an empty life before her either. Like he said, he was just doing what he wanted to do and being the person he wanted to be.

(whispers) He doesn't wish to love the world. He has always loved the world.

The winter world version of him shows this incredibly well. Yes, he was cold and curt towards MC throughout the whole thing but he also had that unchangeable core of kindness and justice and, as I mentioned in my Xu Mo post, MC draws her strength from how Bai Qi is always the same.

[Rumors & Secrets: Lost]

"How is he?"

Bai Qi's voice sounded and everyone in the rehearsal hall turned their heads to look in the direction of the door. The man's wounds had already been treated simply and there was a small gauze taped on his left cheek.

The female team member, who was in charge of comforting the man, gave a forced smile: "Not too good. I think he still needs..."

Before she finished speaking, the man suddenly shuddered violently. He gripped the blanket on his body tightly and tried to hide himself inside. His eyes shook and his expression was guarded as he carefully stared at Bai Qi's movements. The look in his eyes was as if he was watching a monster. The female team member nodded her head, a bit awkwardly, at Bai Qi and hurriedly brought the man away. When they passed beside Bai Qi, she heard that man muttering to himself.

"Monster..."

Bai Qi also heard it, but he only looked at the piano beside the window indifferently. That spotless white color was stained with blood, looking extremely wrong.

"Clean everything up."

Everyone who was stunned in their place came back to themselves and rushed to resume their actions. The short man sidled over to Bai Qi and it took him a long time before he could say: "Captain Bai, don't mind that..."

Bai Qi didn't say anything and only lightly nodded his head. He really didn't put what had happened just now in his mind, or perhaps one could say he was already used to it.

He saved many people under the hands of different criminals: some would thank him, others would be terrified to the point of being unable to speak, but the majority of them, after seeing his power, would see all Evolvers as monsters.

Look! LOOK! He continues doing his job even without knowing the MC and protecting others, despite whatever people think of him and say about him.

MC's presence in his life gives him:

"She's the one who told me I could live more strongly, and she's also the one who told me I could live more gently." [Spring Festival Date]

Her love gives him the sweetness his world is lacking, but he doesn't need it either. Again, I want to emphasize that it doesn't make it any less important and they're probably both halves of the whole that makes up the Bai Qi we all know and love, but he won't have the gaping hole and conflict that Xu Mo is going through LOL.

Okay, now we're going into extreme spoiler territory where these R&S synopses show Bai Qi's perspective before the end of the world and Season 1.

[CN Weibo Topic: Before the Comet Strike]

Looking up at the clear sky, before the world was displaced, the memories imprinted on our minds would not be erased.

[Frontier: A Message Unable to be Passed On]

At the last second, he was still quietly organizing and protecting this city.

The words he ordinarily wouldn't say in front of you turned into gentle whispers that melted into the night breeze.

The answer and door at the end of the world would surely be revealed in the near future.

[CN Fearless ER - Rumors & Secrets: Frontier]

Bai Qi leaned against his motorcycle and suddenly felt that what he had always protected in the past—what that girl had always protected in the past—was not only the entire city and this world, including the people who weren't willing to give up on anything, but also the most ordinary and small things in life.

It was to have a not-so-big place, a hot steaming breakfast in the morning, a light for him when he returned home late, and the one phrase "Welcome home".

"It would have been nice if that could have lasted a bit longer."

I can't translate this entire R&S because there's too much context and build up missing, but the important takeaway is his utter conviction in the MC and how he wants her to continue running forward without looking back and his belief in how their destinations will always overlap. If they continue to move forward, he believes they'll definitely meet again.

MY HEART. BECAUSE HIS DESTINATION IS ALWAYS HER!

I've always mentioned that MC and Bai Qi parallel each other so much that they're almost like mirrors. They both prioritize justice, the lives of ordinary and innocent people, and they are each other's source of courage, motivation, and determination to keep moving.

They add to each other's lives, but they don't need each other in order to keep getting up after falling and fighting for their belief of protecting the world and their loved ones.

Lastly, to finish off my new ode of love for Bai Qi, I'm going to end with the weibo user's words again:

"He doesn't wish to love this world."

"He has always loved this world."

[starwarsfic]

Mirci'runi

Originally posted August 20, 2020

Summary: He noticed the slow, terrible formation of the bond only because he was a Jedi. Obi-Wan knew his mind perfectly and the dark tendrils seeping through what had been near-impermeable shields could not be missed.

Details: Jango/Obi-Wan. Soulmate AU. Sithspawn Stewjoni AU.

CW: lots of consent issues. There's no actual r*pe in this, though much of what happens is very non-consensual.

xxxxxx

There was blood dripping from Obi-Wan's nose. If he didn't have worse things to worry about, he'd be concerned about the blue tinge, as if the medications to keep his iron content high were giving out.

No, he barely noticed it as he stumbled through his room to his fresher, clawing at his tunic. His chest was on fire, as if the skin had been scraped away and acid was being dripped onto the muscle and bone underneath.

When he was finally bare, staring at himself in the mirror, there was no damage. There was just a mark, dark and intricate, resting right above his heart.

A soulmark.

Humans didn't have soulmates, for as much as their culture was responsible for most of the romanticizing of the phenomenon, but Stewjoni did. Yet Stewjoni were born with their Marks, no matter if their Match existed yet or not.

They did not suddenly develop their Marks in their 30s like they were living in a holodrama.

And even then, no one hurt this badly developing a Mark. Obi-Wan had studied them as all Jedi did, to be ready if one of their fellows was Marked or when dealing with others who were. There was none that spoke of pain so awful he thought he was dying.

When he'd finally calmed himself, he took a holo of his chest for the Temple records, cleaned up the blood, and went straight to the Halls of Healing.

They, too, were baffled.

***

He noticed the slow, terrible formation of the bond only because he was a Jedi. Obi-Wan knew his mind perfectly and the dark tendrils seeping through what had been near-impermeable shields could not be missed.

Nothing he did could dislodge them, only slow them down. They caught like his barbs on flesh, but he caught not cut into his mind to extract them.

Once enough had settled, the fleeting feelings came--not overly much, not overly strong, he knew instinctively that whoever this bond connected to was far away. But enough to unsettle him, to interrupt him in the middle of a conversation or force him from meditation.

Then came the dreams. These could almost be what the holonovellas claimed they were, if he had wanted it. A phantom lover was the furthest thing from his desires, no matter how his mind (and his body, in the waking world) reacted to the caresses and embraces.

He found himself missing his Match during the day, desiring more and more to sleep when before he'd often need to be forcibly reminded to do so. He didn't, his willpower still held out, but that need ate away at him.

Jedi did not hate. Stewjoni weren't even capable of it. And yet Obi-Wan was starting to wonder if that's what he felt towards the Mark he'd developed, towards the Match at the other end.

***

The mission was a simple one: infiltrate a base, slice some data, blow it up. Obi-Wan was the only Jedi, his job mostly to make sure they avoided being noticed.

Inevitably, he failed.

As soon as they dropped out of hyperspace, he became aware of his soulbond--stronger and deeper than it had ever been before. On the other side, his Match must have noticed, anticipation thrumming across their connection.

They still had not fully Settled, would not until bare flesh touched bare flesh and their bodies served as conduits for their minds, so Obi-Wan could not tell much. But he knew his Match wanted this bond, wanted him, and he wondered what species he might be that such a horrible, late developing bond was so desired.

He warned the others on the mission that they might be compromised, but everyone decided to continue. Might be compromised and were compromised were two different things, after all, and for as much as they accepted "Jedi kriff" now, he knew there was still a level of distrust to his "mystical" abilities.

They got into the facility without issue. They even reached the datacenter and copied over the data. All the while the anticipation on the other side of his bond made Obi-Wan's muscles tense, his eyes constantly searching in shadows and doorways.

On their way out, the trap was sprung.

He had only a second of warning, the anticipation turning to triumph and making him push away from the others, knowing instinctively this was about him. That they could still complete their mission if he could just distract his Match enough.

That his Match was a Separatist was somehow not even surprising, anymore.

The droids poured in, cutting him off from the exit, and he did his best to keep all the attention on him. When they were joined by another fighter, a humanoid in beskar'gam clearly not trying for lethal force, Obi-Wan felt sick--and he hoped Fett was experiencing that, over the bond between them.

Officially, the resurgent Haat Mando'ade were neutral in the war, though everyone who fought in it knew Fett worked with the Separatists. But they couldn't prove Mand'alor Jango Fett of the True Mandalorians and the bounty hunter going by Jango Fett were the same person. Satine and Obi-Wan had many, many holo exchanges sharing their frustrations over that.

Fett being Obi-Wan's Match was impossible, though, his mind reeling with just the thought of it. They'd met in person multiple times, they often clashed on the battle field or in missions like this. If they were Matches, they would have known.

And yet Fett wasn't fighting to kill and when Obi-Wan was sure his people had gotten away and surrendered, it was accepted without issue.

He reluctantly rolled his lightsaber hilt towards Fett, who was in the process of taking off his buy'ce and didn't even seem to care. Smug satisfaction radiated down their bond, increasing as Fett walked towards him.

"It can't be you."

His Match laugh, dark amusement flowing from him. "You know it is. We're soulmates now, cyare."

"Now? Fett--"

He just managed to catch him as he invaded Obi-Wan's personal space, hands grappling for the weak points of the armor to push him back. But hand-to-hand combat against a Force user was something Fett had trained for and within moments Obi-Wan felt his arms being twisted behind him, their torsos flush against each other.

Fett looked up with an almost shy expression, the bond flowing with an unusual softness that forced Obi-Wan to relax with it.

Then Fett struck, his lips against Obi-Wan's, the bond tearing through the rest of his shields and clawing its way to his very core.

That hurt, too, nearly as much as the initial Marking had, and at some point Obi-Wan thankfully passed out.

***

He came awake, of course, in a bed, stripped down to his lowest layer. From the cramped quarters and the thrumming in the metal walls, it was in a ship that had already entered hyperspace.

Obi-Wan had to wonder if any of the data collected was worthwhile or if the entire mission had been a trap just for him.

The bond was not just background noise, now, he could feel Fett as he might once have Anakin--if they were standing in the same room with no shields at all at a point when their Master-Padawan bond had been its strongest. The emotions bled into him and, he assumed, his own bled back out.

After a lifetime of being bonded to people who respected the sanctity of someone's mind, it was jarring.

Fett had noticed he was awake, of course, and there was a moment of concentration which Obi-Wan took as him double checking the navcomp before making his way towards the room. Standing from the bed, Obi-Wan placed himself in the center, arms folded together as he didn't have sleeves to tuck them into.

The amusement that filtered into him let him know that his own awkwardness had been caught, and acknowledged.

Fett didn't bother knocking, striding into the room and going straight into Obi-Wan's personal space. Not that there was anything new about that, Fett had been doing that since their very first meeting.

His hands on Obi-Wan were a sudden shock, still, because it had felt as though the bond could not get stronger but then it did. He felt almost lighthearted from the intensity, not even caring at the way Jango's proprietary touch moved over him, peeling off the thing shirt he'd been wearing.

Technically, Obi-Wan wasn't defenseless. Even if he'd been human, he wouldn't be. And yet the idea of hurting Jango felt...impossible. At least until he had more control over his side of the bond.

"The Taungs, my ancestors, thought it was sinful for a the most skilled warriors to not join us," Fett murmured, hands sliding along Obi-Wan's body, seeming to pay the closest attention to the scars from the surgeries that made him look human. "There were ways to fix that, though, and one special way available to the highest ranking warriors."

Fett, the Mand'alor, was all but purring against him as Obi-Wan shivered in the closest semblance to horror he could manage.

"If the Mand'alor sees one skilled enough, mandokarla enough, to be their Match, what right does fate have to keep them apart?"

"You--this was--" he couldn't even bring himself to articulate the pieces he was putting together.

"You were meant to be my soulmate, cyare, I just made it so." He was kissing Obi-Wan, now, his neck, his shoulders, down his chest and tracing over the Mark. "The ritual was difficult, you were so resistant, but as soon as I knew what you were, I knew it would take. Taungs and Stewjoni have been Matched so many times before."

He felt lightheaded and stumbled back to the bed, Jango following, his own steps not entirely steady--at least he was affected by the bond, too.

This was a threat he hadn't even known could exist. In his thoughts it was wrong, so wrong, but the pressure from the bond pulsed rightness and belonging through him.

Even if he wanted to fight, to break free...there was no way he could go back to being what he had been. He was too compromised. And Fett--who was working with the Separatists, working with the Sith--might have even worse tricks up his sleeves if Obi-Wan did flee.

None of the lessons on Marks ever called them cages. None of the lessons on soulmates ever called them captives.

xxxxxx

A/N: I made a post on Tumblr about how often even innocent soulmate AUs can be interpreted as possessive/obsessive/dubcon and gave an idea for a darker soulmate AU that I ended up writing lol

This utilizes my sithspawn!Stewjoni headcanon wherein Obi-Wan isn't actually human, but is from a race of humanoid sentients that had been experimented on by Sith alchemists. It could arguably be seen as a sequel of sorts to my first drabble where I used the idea.

Jango Fett is the sort of person who would help bring countless child slave soldiers into the world to commit genocide against a religious order, so while I like softer Jango stuff (and, in fact, have written softer Jango stuff), this is not soft Jango.

mirci'runi comes from mircin (cage)/mircir (capture)/mirci't (prisoner) and runi (a poetic form of "soul")

[sugalattaes]

❛ you were ringless ❜

✦  VALIANT  ✦  CHAPTER ONE  ✦

pairing: kim seokjin x reader

genres: angst // fluff // prince!seokjin // bodyguard!reader // european medieval setting

warnings: infidelity // jin with a mommy kink // eventual smut in series

word count: 2,697

summary: months of professionalism is thrown out through the window as the Prince appeals himself in a vulnerable way to you

Grimacing, you followed the Prince into his quarters, glancing over your shoulder warily. If anyone were to see this they would think so wrongly of the Prince, but especially of you. You were already aware of the foul words thrown at your back by the other female guards at the castle, all along the lines of infidelity.

Your eyes snapped open to the low inquiry of your Prince, “Why don't you look me in the eye, (Y/N)?” Jin's voice was a melody, a soothing breeze that wore down your worries and blanketed you in warmth, but you were diligent enough to shake off the cozy feeling. Stubborn enough to deny the obvious effect he had on you. When the Prince heard no response from you, he sighed loudly, “Am I a chore to you, (Y/N)?”

The door clicked shut as you turned to face the Prince, head tilted down as no guard dared to lay their eyes on the royalty. You watched his shadow slowly slink away from you, only to return soon with its owner dragging a plush chair of velvet in tow.

“At least take a seat,” Jin gently coaxed, pushing the chair against the wall.

You bit your lip, despite your defiance to his questions and acts of kindness, you couldn’t go against what he requested of you. So you pulled the baton at your hip out and set it on the floor to sit in the chair comfortably, eyes still trained on the smooth tile floor. “Are you ignoring me?” Jin complained, his words articulated in a cute manner. “Before you would at least lift your head..”

The tall man wasn’t even close to you, yet you could pick up his musky and woodsy scent from where you sat. You donned yourself in mint when he was around in hopes of staying undistracted and unbothered around him.

His feet came into your view, his toes that poked out of his slippers almost against yours. And with a sudden plop, Prince Kim Seokjin himself was on his knees in front of you, a position that forced you to look at him. Your eyes widened, “Prince, what are you doing?”

Jin dismissed your rational question, returning a small smile with his pursed plush lips, “I heard you have a child, how come I never knew?” You inwardly groaned, his tendency to prod about your personal life became something you had grown used to blocking out. But his innocent gaze made it harder this time.

It was like he was out to get you into trouble. The amount of torture the royal court would put you under if they saw you, a mere guard, in such close proximity with the Crown Prince. And to think of your child, what would happen to your little tyrant, Chenyoung, if you were punished?

“She's two, right? What's her name?” Jin persisted.

You lifted your head up a little, your eyes boring into his sweet, espresso ones. “My shift ends in thirty minutes,” you simply answered.

You were here for pay, not to befriend the Prince. They appointed female guards inside the palace for male royalty so that not only would the Princes be protected from harm but unwanted courtship from the women of the palace. It worked vice versa for female royalty. However protocol dictated explicitly that guards were to stand outside the door until the sun disappeared and to return to their manor house to exchange places with a guard who worked at night. Instead of allowing you to guard outside his door, Jin had other ideas, insisting you to sit inside his room. He tried to figure out what you liked, where you came from. You couldn't help but wish he would just fuck off.

As a married woman, with a child you weren't easily swayed by his charming looks. No matter how many times you saw him catch his bottom lip between his teeth, you found yourself waiting to leave the Prince's quarters.

“Oh, come on, (Y/N),” Jin whined, forming a pout. “I asked to see your child and the ladies told me you specifically asked them to not let me see your child! Are you purposely pushing me away from you? After I have doted on you for so long?”

Jin let out a huff, his scent making you shift. You could feel his fingertips gently pressing at the feel of your foot to keep your attention, but all you could think of was the amount of affection he held and how he was a complete contrast from your husband at home.

Your husband was a harsh man with one useless arm and another that only held cigarettes. All he did was ask for a quickie and money for change at pubs. He gambled and smoked. There was no reason for infidelity though, he gave you a roof to live under and a child you loved. But Jin made it impossible to not fall for him as he became a vulnerable heap at your feet.

No, you wanted your child far away from Jin. You refused to see Jin in a state where he'd look like the perfect father and husband. You refrained from daydreaming of Jin and your child’s laughter mingling on a warm day. You refrained from imagining Jin's surname alongside your childs. Kim Chenyoung.

You could practically see your child jump in excitement as she was being loved by a father who gave her attention.

Your thoughts were interrupted as Seokjin repeated his inquiry. “You'd like it, wouldn't you? If I asked for another guard? It'd be easier for you, I can request any other royal male to be your next appointment so you wouldn’t have to put up with me.”

He looked up at you, by now your eyes were searching the intricacies of the ceiling. “Look at me,” he leaned closer. You carefully allowed your gaze to meet. He looked so domestic with his silk tunic stretched across his large chest and his raven locks covering his brow. You resisted the temptation to cup his cheeks which were plump and rosy. The best description you could give on Prince Jin was that he had the head of a Samoyed and the body of a Doberman, a silly way you came up with the say he was a soft child in the body of a built man.

“No, Prince, I don’t mind,” you replied, looking away. “Twenty more minutes.”

“You're manipulating me, darling, that felt like five minutes not ten,” Jin retorted, wrinkling his nose slightly. He gently allowed his hands to sidle their way up from your heels to either sides of your thighs. You didn’t allow yourself to bite your lip or tense up, it was unprofessional to hint at being bothered.

“Fine, twenty five minutes,” you agreed half-heartedly.

Maybe three minutes of silence passed, your eyes scanning over anything and everything except Jin. A fourth minute passed by, marked by the way he gently set his chin onto your lap, his legs folded underneath him. His broad shoulders were an expanse that you wished you could hold. You couldn’t help but envy the thought of his future wife who would have the ability to relax in his comfort.

You caught his fixed stare, your anxiousness peaking. The thought of someone coming into the room and seeing this scene was terrifying.

“Prince, get up,” you insisted. In return you got a shake of the head and silence. “What play is this? At this point I may as well walk around saying I have two children.”

“Would you, Mommy?” he dully rebuked.

You raised an eyebrow at the term of mockery. “Eighteen minutes, honestly it should be sixteen since I have to do rounds in the hall before I leave. Come on now, Prince, get up. It's the least you could do for me.”

“The least?” he glanced up at you, not moving his head from your lap. “That's a lie. The least I could do is give you comfort, yet you push me away everytime. Look at you, you have me at my knees.”

You furrowed your brows, “Prince-”

“Half a year, half a year you've had to follow me around in the palace and you still call me Prince. Jin. My name is Jin.” His voice seemed curt now, giving you the glare of a wounded animal.

“Prince,” you murmured, “Don't give me angst.” You gently slid your fingers underneath his chin, attempting to lift his head from your lap. You succeeded, only for him to rest his elbows on top of your thighs instead. Your breath hitched slightly, becoming acutely aware of the lack of proximity between the Prince’s chest and your legs.

“It's not like you'll attempt to discipline me, Mommy,” his voice was now teasing, deliberately letting his breath warm your fingers.

“Your r-right, fourteen minutes,” you stuttered, you tore your focus from him and glanced at the door as your ears slowly became a dark shade of pink. Had he noticed your voice give away?

Maybe it was the way he ever so slightly traced the seam of your black pants with his forefinger. Or the way his smile was so lopsided, you could practically read his intentions. “Please, Prince, now is not the time to be…” You trailed off, not wanting to say anything out of line.

“Be what?” Jin pushed mischievously. “You seem so confident with that baton of yours while walking behind me. Why does it dissipate when you're in front of me?”

Your hands began to shake slightly, not from the weight of his head, but from the tension that you could no longer ignore. This is why you were supposed to be stationed outside of the door, so incidents like this wouldn't occur. You didn't know how to respond, simply hanging your head as you dumbly observed the way his large hand enveloped your thigh.

You started to get even more anxious, paranoid that someone would open the door. Your concerns were confirmed as you heard the footsteps out in the hall. “Jin,” you looked at him with a pleading voice, you practically whimpered, “This isn't appropriate, Prince.”

“That makes it even more exciting,” Jin whispered in return. Your heart pounded as the footsteps became louder, closer. “Do you mind if I touch you?” Jin slowly slipped his hands up to your hips, lifting himself ever so slightly.

“I don’t- I shouldn’t,” you stumbled over your words, “Prince someone is coming-”

“So you don’t mind if I kiss you, Mommy?” 

The door slammed open, but Jin was faster, getting up on one knee, cradling your cheek with one hand, and pressing a light kiss to your lips. Your blood froze, closing your eyes so you didn't have to see the intruder.

“What is going on here? Prince?! Are you alright, Prince!?”

Your shame quickly ebbed away as you felt his smile against your lips. You parted your mouth allowing him to kiss you deeper.

“Prince!? Are you drunk?”

Jin growled, addressing whoever had burst into the room. “Get. Out.”

When you heard the door hesitantly close, Jin's lips returned to yours. You sat there, pressed into the chair, with awkward hands. As if to guide you, Jin lifted up your hands so they rested on his shoulders. Kissing Jin was like falling into a pit of fluffy pillows, how long had been since you kissed someone? Your husband never asked for kisses or gave any for that matter.

But soon, reality settled into your stomach and you felt the shame and guilt crash upon you, cheating was below you. To your own disappointment, you slid yours hands to his chest. Pushing him away from you, when there was a gap between your faces you ducked your head down, “S-stop, Prince.”

He looked at you with a soft frown, his hands still cupping your face. “Did I make you feel uncomfortable?”

You couldn’t bear to look at him as your hands fell from around his neck. “I'm still a married woman, Prince.”

His glossy lips formed a ‘o’ and you shamefully thought how good his lips looked with your saliva on them. You squeezed your eyes shut, erasing your sinful images and pushed Jin again, in order to stand up.

Jin stepped back, his slippers sharply skidding on the tile. “You didn't have a ring, (Y/N), I thought..”

He didn't know himself what overcame him. You were so exotic to him, such a young beauty who was so charismatic with a baton in her hand and a child at her hip. He hadn't thought to ask if you were married, thinking that your ringless fingers were enough to make a move. His cheeks were burning, his neck a shade of cranberry. “I'm sorry, I.. Understand if you wish to leave...”

You couldn’t bear to lift your head and acknowledge him, so you just reached for the doorknob, “Mercy, Prince. Sleep well.”

“Wait- ! Could you tell me about your child at least.. Her name perhaps?,” Jin bit his lip and hung his head. Kicking the floor and holding his hands behind his back, he resembled a child who received scolding.

“Chenyoung,” you gave in, twisting the knob.

You didn't understand his troubled expression as he looked vacantly at your feet. “Do you not wear your ring?” he asked softly.

You shrugged, “I don't have a ring.” You noticed the way his shoulders slumped. “Don't, Prince, it would be in my way of my baton, anyway,” you continued nonchalantly.

“I was teasing you before, I respect you, really. I didn't mean to call you M-” he turned around, his vast back hiding his embarrassment “-It was aslip of the tongue.”

“It's fine, Prince,” you said dismissively.

“I wasn't teasing when I told you to call me by my name though,” he said in a quiet tone. “It’s suffocating, hearing ‘Prince’ from everyone makes me feel vain.”

“Fine,” you went back to kneading your hands. You still felt the warmth that Jin had left on you.

“Fine, what?” he gently asked.

You nodded, “Fine, Jin.”

To some degree, Jin felt like he had won. Hearing his name fall from your elegant lips was all he could ever want and more, it was a stroke of luck that he was able to kiss you, able to be so close with you. In all honesty, Jin knew everything about you, your child's name, your lame husband. It was his job to know about people, he could remember you from two years ago. Jin wondered if you thought that he had forgotten about you.

You wore burlap pants, then, and you had no child at your hip. Tears threatening to fall down, you had scratches on whatever skin was exposed. “Prince, can't you give me a job.” Jin had you go to a speaker so you could flush out your problems, when reporting to Jin to speaker the horrible things that you had gone through.

Now he could not see the face of the woman who had pled for help in the stoic statue that was now you. Your change was shocking, Jin hadn't even recognized you for a while. You had been hiding your hair in the uniform's hat and the black uniform was a stark difference from the burlap pants he had seen you in. And the child.

Before he would think Chenyoung was adorable, but he slowly got envious. Someone as dismissive as your husband shouldn't have been able to give you a child, nonetheless, he was fond of your kid. He told nurses to give Chenyoung rock candy in the afternoon and would deliver sweet buns to the nursery himself so that all the kids could have soft bread.

You solemnly bid him goodnight again, “Goodnight, Jin.” You didn't bother to listen to Jin's response, gently closing the door behind you as you left.

Jin groaned, smacking his head against the wall. “Fuck, what have I done.” Jin hated this, he hated that he was able to get frivolous nothings, but when he wanted something so dear he couldn’t. He was ready to give up anything for you.

[bubbleteaa]

the letters I never sent you; kageyama tobio x reader

m a s t e r l i s t 

I.                APRIL’S SKY IS AS BLUE AS YOUR EYES

On a bright and beautiful day, you feel blue. You feel your fingers numb because of the cold water on the vacuum flask you hold, your lips are curved on a straight line while you look for a lonely spot near the gym.

It's selfish to feel like that when everyone wants to be happy. It's almost a way of asking for help. Was it obvious for someone? You were new, well, everyone was new. You let those feelings burn in your chest, falling inside your core, whispering so softly that was aggressive at nights. At those careful sleepless nights. 

The bags around your e/c eyes were part of your daily basis suffering. White nights that whispered at your ears how lonely you were, some tears help them out, some claws digging in your head trying so hard to stop thinking.

After a sleepless night, what's better that you stay alone at your secret spot?

Today is the same story, in life, or the noisy hallways of Karasuno High.

You feel blue because of that. The same thing that yesterday, the same spot that last week, the same lonely feeling encroaching your skin without a reason. 

The only difference is that someone else is in your spot. You know him. He's in your class. His cold and intimidating gaze travel around you, from head to toe. You don't mind and you sit at his side. You can feel his deep blue eyes over you. 

You feel it.

He is blue, he doesn't feel good.

He can feel that you are blue, too.

"It's weird if you keep staring at someone when they are about to eat" you start opening your bento box. You hear how he makes a little sound, something so silent that is noisy.

He is flustered.

"Your name is L/N, right?" then he speaks, you don't even see him. You can hear that he's drinking something "We are in the same class"

Ah, yes. Same class, really close to each other sits. The only problem was that both of them had weird social skills. Kageyama didn't talk to anyone and Y/N didn't know how to approach someone.

That's why she was blue.

"I can tell, Kageyama-san" that's the first time you see him at the eyes "Where's your lunch?"

"I already drank milk"

"Uhm, so you don't eat anything and only drink milk" you huffed "I can share mine with you, I don't eat a lot, anyway"

He looks confused at the moment, after staring at her for seconds, large and quiet seconds, he answered with a simple "What do you have?"

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                                                                   Miyagi, Japan, April 8th

Dear Tobio,

There is no art in art if you don't know fire. It is the same thing that hurts when we do not say anything, but what we keep quiet. We don't see each other, we see the artist, the athlete, the liar.

 Does that make sense? We live based on lies because it is almost impossible to live with honesty in a world built on fallacies. We are poor idiots, after all. We complain about what happens to us, but we created good and evil, didn’t we?

 It is too early to be too late.

After a week in silence, today I heard how your voice sounded. 

 And I still don't understand why behind what your vocal cords articulated, I could feel a pain that made me want to cry. Do you also soak the pillow late at night? Doesn't it seem illogical to feel bad about anything or something that happened a long time ago? I lose control and only think about disconnecting from others and my life to stopping crying. 

I am writing to you because the silence on your side is intoxicatingly comfortable. If I said it out loud, the words would be blown away by the wind; maybe re-reading this later I can understand how I feel.

 I will never send you my letters, why would I? 

I don't know why I'm writing this to you.

Goodnight,

Y/N

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                                                                 ♡　

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                                                                 Miyagi, Japan. April 18th

Dear Tobio,

I've noticed two things about you since we first met: one of them is that you don't do your homework, and if you do most of the things you have written are wrong. The second is that you are very observant and it is difficult not to perceive your eyes above my figure when we are in class.

Stop staring and pay attention, please.

I think we are friends, at least that's how I feel. Before, I thought you did not belong to any club, and neither did you have friends. Now I know that you play volleyball and that if you don't buy a carton of milk for lunch, you buy yogurt.

The silences we spend together during lunch are still comfortable, sometimes you accept the food I offer you, sometimes not.

Taking away the fact that you are not as applied in class, I can say that you are in volleyball. I noticed that you love that shine in your eyes every time you approach the gym it is impossible not to observe.

It's very beautiful, you know, to have something that you're passionate about in that way.

For my part, I am still looking for a club that has nothing to do with mental overwork, I already have enough when I’m trying to explain what you do not understand minutes before starting classes.

It would be easier if you studied.

I have noticed that when it gets dark, April's sky is as blue as your eyes.

I think I like you.

I mean, your eyes.

I think.

Goodnight,

Y / N.

╚══════════════════════════════════════════╝

                                                              ♡　

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

                                                         Miyagi, Japan, April 20th

Dear Tobio,

Have you ever thought about what our life would be like outside of what we know? Sometimes when I see the rays of the sun sneak out the window in the middle of modern literature class, I can only think of the journey that our pupils go from the first day to our grave.

 We see so many things, so many people, so many gestures; we see fire, we see clouds, we see tears of the sky landing on umbrellas. We know combustion and freezing, chaos becoming order.

I'm digressing.

But don't you think about it? That beyond our existence there are millions of orbits, that our life rocks under the sun and the moon, trying to worship something before it disappears, like millions of souls who are afraid and hide.

After all, we will not be remembered by anyone; or at least me, you have clear goals, dreams. I always wonder what to strive for, what things are for, what their purpose is. I suppose it is part of my egocentrism, before I know it I fall into the typical human vainglory, ignoring that I can plunge into the abyss.

Again, I am rambling.

I like this class, on the other hand, you don't seem to understand it. I have already told you several times that you must read to understand, not everything is memorizing. Either way, I already told you that if you needed help, you could write to me. Yes, I also can't believe I gave you my number. 

It's just to text me if you need help! 

Although it would be nice if ... we talked more, get to know each other better.

What am I saying? 

Goodnight, 

Y / N.

╚══════════════════════════════════════════╝

                                                                ♡　

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

                                                        Miyagi, Japan, April 23rd 

Dear Tobio, 

Now, this is funny. You don't have a bad temper at all, just bad conversational skills. And also to express yourself without looking like you're going to kill someone.

Okay, we'll work on that too, Tobio. After all, we are partners, right?

Teammates.

As a friend without really being one. Well, I consider you as a friend.

Yes.

We are just partners.

Either way, I haven't decided which club to join yet. It's also not like I have many options, I just have to join one and ... suffer.

Being in a club is exhausting, how do you do it? You practice and practice without rest and you still see yourself as calm as every day.

Amazing.

Oh, by the way, stop staring. If you need to ask me something you just have to tell me, it scares me that when I turn to see you you are looking at me without blinking.

Your blue eyes scare me. It is as if they are trying to break down barriers that I dare not open.

Stop doing it.

But, lowkey I enjoy seeing your face all nervous when I tell you to stop doing it.

Why am I saying this nonsense?

Goodnight,

Y / N

╚══════════════════════════════════════════╝

                                                               ♡　

"It's the third time this week, Kageyama" you frowned looking at him disapprovingly "You have to start doing your homework" you shake your head and looked at him. His blue eyes looked at you, almost begging.

"I was at practice and get carried away"

"I know, practice" then you laugh, and he gets flustered. He doesn't like to ask you for the homework, but he knows that he'll fail if he doesn't "This is the last time I borrow you my notes and homework. It would be easier if we study together" you gave him your notebook and you felt his touch. Rough, warmth, trembling. You smiled at him.

"Thank you"

You look at him. He doesn't curl his lips on a smile but you know that he tries.

He tries it for you.

I don't feel anything for you. You are just my friend. I don't fell in love, I don't need those feelings. I don't like you.

Guilt spits on her mouth for a moment. A knot starts forming on her throat, why? She was having second thoughts again. She was thinking about him in that certain way. 

She tried so hard to not looked at him for the rest of the classes.

"I'm going home, Kageyama," you said, he nodded his head "Good luck on practice"

"Actually" his voice was smooth. So sweet, so intoxicating "We don't have practice today"

"Oh, then... see you tomorrow..."

"Uhm..." you can see a little blush on his cheeks. His pale skin looked  tenderhearted "I... was thinking in..."

He can't talk after that.

The knot grew more and more. 

"We can walk home together" you smiled so softly at him. He was enamored by your presence. So sweet, so unique, so his. His. Why he was thinking of it? You barely knew him.

"Then, we can get going" 

He watches you taking your things. Your movements are in slow motion in his mind. How you took your bag, how you brushed some strands of your beautiful hair away of your face, how your hands seemed so tiny against his shoulder when you said to him that you were ready to go.

He never felt this for anyone before.

The way that you walk, so carefully without being slow. The way his eyes looked so beautiful as April's sky. The way he looked peacefully comfortable with you.

"Maybe we can study together" 

"Uh..., yeah" the way his words sound. He doesn't like the idea. 

"Only if you are okay with that. I know that sometimes I can be bothering-"

"You don't bother me!" your eyes are wide open when you heard him raised his voice "I-I m-mean, we can stu-study together..."

His voice sounds so angelic, his facial expressions are so sweet, so beautiful.

You look at him, you investigate his face. His cheeks are red, again, his pupils are floating everywhere, looking at everything but you. But you do look at him. The form of his eyes, the color of his irises,  the shape of his jaw. His straight lips, his hair covering his forehead, the tiny dark eyelashes that protect his beautiful deep blue eyes.

You are handsome, Kageyama.

The words don't come out, but you smile at him.

"Okay" 

Both blinked confused when they realize that the route to go home is the same. Your heart begins to beat rapidly as they turn the same corner, saying nothing to each other.

"Uhm ... do you live around here?" he is the one who decides to break the silence.

"Yes ... you do too"

"Well, my house is a few streets above"

"Ah, mine is right here"

Tobio stopped and looked at you, his eyes studying your face.

Why did you feel so hot on your cheeks?

"I guess here we say goodbye"

"Uhm, yes. Text me when you get home" you smiled lightly and Kageyama's heart gave a resounding jump, his cheeks turned completely red and he looked away with shame.

"Okay. See you tomorrow."

                                                              ♡　

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

                                                       Miyagi, Japan, April 28th,

Dear Tobio,

I want to walk with you to go to school every day now.

Goodnight,

Y/N

P.D.: I think I know which club I’m going to join.

╚══════════════════════════════════════════╝

><

PART II

✩•̩̩͙*ೃ˚ ˡˡ ᵖʳᵒᵗᵉᶜᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ˚.*ೃ [t a g l i s t]: @softforshigi​ @trashys-things​ @clowninfortodoroki​ @lauraaflores09

you want to be on the tag list? send me an ask! <3 

[worryingthing]

Hello, back again with more cards. It’s late August and everything feels bad. Pulling cards feels like a trick I try to do to get myself to think and articulate my feelings, and that’s all it’s for. I tried to scroll through tumblr but I can’t remember what being on this platform is supposed to be like anymore, even though for so long it was a huge part of my life. It just slipped away like so many other things. It also feels bad to sit at my desk, to type, to have the length of my forearm pressing into the desk so I can type. I haven’t been sitting at a desk for the months of homestay and have barely touched my computer. I’m noticing I’m barely able to read text without hunching forward, without my glasses I mean. I have looked up so so many laptop stands and found nothing that is to my liking. I’d like to raise the computer a ltitle to see better, I’d also like a better angle for zooms and discord video chats, etc. 

Anyway, I put the tin of cards on my desk, which has so little space and is totally cluttered over with things, and one card fell out and the second I pulled out of the deck while shuffling. The card that fell was the 8 or swords, the card I pulled was the 7 of swords reversed. Just two people with some sword problems, but we’ve all been there. 

I’m wondering what’s not a problem these days? The waking hours feel like an agonizing thing to toil through, to try to pass and spend and exhaust because for some reason we’re universally subjected to consciousness. Like getting a ton of tickets at a cheap arcade, and reluctantly exchanging them for some less than satisfying plastic doodad. Was that really the whole point of playing the game? 

Anyway we’re moving soon and maybe things will get better? It feels impossible that things could improve, or that change at all is possible. That these patterns and horrible hours could ever shift off their already set purgatory course. The 8 of swords knows this feeling, there she stands encased in swords, bound and blindfolded. He perspective and movement are inhibited, limited, blocked off. She feels, and is, trapped. 

“The Eight of Swords reveals that you feel trapped and restricted by your circumstances. You believe your options are limited with no clear path out.”

“When the Eight of Swords appears in a Tarot reading, it comes as a warning that your thoughts and beliefs are no longer serving you. You may be over-thinking things, creating negative patterns or limiting yourself by only considering the worst-case scenario. The more you think about the situation, the more you feel stuck and without any options. It is time to get out of your head and let go of those thoughts and beliefs holding you back. As you change your thoughts, you change your reality. Replace negative thoughts with positive ones, and you will start to create a more favorable situation for yourself.“

Now, this is the part I truly groan at: “The Eight of Swords assures you there is a way out of your current predicament – you just need a new perspective. You already have the resources you need, but it is up to you to use those resources in a way that serves you.”

What can I say to this? Who doesn’t feel trapped and bound right now? in their homes, with their thoughts, with the eternal recurrence of daily life amidst a pandemic? I’m miserable, but so is everyone else, and for a lot more reasonable reasons! This thought unfortunately fails to shrink the misery, but instead makes me feel selfish for my little complaints which, as the 8 of swords says, do not serve me or anyone. So here I am with these wasted hours that I wonder what to do with, with the impending move (when? this weekend? mid month? we don’t know and I can’t Not Know, it is Virgo season c’mon), with my keyboard that mysteriously sticks whenever I try to use shift and a symbol, with my too short desk and my clutter, trying to consider all these things going into boxes and transitioning to a new space that I should start to feel hope for the way a seed germinates and then starts to reach up and out towards light for the purpose of L I F E. Things that went into boxes will come out and maybe magically be better in new light, with new space, and new rooms, new roots? 

Ok so Upside down sword problem man, what’ve you got? “The Seven of Swords often appears reversed when you feel like a fraud and are suffering from ‘imposter syndrome’. You may doubt yourself and your abilities. For example, if you have started a new business, you may ask yourself, 'Who am I to be doing this?' Know that this is fear talking. Get out of your head and trust that you have everything you need to make your new venture a success.”

Look at this dude, he’s like “I’m getting away, I have so many swords! *clank clank clank clank* OW!!” I dropped a knife off the counter last night and it barely missed my foot. Stigmata honestly sounds refreshing at this point. These cards seem to suggest I get out of my head, but how?? Is that what this writing is?? and I ask myself “who am I to be doing this?” about EVERYTHING. Who isn’t always walking around like ‘ooooh I will be found out’ about some part or the whole makeup of their “identity”. What is identity now, at home, with overgrown hair and shoes with no tread worn down hanging neatly as they were left at the end of the last warm season, no place to be or be seen, not that being seen is optimal, but also how does self expression and self actualization work anymore? I have so many questions, and thankfully there are many cards, and maybe less thankfully or sort of half heartedly, there are many more days. I don’t know, this is just an account of the times because I’ve often regretted when I didn’t write through other things. Next month it’ll be a year since we were in Japan and I regret not writing every single day I was there, constantly, just to have more to go back and drink in!! and to share, oof to share. Well, now I have at least successfully passed an hour. So, there’s that. 

[twoblueheartslocked]

“Mini” Para: September/October Flashback(s)

Rating: PG-13/Soft R.

Pairing: Seblaine.

Sebastian: @colorsicantsee

Blaine: @twoblueheartslocked

Time: Four years before the events of ( Hold On To The Memories, They Will Hold On To You ) Events taking place in September and October of Blaine’s Senior Year and Sebastian’s Junior Year. Blaine (17 as of this para) Seb(16).

Location: Lima and Westerville, OH- Sebastian’s house, Blaine’s house, McKinley High, Dalton Academy, the apple orchard.

Info: A glimpse into the months of September and October and the progression of Sebastian and Blaine’s relationship. Blaine celebrates his 17th birthday on October 22 with Sebastian by his side. They’re closer than ever. Deep feelings linger just under the surface and slap Blaine in the face. Sebastian has never felt so much. They decide to take their relationship a step further.

Warnings(PLEASE READ THIS!): This para includes non-graphic and mild descriptions of sexual situations between minors.  We’ve kept it as YA as possible. We are in NO way trying to spotlight sex between teens, we just wanted to show how natural and comfortable they are together and the progression of their relationship. It will be, for the most part, glossed over in the future until they’re older. There will be absolutely no smut written until they’re adults. If anyone feels we’ve taken it too far please let us know and we will fix it. (Under Cut for length and content.)

Extra Warnings: (This RP is not Kurt Hummel friendly. You’ve all been warned.)

Notes: Some canon events remain in place while others have been changed. Some things may even be out of order. You can consider this sort of canon divergent AU. A few changes are that Blaine’s parents are different from the show (His mother is Filipina), he didn’t cheat on Kurt or date Dave and Sebastian is younger than Blaine. Feel free to send a message if you have any questions!

Blaine’s POV:

The month of September had flown by Blaine in a whirlwind of giddiness and a permanent smile that Blaine didn’t know what to do with. If you would have told him a year ago that Sebastian would be the one to make him feel this way he’d have laughed. The Seb that had introduced himself to Blaine was too full of himself, too cocky and seemingly only wanted one thing. Sure, there were still little glimpses of the cheeky boy he’d met all that time ago, but the Seb he got to snuggle into and kiss whenever he wanted was so much more. They’d spent September getting to know each other a little bit better. School was in full swing and Blaine was only struggling a tiny bit to juggle time with his McKinley friends and Sebastian. His friends, with the exception of Sam, didn’t understand why Blaine wanted to be near Sebastian let alone with him. All they saw was the bully of the past, the one that had accidentally almost blinded Blaine. They were mad at Blaine for ending things with Kurt even though he’d told them that they both agreed this was better. He’d told them over and over again that Seb wasn’t what they thought at all, that he was good and could be kind and that he treated him well. But, Blaine couldn’t seem to articulate what their very real relationship meant to him. He supposed all that mattered was that it was real and pure and Blaine never wanted it to end. He wanted to stay wrapped up in this feeling  and Sebastian for the rest of his life.

They’d spent September and early October taking turns going to each other's concerts. Blaine sitting next to a welcoming but stiff Mr. Smythe and a sweet smiling, sharp tongued Mrs. Smythe as Sebastian lead his Warblers in their croonings. And Blaine would get to shyly pull Sebastian into a hug afterwards and would always look up at Seb as if asking for permission to kiss him in front of his group, not knowing if it was acceptable or too much, to which Seb would blush a little, fight a smile and then lean down and press the quickest kiss to Blaine’s lips like they’d been steady and together for years. Blaine loved it. They’d even mastered ignoring the obnoxious whoops from Hunter. Plus, getting to go to Dalton more made it so Blaine got to see a few of his old friends more often, namely David and Nick which pleased him as he’d missed them both so much.

And Blaine loved it when he was singing up on stage with the New Directions and he looked out and saw Seb clapping along for him, sitting only a little awkwardly with Blaine’s sweet mother and his sleepy father. Sebastian always looked so damn proud and a little awed as he looked up at him on the stage, not a single jealous glint in his eyes. Seb would meet him backstage, his comments about public schools and the like long gone as he shrugged off the suspicious glances from Blaine’s other friends in favor of congratulating him with a ‘You were flawless, Killer’ and a smile that was built just for him. Seb would shake hands with Sam, the only one of Blaine’s friends that actually took the time to talk to Seb. 

And as the seasons turned a little colder, Blaine relished in the way a faux grumpy Sebastian would curl into him as they’d take their park walks,  groaning about how it was too cold too early even though it hadn't yet dipped lower than 60 degrees outside. It was how Sebastian had ended up with Blaine’s New Directions competition sweatshirt with his last name in big letters on the back. The sight of the garment on Sebastian’s body made him feel dizzy and stupidly happy. Everything about the two of them together, from the day time rides to look at the changing Autumn leaves, to the nighttime stretches of comfortable silence as they looked up at stars, Seb letting Blaine tell little stories about the ones they could see- it all felt perfect. And everytime he let himself get caught up in thinking too hard about what they were and what he was feeling, he’d pull Sebastian into his arms and kiss him so thoroughly that any feelings he might let slip stayed hidden behind his teeth.

It was as Blaine was sitting on the floor of his bedroom in front of his mirror on a crisp, late October morning (his birthday weekend to be exact), getting ready for a newly licensed Sebastian to come pick him up for his birthday date, his stomach flippy at the thought of getting to spend the whole day with him- that he allowed himself to really sit and think about the two of them. About what the last three months had meant to him. He looked at himself in the mirror, his brows arched, and eyes worried. He bit his lip as if he were about to have a scary and raw conversation with himself. 

It seemed impossible but in a short yet wonderful time Blaine had fallen in love so hard he was overwhelmed with it. He wanted to scream it in the streets to anyone that would listen, yet he also wanted only to take it out when he was alone, safe under his covers so that only he could see and feel it. He chose the latter, of course. He was almost embarrassed by the emotion swelling inside of him.

Blaine had been in love before, sure, for a time he had loved Kurt. He truly had. But, over time his love for Kurt had changed, became more of a competition. Or maybe it had always been that way, he didn’t know anymore. They had just warped, and they had figured out they weren't actually very good with each other. Too many fights over nothing, and both of them kept reaching for control and neither one of them were willing to relent. Plus, most days it seemed Kurt wanted a trophy, someone he could show off not someone that could show himself off. And Blaine had spent all of his time trying to be the thing Kurt so desperately wanted and in the end, it hadn’t worked. Kurt was still annoyed with him and Blaine was still exhausted with it. So their relationship had left them both with a bitter taste. However, loving Sebastian felt different and being with Sebastian… it was like breathing. And the thought of not being with him felt a lot like suffocating.

It scared the fuck out of him how hard and fast falling in love with Sebastian Smythe had happened to him. One second he’s smitten and has butterflies that refuse to calm and the next he’s struck with a sure and bone deep feeling that Sebastian was it for him. He was so damn sure of it. Like fate and the universe and maybe even god were screaming it at him and yeah, he was only just seventeen but it felt real and desperate and extraordinary... but he was so afraid to mess up what they had. Afraid that if he asked for a label or spoke the feverish feelings he had for him out loud or too soon that Seb, wild and beautiful and free Seb, would just run away, slipping through Blaine’s fingers and he’d never get him back. 

Their exclusiveness was unspoken- Blaine had stopped appeasing Kurt’s sporadic flirty texts and Seb had stopped going to Scandals, he only bothered with his phone when his mom called and he facetimed Blaine almost nightly before going to sleep- just to talk about nothing. They were together, he knew that. And he knew Seb felt something. The other boy looked at him like he was someone important, someone he’d be crushed to live without. But Blaine didn’t dare chance asking what that something was. Instead he kept his I love you close to his heart and called Sebastian his in his head even though he wanted nothing more than to tell him. To see if he’d smile that smile and maybe kiss him before maybe saying it back. The thought was incredible and Blaine was lost in it for a moment...

The ring of the doorbell pulled him from his whirlwind thoughts, and he could hear Sebastian greeting his mom- Imelda’s girlish giggle bringing a soft smile to Blaine’s lips. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hoping he could get through the night without spewing poetry of love and devotion at Sebastian. 

 “God, get your shit together, Anderson. Don’t scare him away.” 

He sighed and stood up before making his way down stairs, his face breaking into a smile as his tiny mother and his tall Sebastian came into view. “I hope you’re not giving Seb too much grief about curfew, mom. It’s Midnight tonight, right? I mean, it’s Friday after all.” He teased, knowing it was still an eleven pm curfew for him. His mom surprised him though, glancing between him and Seb before shrugging. “Maybe I’ll be asleep and won't notice.” She kissed Blaine’s forehead, making him blush. She gave him a pointed look that said no later than Midnight and gave Seb’s shoulder a squeeze before breezily making her way to the kitchen. 

Blaine turned to Seb, smiling up at him before shyly tip toeing up for a hello kiss that said so much more than hello.

“Hey you. So, where to today? Any hints?”

Sebastian’s POV:

Sebastian had never pictured this for himself. Okay, okay...yeah, sure he was only 16 and had his whole life ahead of him. He still never thought he’d have romantic gestures or somebody that treated him like a gentleman. When Seb pictured his future it was all business and school and Paris and him doing whatever he wanted even if he secretly craved romance and closeness beyond anything physical. Summer had changed things, though. He and Blaine had sort of fell together in such an easy way that it couldn’t be explained or replicated. September was full of dinner dates and kissing under porch lights and sharing jackets and hoodies. They were inseparable and Sebastian wouldn’t change a thing and he knew that was so fucking corny. It was true, though. His future seemed different now, he was different now. He didn’t miss partying at Scandal’s or sneaking out and he blocked numbers in his phone that he didn’t need anymore. 

It was the week after Blaine’s birthday and it was their turn to celebrate together. Sebastian had learned that Blaine loved seasons and had experienced first hand how good he was at baking and cooking and had watched him hum to himself as he made various things for Sebastian to try. Sabine had grown used to Seb’s requests to have the kitchen to themselves and she had once again relented. He had planned to take Blaine to an orchard to pick apples and do other various autumnal things that he’d swoon over before they came back to bake apple pies. Sebastian tried researching pie ingredients but just confused himself. He was far from a  natural in the kitchen. He asked their cook to write down the components  for him in detail before he took the list to a grocery store and bought all of the various things needed to make a pie from scratch. He even grabbed a box of sugar cookies shaped like pumpkins and fall leaves and a pumpkin spice latte scented candle as an extra little gift. 

Sebastian dressed in crisp, new jeans paired with his black converse and a Dalton Lacrosse fleece over a green and blue striped tee shirt. He sprayed some cologne (probably a little too much) and stole a cigarette from his mother’s pocketbook before leaving with his new (birthday gift) car. He smoked the cigarette and blared the radio as cold fall air rushed through the windows. Sebastian was excited to see Blaine’s face when he told him what they’d be doing that afternoon. 

He parked his car in the Anderson’s driveway and rang their doorbell. Sebastian greeted Blaine’s mother with a gentle handshake. “Hey Mrs. Anderson. You look wonderful today.” She was a petite woman with big gold eyes that matched her son’s and a pretty smile.  She patted Sebastian’s arm and giggled. Suddenly, Blaine was making his way down the stairs and Seb’s stomach did a little flip. After Imelda left the two of them in the foyer, Seb leaned down to meet Blaine half way for the small kiss that gave him a shock all the way to his toes. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to kissing the other boy. 

“We’re going to an orchard. I thought that we could pick apples and then go back to my place to make pies. I’ll even try to help, if you want me to.” 

Blaine’s POV:

Blaine reluctantly pulled away after their kiss, if he had it his way he’d have stolen a few more before they left. He truly could never get enough of Seb’s lips on his. Besides, Seb smelled so good it was dizzying. There was a faint lingering scent of cigarette smoke in Sebastian's kiss that just did something to Blaine, and he knew he should hate it, it was bad for Seb after all, but the taste and the rebellion of it all excited him in a way that would have embarrassed him if anyone else were to see. He wondered if Sebastian had stolen it from his mother again. He’d laughed at Blaine’s scandalized face when he’d confessed his bad habit, an easy sound that made Blaine feel giddy. The lingering smoke mixed with the strong cologne Sebastian favored left Blaine hoping the concoction of scents would rub off onto his clothing so he could hold onto the day later on. He pressed himself into Seb’s side, his arm slipping around his waist as they made their way to the car, his face turned up to Sebastian’s to listen to his words.

His stomach gave a little flip at the plans Seb had for them, that overwhelming first big drop of a roller coaster feeling and it all made Blaine smile so wide that his face hurt. It was like Sebastian had known him for years. Knew that he strived when he got to do the things he loved and had people in his corner while doing them. Sebastian, who he’d spent such a short time with, knew that Blaine loved to perform and sing and play and loved to cook and struggled at reeling himself in when he was caught up in his passions. It made Blaine want to blurt his feelings right there.

Sometime after transferring to McKinley… for Kurt. Kurt had started to resent him, or maybe he had always been that way with him. He could remember all the eye rolls over his impromptu performances at Dalton. How annoyed Kurt would get. And how Kurt had stopped caring when he did well, made Blaine feel like maybe he shouldn’t do well. This was the Kurt that would complain when Blaine would cook for him or roll his eyes when set up picnics for them in parks. He could still hear the ringing of Kurt's words in his ear; I used to get solos every week. And do you know how many times I've had to sit on a stool and watch you perform? Or the time Kurt had actually spit the cookies out that Blaine had spent hours perfecting because they were too sweet. Blaine knew he wasn’t perfect, but it always hurt. He didn’t need to be praised, he didn’t need to be told that he was amazing or have his ego stroked when he did well. He just wanted his boyfriend in his corner, wanted to impress him the way he did when they first met and as time went on Blaine wasn’t sure how to do that anymore. Things he felt passionate about had started to feel like taboo or things that might trigger Kurt and cooking became one of those things along with singing and performing and playing...

But with Sebastian… with Sebastian he felt everything so much. Here was this boy who showed up to every single show he did even though the kids at McKinley treated him like he was the same old bully, and he’d clap and smile like he’d never seen anything better. Sebastian who ate every single thing Blaine made for him as if it were the best thing in the world and made Blaine believe it, too. The boy who loved going on late drives and blasting bad pop music and who didn’t try to bend him into the shape of Blaine he wanted. Seb just wanted Blaine to be what he was and Blaine was so floored by it. He didn’t know it could be this way, that you could just be with someone. That you could compliment each other without venom. 

“That’s so freaking sweet, Seb.” He stopped at the passenger door to Seb’s new, and incredibly expensive car, and turned before getting in so he could pull Sebastian to him, wrapping his arms around his waist so that their bodies were perfectly pressed together. He tilted his head back and tipped up for another kiss, letting this one linger for a little bit longer as a thank you. He smiled as he pulled back, his tone teasing. “Maybe I’ll let you cut the apples up for me.” He winked and got into the car. He’d let Sebastian do whatever he wanted as long as he kept looking at Blaine the way he was right now. Even if it meant ruining a perfectly good pie.

The whole ride there Blaine couldn’t stop smiling like an idiot. Every song that came through the speakers seemed to be written just for them in some way shape or form. Sebastian, who was used to sitting in the passenger seat, had even mastered the art of holding Blaine’s hand or knee while he drove. It even seemed as if the Autumn leaves were falling in glorious shades of reds and yellows and oranges as they drove through them. The cascade of color guided them to their destination, and as they walked up to the little shop to get their baskets for apples he couldn’t help but notice how good they looked together. Sebastian in his fleece and converse, his light brown hair perfectly swooped, looking soft and touchable and holding hands with Blaine in his dark yellow cardigan with fashionable brown and blue patches in the elbows covering a fitted dark red shirt and cuffed dark jeans, ankles exposed and showcasing his dark brown top siders. They looked like they fit together and Blaine just wanted to tell everyone that looked their way, that yes, they were in fact, together.

“We should get a bunch of this kind to make a sweet apple crumble pie and then go find the granny smiths so that we can make a caramel apple pie. You know, like the caramel apples they sell here? The tartness of the granny smith will pair so well with the sweetness of the caramel.” He grinned up at Seb, excitement in his voice as he looked around at the different shapes and shades of apples. His basket was looped in the crook of his elbow, and he was holding up a giant bright red orange Honey crisp apple in his free hand.

Sebastian’s POV:

Sebastian watched Blaine walk through the apple trees and thought to himself that he looked fucking perfect. He nodded along as Blaine talked about the pies and wondered if he had bought any caramel. He didn’t think he had so he sent a quick, sneaky text to his Mom to see about acquiring some. “Those sound great.” 

He laughed as Blaine clutched the apple in front of his face. “You look like Snow White.” Sebastian cocked his head and smiled, “I mean that in the best way of course. Like a prince.” He swiped the apple from the other’s hands and took a big bite of it before leaning in and stealing a kiss. “Let’s go pick some apples.” 

The afternoon was spent with Sebastian reaching apples that Blaine couldn’t, tripping over rotten apples on the ground, and lots of laughing and kissing in  between the rows of trees. They picked way too many and Blaine fretted over the price but Seb just waved him off and said he could take the extras home to his mom. He bought them a large apple cider slushie to share, biscuits covered in gooey apple butter, and apple dumplings with lots of cinnamon and vanilla ice cream. Sebastian encouraged Blaine to pick out some fudge as a part of his gift  and bought them hot apple ciders for the ride home. 

“When we get back I thought that we could watch a scary movie. After the baking, of course.” Sebastian squeezed Blaine’s knee and watched the road. “I mean, I know they’re one of your favorites.” It wasn’t a totally selfless act. He hated scary movies and scary things in general but he wanted to get close to the other boy on the couch. Seb thought that maybe Blaine would wrap his arm around him or pull him close since he knew that he got scared easily.

Sebastian mostly stayed out of the way in the kitchen. He did cut a few apples but they were so uneven that he couldn’t stand it (Blaine was fine with it but Seb was a bit of a perfectionist at times.) He did however score some caramel. Sabine had sent their housekeeper out and she had bought about five different types. “You can take all of the extra ingredients, if you want. You know I’ll never use them again. This shit is like mad science.” Seb was, however, an excellent taste tester and got to lick every spoon and have the first bite of the fresh pies at the other boy’s insistence. He put a red birthday candle in a slice for Blaine and sang him happy birthday. “Make a wish, B. Don’t wish for me because you have me already.”  He winked and watched Blaine’s eyes crinkle with laughter in the dim candle light. 

After they cleaned up their mess the two of them made their way to the basement. They usually found themselves down there. They’d made out on the couch a few times but it always got cut short by curfew or a rehearsal that needed to be attended. Seb had timed everything out pretty perfectly today so they would have plenty of alone time. He handed Blaine the remote and told him he could pick any scary movie on Netflix before he stretched out his long legs on the couch and patted the spot behind him. 

“Come on, birthday boy. Just pick one!”

Blaine’s POV:

Blaine’s lips were still sticky with taste from the apple and kiss Sebastian had stolen from him. They were still curved into a smile as the two of them made their way around the colorful orchard of red, green and purple apples, pumpkins of various shades or brilliant oranges and greens on either side of them as they ate too many sweets and Sebastian bought him too many apples. His cheeks hurt from their laughter and his body was still tingling from each kiss.  He was still blushing from Seb’s compliment, his cheeks heated in the October chill as they drove home, hot apple cider warming them up. It was like Blaine’s  very own Rom-Com, something Sebastian secretly loved but would never admit to anyone but him and maybe his own mom. Blaine never wanted the credits to roll. 

Sebastian really and truly was terrible in the kitchen, he didn’t know what things were called, he cut crooked and spilled sugar and caramel all over the place but Blaine didn’t complain, he absolutely loved having him there. Loved that the green eyed man would steal slices of apples and would make little noises that boarded on pornographic every time Blaine made him take a bite. His stomach hurt from giggling and he couldn’t keep a straight face every time he said “Stooop, Seb.” Because he didn’t want him to and Seb’s mischievous face made Blaine feel dizzy every time it was shot his way. 

Not only had Blaine made four very expensive pies, Blaine had convinced Sebastian to keep one because why shouldn’t he? He had helped after all. He could share it with his mom and maybe even his father if he felt like it- Sebastian had also gotten him a candle that smelled like someone had bottled Autumn up and the cutest little leaf sugar cookies. It was no secret that Blaine loved sugar cookies of all shapes and sized and these had come from his favorite bakery. He also ended up with a bunch of pricey ingredients that Blaine already had Thanksgiving plans for. (Blaine’s mom had been encouraging him to invite Seb to the holiday dinner but Blaine had been too nervous so far. He had a whole month to work up the courage though.) Blaine’s body was buzzing with sugar and attraction and he felt like he may never sleep again.

His smile felt permanent as Sebastian sang to him in a silly voice that gave away nothing of the clean and pretty voice that Blaine had been privileged enough to her but, it made him laugh and Blaine could swear that the pie tasted even better with the red candle and song attached to it. He blushed for what had to have been the hundredth time when making his wish. Because he had, in fact, wished for Sebastian. He wished for him to be his always. To stay with him just like this, stupidly happy and hopeful. It was silly, and ridiculously romantic and high school relationships rarely worked, and they weren’t even voicing what they were out loud to each other, but he was over the moon with Seb and in love and god, Seventeen might just be his best year yet.

“If I told you what I wished for it wouldn’t come true and I really freaking want it to.” 

He winked, trying to play it cool but inside he was bubbling with the words; Make a wish, B. Don’t wish for me because you have me already. It meant more to Blaine than Sebastian could possibly know, it told him he probably wasn’t alone in his feelings.  “I’m yours, too you know.” He told Sebastian softly after they had cleaned up and made their way down the stairs. His stomach flipped when Seb pulled the basement door closed behind him. It was only 8:22 pm. Blaine had over three hours of alone time with Sebastian before he needed to leave. Seb’s mom and dad usually didn’t bother too much with them unless it got too late or Blaine’s mom called to check in on them or to remind them they had a practice to get to, but they had nothing but a midnight curfew tonight. Blaine’s mind was going crazy with what ifs as he toed his shoes off and placed them neatly against the wall and then shrugged his cardigan off and placed it nicely over the back of one of the chairs. 

“Are you sure you want to watch a scary movie? Halloween is only two days away and you’ve already promised a spooky night then, you don’t have to torture yourself twice, you know.” He teased, taking the remote from Sebastian's fingers. “We could watch an Autumnal rom-com and call it night.” He laughed, smiling with the tip of his tongue between his teeth, flirting to hide his nerves. Seb seemed intent on watching something scary for him though and Blaine couldn’t be mad, he’d get the chance to hold him all the more when Seb got scared. 

Basement didn’t seem to fit this room. It was huge and finished and could basically be a luxury apartment. There was a bar and a living area and a bathroom and a game area that rarely seemed used. Seb had turned off the lights leaving them with just the glow of the big screen. It was dark and intimate and Blaine hoped he didn’t mess up as he grinned at the other boy before climbing over Sebastian’s body and pressing himself between the back of the soft, wide couch and Sebastian’s lithe body. How many times have they made out down here, their hands all over each other's arms and neck and fingers pressing into hips and tangled in hair and jawlines? Usually there was more light on and they had less time, but they had so much right now. He licked his lips as he snuggled into Seb’s back, propping himself up with his free arm so that he could see the television properly as he tried to focus on the movies. He settled on Scream.

“This film has a really badass final girl and the boys, though dumb, aren’t hard to look at either. Plus, it’s not so scary that you'll be calling me at two in the morning because you can’t sleep. Not that I’d mind.” He grinned and kissed Seb’s cheek before reaching up to lie the remote down on the end table. The tips of his bare toes were tangled up in Seb’s socked feet and Blaine smiled to himself as he pressed even closer. Sliding his arm around Sebastian’s waist when the other boy tensed up at the visual of Ghost Face chasing a screaming Casey around. And somewhere between the death of Steve and the loss of Sid’s virginity to that idiot Billy, Blaine found himself watching the veins in Seb’s neck move each time he got scared more than the movie. 

He bit his lip, wondering if Seb had thought about maybe taking things further than kissing and while Blaine totally didn’t need that, he was insanely happy with kissing Sebastian Smythe breathless- yet he still found himself moving forward until his  nose was nuzzling into Seb’s hairline and then he was pressing a kiss to the back of his freckle dusted neck, tentatively at first asking for consent, and then kissing from the back of his neck and down the side and along the long expanse of it, stopping the suck gently where his neck met his shoulder when Seb gave it by turning his head so Blaine could do it better. Blaine could feel the other’s heartbeat in his lips. Sebastian tasted like a crisp Autumn day and apples and Blaine let out a little noise of pleasure, his fingers tightening in Sebastian’s shirt where he was holding him close, knuckles pressing against Seb’s stomach, their bodies lined perfectly together, his excitement too evident.

Sebastian’s POV:

Sebastian’s lack of horror movie knowledge might have been embarrassing if he cared. Sometimes Hunter gave him shit about how he never understood certain movie references or how easily he jumped at simple scares. He’d act all tough before whatever movie Hunter picked began and then wince at the first loud noise. Sebastian had never watched Scream and that fucking mask was sort of creepy but it was Blaine’s birthday so he just nodded and encouraged him to turn it on. 

He felt a flip in his stomach when Blaine crawled over him to cuddle up against his back. This was a good sign. Sebastian had been daydreaming about taking the next step with Blaine for weeks. He didn’t want to pressure him or make a fool out of himself or prove the rumors that Santana had started about him at McKinley were true. Sure, there was some truth to the problematic shit the New Directions said and Seb acted like he didn’t care but it wasn’t like that with Blaine. He didn’t need his stupid friends pointing fingers at what they had when what they had was so perfect and all he wanted to do was keep it safe. All of that being said, they seemed to fall on the same page like usual. 

Sebastian tried to focus on the movie and the attractive cast but could feel Blaine’s breath against his neck (which was a very sensitive area for him) and could feel his strong body pressed close against him. Even the scares were dwindled a little bit with how distracted his mind and body felt. 

He swallowed and squirmed a little when he felt the other’s lips against the back of his neck. There was no way Sebastian would ever be able to focus now. Blaine’s lips were on his skin, his hand knotted in his tee shirt and his breath ghosted along his hot skin. Seb’s neck fell back naturally as if they had done this a million times and he sighed. He could feel Blaine through their jeans and his pulse jumped, his hands felt shaky and everything felt brand new and real. Sebastian turned his head, “kiss me.” He wanted to taste Blaine’s lips, he knew they’d taste like sugar and the cherry chapstick that drove Seb crazy. Sebastian put his free hand on the other’s jaw and looked into his eyes washed in the blue glow of the tv. 

Blaine’s POV:

Blaine tried his hardest to keep himself from getting too eager at Sebastian’s words, but his skin was buzzing and he was full of want and a desperate need to be as close as possible to his person. He let out a slow breath, sliding the arm that he was propping his head up with down and under Sebastian's head, cradling it in the crook and moving Seb’s body so he was on his back. He was so thankful the couch cushions were deep and they both fit perfectly. His eyes roamed over Seb’s face, taking in the perfect slope of his nose and front teeth visible between parted lips before settling on Seb’s eyes, the blue of the television making them look like the sea meeting a blue sky and his breath caught as he was once again struck with how damn attractive Sebastian was. He licked his lips, wanting to show Sebastian how much all of this meant to him. Make sure that the other boy knew that no matter what happened he’d still be head over heels for him in the morning. 

He leaned down and pressed his lips against Seb’s and his eyes fell shut as his tongue traced the line of his lips before slipping past teeth to tangle with Seb’s. His fingers that were tangled up in Seb’s shirt moved to slowly slide just underneath it, his callused fingertips caressing Seb’s sensitive skin just below his belly button. His breathing was shallow as he pulled back and turned his body so he was lying on Seb’s hip, his top leg hooking over Seb’s leg that was closest to him. They were so close, so perfectly lined up that Blaine was struggling to keep his cool. All he had to do was scoot just a bit more and he’d be fully on top of him. His heart fluttered at the thought, but he held himself in place, he didn’t need to go that far tonight, they had plenty of time for that, forever if Blaine had it his way. What Blaine really wanted to do was touch him, wanted to make Sebastian squirm under his fingers. He wanted to make it so that the other boy forgot about anyone else that came before him. Seb had told him a few stories, the fun ones along with the bad times he’d had. He knew about the Lacrosse boy and Scandals with older men he’d met and how he’d had a scare with one of them before and Blaine wanted to show him it didn’t have to be like that. That sex, of any kind, didn’t need to be fast or uncomfortable or awkward. He wanted to make him feel good and wanted and safe.

“Can I, um-touch you?” He asked, his lips close to Seb’s ear, stumbling in his nervousness and his desire to make this perfect. He could feel as much as hear the word Please breathed against his neck sending shivers down his spine as Seb pushed his hips against Blaine’s crooked knee. He pulled back so he could look at Seb in the blue glow as his fingers, shaky and nervous, inched from his belly to the button on his jeans and then the zipper was down and then the fabric was pushed down and away and there was nothing between them as Blaine wrapped his fingers around Seb and leaned down, kissingkissingkissingtouching until Sebastian was squirming and gasping into his mouth and Blaine was pressing himself into Sebastian’s side for the friction and the world warped and blurred when the other boy purred his name and held onto Blaine as Seb fell apart like putty in his hands.

Sebastian’s POV:

Sebastian knew that the moment may have seemed simple compared to some of the things he had gotten up to in the past. None of that shit would ever compare because this was Blaine, Blaine who paid attention and asked permission and who kissed him with his eyes closed. Blaine, who Sebastian actually wanted to kiss and hold hands with and go on dates with. He would trade all of his messy nights for this one moment with Blaine’s strong hands on his skin, his lips all over his neck and lips and his little moans and gasps. 

Seb sighed and squirmed underneath Blaine. His hands were in his hair and it was totally going to be sticking up at random angles when this was over. He could feel him pressed into his side and that paired with his hand and his kisses was all it took for Sebastian to unravel underneath the other boy.  

The two of them held on to each other, all ragged breaths and desperate touches as they clung together. Sebastian leaned in for one last, deep kiss before he pulled away with a toothy smile. He laughed and shivered, his body still reeling from the moment. “Can I…?” Sebastian placed his hand over the other’s zipper to ask permission before he crawled in between his legs and slid down his body.

Blaine’s POV:

Blaine’s lips were swollen with kisses and he was achy with so much desire caused by everything Sebastian and the way he had fallen apart under his fingers. The vision was beautiful and he’d pretty much forgotten about himself until Seb was grinning his imperfectly perfect smile, his teeth on full display and asking with a breathy laugh and then moving himself down and down and down and Blaine was breathing pleases into the air as screams from a forgotten horror movie played in the background. His fingers kneading and then pushing at Sebastian’s shoulders and hair, tousled in their touches, trying to warn him that he was falling, but Seb was relentless and Blaine fell so hard he saw the stars. 

His hands were shaky when he pulled Sebastian up to him for another kiss, grasping at him to keep him close as if he’d fade away and Blaine would never find him again no matter how hard he looked. And for a terrifying split second, as Blaine looked up into Sebastian’s green blue hues the words were there iloveyou and they almost slipped right past his teeth and lips and into Sebastian’s ears. His breath hitched and his words thankfully stumbled because how naive did you have to bed to tell someone you loved them right after sex just because you felt close them? He knew what he felt but he also knew how bad that would go and everything was so damn perfect right now. So his bit his lip and stole another kiss, his hands cupping Sebastian’s face gently, like he might break if he moved too fast.

“I guess we missed the movie.” He said it as if it actually mattered and let out a sudden laugh, his face so hot he wondered if Sebastian could feel the heat radiating off of him. He let his arms slide from Seb’s face and down to his waist and turned them so that they were once again facing each other. He ducked his head, feeling the shyest he’d ever felt as he nuzzled into Sebastian's neck.

“I- that was amazing.”

Sebastian’s POV:

Sebastian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and laughed. His skin felt hot and he could tell that he was covered in goosebumps because every time Blaine touched him he felt overexposed and sensitive in a really good way. It felt like electricity sparking under his skin or like a whoosh of chilly winter air and it made his stomach jump and his voice catch in his throat. 

“We can watch it again someday, I mean...if we don’t get distracted.” He closed the space between them and stole a kiss before he nuzzled into the other’s neck for a moment. “It was. Are you happy?” Sebastian kept his face hidden for a moment, his cheeks red at the sudden vulnerability. 

“This is great but um, I really need to change.” He bit his lip to stifle his laugh. “Come upstairs with me. You should probably clean up,too. We’ll use my bathroom.” The two of them made their way upstairs, giggling and poking each other and tripping over themselves as Sebastian shushed them only to laugh some more. He pulled Blaine into his bedroom and quietly shut the door. He pointed at the bathroom in the corner of his room so that Blaine could tidy himself up a bit as he changed his pants. Seb felt giddy and satisfied as he pulled on a grey pair of sweatpants and changed into a white and green quarter length sleeve baseball tee. He glanced at the alarm clock on his bedside table and felt a surge of sadness because Blaine needed to be home soon which meant they probably needed to head to the car. Sebastian wished Blaine could just stay the night and that they could climb into his bed and cling together and fall asleep laughing and kissing and sighing. 

“We should probably head out soon.”

Blaine’s POV:

Blaine tried not to laugh but the sound slipped out and he shook his head, “Something tells me we’d end up getting distracted, I’ll tell you all about it if you wanna know how it ends one day.” He let his arms rest gently over Sebastian as the other boy snuggled into him, hiding his face like he was suddenly the shy one. He wanted to laugh and tell Sebastian that he was the happiest he’d ever been in his life. Wanted to tell him about the crazy fast rush of feelings he was experiencing over him. But, he bit his bottom lip instead and smiled, his eyes wide and honest as he nodded eagerly in response. He blushed, looking down between them and he was so grateful that he had a cardigan to put on over his shirt.

“I guess you’re right.” He mumbled, his blush coming back full force at the thought of why they needed to clean up, before standing on wobbly legs. He picked up his shoes and his cardigan and followed Seb up the steps and into the main floor of the quiet house. The giggles and teasing felt good and cooled his blushing for a moment. Sebastian’s lightness and giggles were contagious and made him feel giddy and alive. When he came out of the bathroom he had to look away for a moment, Sebastian looked so damn good standing there in those damn sweats and all Blaine wanted to do was see if the bed was as comfortable as it looked and maybe pull Sebastian down with him and kiss him until they fell asleep. And he knew they needed to leave if they wanted to get him home on time but he wanted one more kiss, one more little memory to add to the night. He licked his lips and stepped closer to Sebastian and slid his arm around his waist, pulling him close, his head tilted back and his face open, his free hand snaking up to rest at the back of Seb’s neck to pull him close. 

“Okay.” His voice was soft, because he knew Seb was right. “Just one more minute...” And he kissed him good and slow for a few more minutes, his heart thumping in his chest with a happiness he wanted to keep forever. 

By the time they left the Smythe’s, pie and candle and left over cookies in hand, Blaine’s stomach was in knots because he didn’t want to go. He wanted to curl up next to Sebastian in his big blue bed and press a kiss to the back of his neck before falling asleep. He was actually a little sad about it and as they pulled up in front of his dark house he hoped that Seb wasn’t reading it as if he were sad to be there with him. It was very much the opposite. He turned in his seat, his eyes scanning over Seb’s face, “This was like, the best birthday ever, Seb.” He smiled, his thumb brushing gently over Sebastian’s, not wanting the night to end but knowing he had less than ten minutes to get into his house before Imelda Anderson went from the sweetest woman ever to grounding him with the most disappointed look on her face. She had given him an extra hour, he didn’t want to disappoint her, but he wanted to make it clear to Sebastian that he meant something to him. (without pouring his heart out like an idiot) He cleared his throat before taking a deep breath, his smile shy like they hadn’t just been incredibly intimate with each other. His voice soft as he spoke.

“I really am happy, Seb. Are you?”

Sebastian’s POV:

“I’m glad you had a good day.” Sebastian lifted Blaine’s hand that he had been holding and kissed his fingers. “I am, B. Promise.” He leaned forward and gave him a small kiss before they had to exit the car. Sebastian didn’t want Blaine to be late. He helped him carry his various items to his front door and kissed him goodnight one last time. “Get inside. I can’t have Mrs. Anderson mad at me.”  Sebastian ruffled Blaine’s disheveled hair and winked as he walked backwards off of the front porch. 

The ride home was spent hardly paying attention to the music that was playing but replaying the events of the day over and over again. The orchard, the pies, the kissing and touching. Blaine had even been in his room for the first time which gave him a little thrill. He had never had anybody (besides Hunter or like, the housekeeper) in there. Blaine had held his face and kissed him slowly and he could have melted into the floor, or even better, fallen into the bed with him. 

Sebastian had promised to text when he got home safely. He sent three blue heart emojis from his driveway and smiled when the other boy responded quickly with three red ones. He sat and thought in his car for a few minutes and couldn’t help but find his mind thinking about everything that the future had in store for them. Halloween and Thanksgiving and all of the dates in between. Sneaking into the basement to kiss and inviting Blaine into his room, never finishing a movie ever again, dinner dates and maybe even school dances. 

He was so damn happy. 

/fin.