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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

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Hi! So I would like to request a Seb x reader one shot if you have the time ☺️ I just got diagnosed with Endometriosis today and am in need of some soft Seb... Could you write smth where Seb finds out that reader is always in pain during sex and never said anything, though he knows she has Endometriosis and usually cares for her during her period... and he then encourages her to get surgery to try and fix it? Only if it's okay though, I know it's very precise, sorry!

A/N; I am so sorry to hear about this hun, i hope there’s something that can be done, no one deserves to go through that kind of pain. I researched endometriosis and it certainly sounds horrible, I’m sending you all my love and support 💙

Endometriosis - Sebastian Stan x reader

Masterlist Link

Summary; based on the request, I changed it a tiny bit so I hope that’s okay, I just feel like if r was in pain seb would notice, I hope you like it hun 🤍

Warnings; endometriosis, smut, oral sex (male and female receiving), 69ing, mentions of sex toys, illness, mention of alcohol, fluff, pain, swearing

divider by @firefly-graphics

It hurt like a bitch, there was no way to put it, or at least it was a simpler revelation of description at the prying of your womb had you near to tears. You laid your head down into the pillow, mushing it into the fabric, as you wanted the pain to dwindle down into nothing, and thus you tried to ignore your own suffering, as you turned over to be on your back, severely wincing by the change in position. A groan came from the other side of the bed, as the man that was laid there began to shuffle, in the midst of waking up.

“Morning.” He spoke with a hoarse voice, the steadiness obliterated by his blatant hangover that was haunting his form. Sebastian rubbed a hand over his eyes as he fully awoke, stretching his back as he reached his arm out, swiftly hooking it around the back of your neck as you allowed yourself to lay on the muscle. “Guess neither of us got laid, did we?” He laughed lightly, shaking his head, as he tipped his chin up, blinking his baby blues up to the ceiling.

“Considering that we’re in the same bed, and that you’re not a stranger to me, I guess not.” You laughed to your close friend, whom was aware of your condition, but not the extent of it. “Looks like you’re going to suffer from no morning sex Stan, I’m sure that sucks for you.”

“Usually it’s someone else doing the sucking.” You smacked his arm at his off handed comment, pulling a smirk out from the man as he turned to face you, pulling you closer by the contact that he had upon you. “I’m guessing your disappointed that you’re not waking up to some muscular, blonde haired and blue eyes patriotic punk.”

“If you’re describing Evans, i swear that I will punch you in the dick, I said he was attractive once.” You put emphasis on the amount of time(s) you had ever mentioned it. A pout quivered his lips, as he shuffled beneath the covers, angling his hips in a more comfortable position so that they weren’t being crunched down on the mattress.

“You can punch my dick, on the agreement that you kiss it better.” Seb allowed a hollow smirk to mull over his handsome features, as you swatted his bicep once more, an unhumored frown conforming its position upon your face.

“I’m not one of your hook ups, I’m not gonna get on my knees for you buddy.” You bantered back, raising a brow at his inquisition. No, you were not a past sexual partner of his; it was a constant of him never having a serious relationship, he opted for flings rather than any long engagements, you suspected that he had feelings for someone else, but you were not sure of whom.

The thought alone of him being endeared with the image of one woman brought a pain to your body, separate from your medical suffering. Though your opinion wasn’t fair, considering that you as well, or had your time of sleeping around before the pain in your inner walls became too much, and that was one of the many things that you had given up, more or less.

To support the montage of your body’s self torture, you had a mixture of hormone and tablets that helped reduce the unexplainable sensation that willed around in your lower half, swarming around like an internal snake bite in your own body.

“69 then?” He joked, but it felt so serious. You knew he wasn’t being truthful, it was the relationship the pair of you had, though his face had moved closer, his breath fanning over your face, making your heart prominently race as you thought about such a scenario. “Having mentioned Evans...” he began to change the conversation, having felt the heat that had radiated from your body.

“Go on.” You pried at him, interested in hearing what his friend had opted to say about the pair of you. It wasn't every day that you heard celebrities gossiping about you.

“He thinks we’ve hooked up.” Sebastian stated, making your neck reel slightly back as you took in the fact, of well, the perceived view point of a world renowned, household name, actor. A part of you was slightly embarrassed, you held your own cheek as the words that Chris had passed on sunk in on you.

“We, no, never. Okay, I’m exaggerating, that would not be so bad, but it would definitely be weird. But like, why does he think that, of all things?” You asked whilst partially laughing. It made you partially aware of yourself, and the prospect of you possibly having made your feelings obvious, but that however hadn’t been the case as Seb scratched over the stubble that he had on his chin, and did that awkward Bucky smile that had became humorous in his new marvel show.

“Of all things; it’s like you’re trying to break my heart babes.” With one diverging look from you, he knew he was done for. It always pained him to keep secrets from you, and this was the one that he had been hiding for so long. “You’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you? Okay, fine. I still can’t believe that you haven’t caught on, after all this time, but this just shows that you haven’t noticed how I try and scare away every guy with my money and power.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.” Lightly you scoffed, having many memories of such a situation. It was a pattern that kept repeating itself, but to you it had just become normal, and to say you were fine with it was not incorrect. It gave you hope that he could reciprocate the emotions that you held towards him, though having a wish like that was altogether hopeless. He was just protective, that was all, he probably saw you like a little sister, or something of the sort, that really put a drab annotation on the prospect of romance.

“Ever wonder why?” Ever, more like all the time, but you allowed him to continue without disruption, by doing so more would be unveiled by that mouth of his, and you were eager to learn more, yet a little hesitant. “It is because I am so tired of being your friend, I love it, don’t get me wrong but...” you were dreading what was to come out of his mouth next, you squeezed your eyes shut, almost as if you were unable to see, the pain would not render upon your specimen. “I love you.”

“You what?!” Eyes snapping open, you were blatantly shocked by his confession. “That can’t be right Seb, you’re you, and I’m me, and-“

“We’re us.” He finished for you. As he noticed you relax from his contingence, which allowed him the time gap to slide closer, his warm and soft hand running up the side of your face as he watched you gasp from the sensation. It was not the first time he had touched your cheek, but it was the first instance in which he done so intimately; you were rather fond of the treatment.

You nuzzled your face into the curve of his hand, your brows lightly directed in a downwards motion as you lulled in his touch, and that was when you realised that he had frozen. “Shit.” You stopped him from moving away, pausing the sadness in his eyes for the current second. “I should have responded, that was my bad. I love you too, I’m not just saying that, so you know.”

“That’s a relief.” Sebastian sighed, falling back onto the mattress, bringing his face accidentally closer to your own. The tips of your noses were touching as your eyes ogled deep within the pools of one another’s, it was impossible not to seek a closer vicinity, and thus, you slunk closer, bracing the tips of your nails against his scruff, as your lips worked their way onto his.

“How would you like another kind of relief?” You pulled away, stroking down the smooth course of his shirt covered chest, prompting a suggestive dialogue in your tone. His brow raised as he thought about it for a moment, but then he remembered a rather distinctive matter he didn’t want to cause any obstruction to.

“What about your, you know?” He was referring to your endometriosis, having the knowledge about the unfortunate illness that interfered with your life. Through it all, the doctors appointments, the encouraging you to take your medication on days that you weren’t feeling particularly well, he was there. Now it made sense why.

To reply, you softly shook your head, combing your hands over his shoulders, as you answered him. “If it gets too much, I’ll give you the signal.” You spoke, leaning down to peck his lips, though you still saw the reluctance that was embedded on his forehead in the form of strict lines. “I promise.” You persuaded him, meaning the sentiment, as his eyes trailed down, his hand scourging a fierce, passionate grip upon your hipbone as his tongue weaved its way back into your mouth.

You moaned into the atmosphere of his mouth, grabbing onto his cheeks as you heaved breaths into the internal beyond of this man, rolling on top of him, as you swept your crotch down against his own, extracting a sinister sound out of his guttural throat. It was only turning you on more, and you knew that if you didn’t do something, even despite the recommendations of your doctor, you would be sufficed with a lack of pleasure, and that was all you currently craved.

It wasn’t fair how you had been dubbed with the condition. So many people in the world could have sex whenever they pleased, yet you were forced to commend under the sentence of experiencing a discomfort when all you wanted was the comfort of being intwined with another human being. That connection, it felt mandatory, however you were denied it, for every time that you proceeded to bed a stranger, or a partner of any sorts, the stretch of anything in your walls pursued you with a fracture of pain.

You’d even had to throw out your vibrator, whilst it felt good on the outside, the clenching of your empty walls sparked physical and mental hurt, and reminded you of the fact that whenever you were filled by any length, your body could not function to emit pleasure, instead it was the opposite that you were tasked with contracting. The thought and reminder often spewed tears in your eyes, but you held them back as you got lost in Sebastian.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He admitted sentimentally, and your heart both became full and broken. It was sweet and scorching to the arousal between your legs to know that he was that concerned about your well being; he wasn’t just prioritising getting his dick wet. He resumed pressing succulent kisses on your lips, he lulled in the notion, he too wanted to be close to you, but he wasn’t willing to do inadvertently so to the expense of you being in pain.

That was the opposite of what he wanted, even as your hand wandered down his firm and pheromone driven body, that bucked in your grip, as your hand hooked around his bulge, your thumb stroking over his round sack as he grew beneath the layers of his soft sweats and underwear. “69 then?” You reiterated his earlier words, causing his pupils to blow wide, and his blue irises to darken into the juxtaposition of stormy skies.

“Will that be okay?” You confirmed it was, even if you weren’t completely sure yourself. The angles, the penetration, it was all elements, that combined gave you an equation that you had yet to figure out. The only way to do so was to try it, even if it concluded in an error, and not a sensible answer. To instigate the next step, you roused your sleep shirt from your body, leaving you in nothing more than your causal panties, but Seb didn’t seem to mind.

In fact he rather preferred the normalcy of your actions and undress, it made the strategy of shifting from friends to intimate lovers into one of relaxation, there was no absurdity nor discomfort yet, for either one of you. Your fingers dipped in the sides of your underwear, teasing the band, as you cocked your head towards Seb, licking your lips as you took in the view of him entranced by your being. “Am I going to be the one naked or...”

You were grateful that he took the hint, and stripped himself from both layers that kept his goods confined. He rapidly removed them, leaving his uncut cock open to your gaze; it wasn’t anything massive which was a relief, but it for now, it was to be attained in the confinement of your mouth, rather than the realm of your cunt, so that slight stretch could await. As you thought of that, you reached your hand out, dancing your fingers lightly over his shaft.

Seb emitted a soft huff from his obtainable lips, he dragged you to be laying atop of him, as your thighs surrounded his length on either side, it was warm, and rested perfectly below your where your cunt was hovering. How you wished to just sink down on it and- “Turn around.” For a moment you took time to refrain your memory to perceive what you had said before. And then, whence your words caught up to you, it was simple to do so, especially with the motivation of what was going to happen.

As you spun around, to be facing his lower half and have your own above his mouth, you watched his cock twitch, as it rested heavily upon his abdomen. You could feel your nerves kick in; it was a substantial difference from anything that you had ever done together, from looking at the stars and watching cheesy movies, to sexual actions, it was quite the leap. But a welcome one, you had waited so long to acknowledge your feelings to him, you'd be damned if you were not going to act on them.

A shiver rippled up your spine as he paved a lick through your slit, it made you tense up for a moment, and you try to register any diagnosis of pain, you coiled when he put one of your lips in his mouth. It felt good, which was a relief, and you took that as a sign to reap your front forwards, and focus on his throbbing hardness that was oozing precum against his perfect skin. The drop of essence looked like liquid moonstone, catching the ambience of the snooping sun that eyes through the crescent opening of the closed curtains, creating a luminescent light against the contrast of his skin.

Leaning forwards, as the initial shock of Seb using his tongue on you had settled in, as a faint plea from inside of you derived away in your eternal being, your tongue glided over the patch of fallen precum, your eyes fluttering at the heavenly, yet rare taste, it wasn’t every day that a man’s cum was relatively nice on your buds. Some perceived eating junk food as a lifestyle, caring not for how the receiver of their sperm would taste within the mouth of a giver on the other end. Sebastian hummed against your slick folds, as he danced his hands around your ass, grasping your cheeks firmly.

His fingers swept through the outside of your cunt, fooling around with your labia as his tongue swirled your bud, making your face grimace on the edge of pleasure, as your warm lips wrapped around the head of his cock, whirling your tongue within his slit, as your hand rested around the rest of his length, jerking it in your grasp, as his hips lightly heaved upwards against your face. He teased a finger around your entrance, running the tip along the wet flesh that mimicked your breaths as it clenched prosperously.

“Shit!” Tears webbed in your eyes as he entered the finger, though he considered that a resonating profanity of pleasure. To your dismay, it indeed was not though, the entry of the digit weighed heavy inside you, prying sorely against your walls as your giving to him paused, as you harshly gripped his thigh. “Shit, that hurts Seb. Fuck!” In an instant, he stopped, extracting his finger out from within you, as it caused you further pain, and helped you turn around, and lay languidly upon the bed.

“Oh my god, fuck, I’m so sorry y/n/n.” He panicked, immense guilt wavering his body, as he grasped your face, staring with sorrow into your seasoned expression. “I didn’t mean to- didn’t want to hurt you, shit, I should never have tried to-“ soothing his conflicting emotions, you stroked his shoulders, kissing him to ease his words into silence. He felt guilty, but so did you, you were the one whom had encouraged to pursue the rhythm of your shared sexuality to one another, deducting the poise of your actions with tear beaded eyes.

“It was my fault; I said it would be fine. I should have known it shouldn’t have, I’m sorry.” You reasoned with him, knowing that you had told him that it was to be something that you could manage, but from experience, you should have had better knowledge of how things would turn out.

“Don’t you ever apologise, you’re perfect, the only thing that I want to ease is your suffering. Is there any news on the operation that can be done, should I get you your medication now?” He wanted to be certain, to ensure that you didn’t put the accountability of your situation completely on yourself, he should have asked if a finger would have been fine, he shouldn’t have been swayed by your persuasion. “I could talk to someone, see if I could get the thing moved up, I can pay for it, get you further up on the ladder.”

“No.” You smiled, pressing an ample kiss upon his scruffy cheek. “I don’t want that, many other people are waiting for the op too, and I can’t have you paying for it. That would just be inconsiderate of me, you have already done so much for me, I can’t ask more. You’ve been there through everything, just wait with me whilst I wait for myself.” You pulled the sheets over your breasts, staring opulently into his serene eyes, shuddering as he swept his lips over your mouth once more, deriving you breathless for a moment.

“It’s okay to be selfish, if any of them had that chance, then they would take it. I can afford it, and I would want nothing more than to pay for it, it’s not just about sex, you know that. I love you so so much, you’re my best friend, the girl of my dreams, I’ve waited for you, I just want the pain that you live through to disappear. Out of all people, it’s not fair that it’s you, but it is, and this is the one way to fix the reductive searing of hurt that you live through.” You gulped, water glazing your irises as you stared at her, trying to diffuse your light sob.

His words brought acceptance to you within the scenario, as you took a deep breath in, confronting the trigger that had set off inside of you. It was difficult to handle and attain to, as you curled in his bare arms, exasperating your soundness close to him, as he competently cupped your face, kissing the tip of your nose. “Okay.” You agreed, nodding sincerely along with your words. “Okay, I’ll do it for me. It’s the right thing to do.” A smile raved his face, as you convinced yourself of doing so. It was to be a long road, but Sebastian would be there holding your hand, travelling down this path alongside you.

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ginkgomoon · 3 years

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Victor’s Aura- A Character Aura Study

This post is my take on Victor’s aura, taken from my knowledge and intuition to depict what kind of aura he has! I did one on Gavin, as well as Gavin’s astrological birth chart so if you haven’t seen them, you can read them after this post!

What is an Aura? “Aura” by the dictionary is “the distinctive atmosphere or quality that seems to surround and be generated by a person, thing, or place”.

It’s essentially the electromagnetic energy field that surrounds all living things. It’s the magnetic field of vibration like how a lighted candle is lit and how a scent or perfume surrounds a flower. In fact, it’s correctly described as an extension of the body. It’s a part of every cell. Your aura can be affected by anything, including traumas, memories and emotions. It can tell us a lot about a person’s mental, physical, emotional state, vitality and path of life. Habitual thoughts, emotions and even illnesses can be clearly revealed. If a person changes their long standing thoughts and emotions, the aura will too reflect that.

Victor’s Aura There are many layers to the aura but let’s start off with the “ground” colour. This is the main colour that dominates the aura both in size and intensity. It’s arguably the most important colour as it shows what the person should be doing in their life.

Victor’s main ground colour is dark yellow (keep in mind this is not defined as “murky”- when someone is lost and muddled in their life). People with dark yellow as their ground are confident, well adjusted and analytical. As a result, they take life one step at a time, one goal at a time, ensuring every project is seen through properly to completion to avoid problems and setbacks later. They are patient people, setting their worthwhile goals in no hurry to reach them, as they know without a doubt that they will obtain their deserved reward in the end. They prefer to do things rationally and in a logical manner, especially at work where they are required to make use of their good memory and love for detail. As they are ambitious and persistent, they often take up roles of leadership, responsibility and of importance. From his corrections on MC’s reports to the food he makes at Souvenir (that is insisted to be cooked according to certain temperatures), Victor is no doubt a detail-oriented leader even whether if the goal he wants to achieve is related to work or not.

MC: It’s a sort of mark that can be left in literature or in a photograph… and I can feel it. Victor’s eyes are lowered. In his clear and tranquil eyes, there are ripples of light and shadows. Victor: Such as? The smile tugging at the corner of his mouth is clear, and I ponder this seriously. MC: For example, the way I write proposals has changed. The format of my proposals has changed. The indent of the first line, font size 15, 1.5 spacing between lines… it’s the format you find most pleasing to the eye! Victor’s eyebrow quirks. Victor: That’s all? MC: There’s more! I’ve become so much more picky with food. I never used to complain that food tastes bad, but eating at Souvenir has cultivated my palate. Now, when I eat even Michelin meals, I feel as if something’s lacking… -CN Exhibition Date

“What happened with SE is just an example. We’re from different businesses and different fields. There’s no need to compare yourself with me. Also, I’m older than you. When you’ve reached my age, you might attain the achievements I have today.” -CN Night Meeting Date

“Slow and steady wins the race” is the moral that they live by, but sometimes adhering to this credo may frustrate others as they can be so analytical and detail oriented at times- usually at great lengths. A cute little add from the Tender Regards Date around the concept of snail mail, time (Victor’s evol!) and the goal of always reaching your destination in the end demonstrate this this motif in Victor’s relationship with MC.

“Looks like you should have received this Future Mail. Apart from supporting your event, I’m only going to do this once. This will not be repeated. The things I want to say to you are all in this videotape. It only belongs to you.” -CN Tender Regards Date

“When will you finally understand? It’s all right. I’m patient. I’ll wait for you to see the light slowly.” -Rooftop Date

Although they have feelings, they only ever reveal it to people close to them. They enjoy the detail and technicality of conversations and find it hard to talk about their emotions. Victor’s Exhibition and Tender Regards Date are very useful sources of information in relation to these topics, as it displays Victor’s deep emotions of affection to MC and highlights the importance of expressing emotions to those you love. Dark yellow aura peoples’ greatest lesson in life is to be more emotionally open, and when do they do, it usually occurs later in life.

“The writer wrote it down herself - “The time I spent loving someone, not a single second of it was wasted.” I rarely hear such words leave Victor’s mouth, and it makes me feel a little surreal. In my memory, we very rarely talk about the topic of ‘love’. Maybe it’s because he rarely says what’s in his heart. Maybe it’s because I’m used to being thick-skinned. We never have the opportunity to seriously understand the meaning in these words. -CN Exhibition Date

“Do you still remember the special episode on “Feelings” from before? Actually, this theme was inspired by that episode. Giving gifts is a common way to express how one feels. But it’s not that easy to send a gift to the future. With Future Mail, the sender can convey their feelings and surprises in this gift to the other party across time.” -CN Tender Regards date

People with dark yellow as their ground enjoy system and order such as routines at work and in their home life. This is applied to Victor’s strict schedules in his day to day life, such as taking on what time he sleeps and when he gets up to go on his morning jogs. They need to consider new ideas before grudgingly accepting them. This is especially applied to when Victor always says “just this once” to MC when he’s being “childish” with her (but we really know that isn’t the case, he knows this all too well, too).

“Because a certain greedy cat always says she wants to eat something sweet after dinner, I made pudding before leaving the house. Do you think this is a mark of how I’ve been changed?” -CN Exhibition Date

Next is Victor’s “radiating” colour. This represents his interests and motivations. It adds strength to the ground colour. They can work well in harmony, some can conflict.

I would take Victor’s radiating as violet. Violet is a very highly spiritual colour, as people with this colour as their radiating will have a very spiritual take on life, as they are deep thinkers who like to analyse everything and think matters though logically. They are also naturally intuitive. Violet radiatings have the ability to come up with unique and unusual solutions to problems. As they enjoy learning, they have the potential to become experts in their field of endeavour- which is no surprise for Victor as he’s basically an “on top of the world tyrant” in the industry of finances. In addition, they feel things deeply, but rather operate things on an emotionally free level- again with the ground aura traits to enhance this! However, Victor too, has a high EQ despite this.

“I’m no different from you. There are many things I cannot do or force to make happen. It’s okay to not be strong, it’s okay to not do well. You don’t have to bottle up your emotions.” … “I won’t tell you to keep holding on no matter what difficulties you face. That isn’t realistic. There will come a time when you will become an even better version of yourself who will have enough courage and experience to deal with all of this.” -CN Colours of Rain Date

Overall, Victor’s aura of darker yellow and violet depict him as more of a straightforward kind of person, hardworking and articulate, however soon we realise there’s more to what we see of Victor, like how MC thinks that Victor comes off as a “heartless CEO” throughout the main story chapters but he slowly warms up to her whilst determining to prove her wrong. Victor is wise, and doesn’t bother to put in his personal efforts to where it’s not needed, but when it’s up to him- he strives to go all the way for perfection and with the best of his ability. He spends a lot of time in deep contemplation to determine his plans of attack which allows him to execute them well. His values and worth ethics will always in the end allow him to make time for MC, no matter how busy he is :)

And lastly…

Victor leans against the window, his face still written with distaste, but he does not attempt to remove that childish-looking blanket. He brings the red cup to his lips and gently blows on it. The warm light encases him, softening the aura surrounding him. His outline also appears gentler. He doesn’t look as impossible to get close to. My eyes land on Victor, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He puts down the cup in his hands, lowering his eyes, as though deep in thought. This is a Victor I have never seen before… In this moment, he seems to have put down his stubbornness and distant aura - becoming someone within reach. Only now does Victor finally feel my gaze. He raises his head to look at me. -CN Warm Date

All of a sudden, he lifts his other hand gently. A water droplet pelts onto his palm, as though pulling him into the pattering rain. Seeing this, I find myself subconsciously frozen in place. Because of the enshrouding misty rain, the Victor before me appears warmer and more tender than usual. -CN Tender Regards Date

It always has and always will be MC to see this side of him- the tenderness and the willingness of how he opens up to her- his aura willingly to embrace hers too. Fun fact- auras can deflect off one another if you’re with someone you dislike. But when it’s with two people in love, their auras connect, combine and produce an even brighter and bigger accommodating aura for the both of them. He’s certainly living working towards to achieve his greatest life goals- both in his businesses and being with MC, striving together to make great changes and milestones in their respective industries. Without a doubt, she has helped Victor’s aura grow, expand and shine the many rays through his doubts, allowing a light from within to burn brighter and evolve him into more of the brilliant, hardworking and tender man we know today.

#victor #li zeyan #mlqc translation #mlqc analysis #mlqc victor #恋与制作人 #mr love queens choice #love and producer #mlqc cn #mlqc en #aura reading #aura

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nomazee · 4 years

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Komorebi (6)

komorebi, final.

synopsis: Tsukishima dislikes the amount of parallels there are with you and Hinata. He dislikes the way you’re so energetic and exuberant when you want to be, and the way you can get along so well with people. He dislikes the way that people are naturally drawn to you, and the way you’re so willing to put time into your dumb gifts and snacks and treats for a team of boys you barely know. But Tsukishima does not dislike you. And he supposes that’s part of the problem.

series content: developing relationship, (sort of) ooc tsukishima, strangers to (sort of) friends to lovers, angst, fluff, slow burn

(the final part!! i don’t wanna ramble too much for right now so all of my final thoughts will be at the end!

love yall :) )

☾.:°∗★.:☆:.★∗°:.☽

Just like that, Tsukishima is back to square one.

The world goes silent for a few days. He hates to admit that he’s losing sleep over you, but at this point he’s too far gone to care what anyone thinks about him. Except for you--and while he knows that assuming things is bad, he can only conclude by the way you looked so scared of him before, that you do not think he’s a good person.

(The gifts you gave him nearly contradict that assumption. But he ignores those for the most part. The scarf you gave him a while ago rests on a chair in his room and more often than not he finds himself staring at it during the deep hours of the night. He hasn’t worn it yet.)

Yamaguchi keeps giving him glances during class--not that that’s any different from before, but it irks him more now that he’s actually seen you. The blonde wonders if his friend knew about you, knew that you were going to drop something off in that moment and just never thought to warn him. Maybe you two were plotting that together, like an odd sort of revenge tactic.

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know a lot of things. What he does know is that he’s tired, and he misses you, and he wants to be warm again.

The morning is cold when we wakes up. He wasn’t really sleeping--it was one of those nights of a daze of exhaustion where he kept blinking himself awake. At five-thirty AM, he sighs, staring at the blank, matte wall of his ceiling. Tsukishima wills himself to crawl out of his bed and get ready for school. It’s still dark outside, the flames of daylight creeping up on the horizon while he steps around his room.

He’s ready to leave by six. His mother is awake, sitting in the kitchen sipping hot tea and scrolling through her cellphone. She catches a glimpse of her son walking through the front door--Tsukishima feels her pensive gaze on him but refuses to say anything, just like always.

The air is cold. Despite the long-sleeved uniform he’s wearing, Tsukishima feels ill-prepared to face the day, in more than one way. Nevertheless, he lets go of his reluctance at the door and trudges onward in the frigid air, nose flushed with red and cheeks going numb in a matter of seconds.

(The scarf is in his bag now rather than his desk chair, hidden beneath his books and folders and pencils. He wants to wear it, knows he should, but his guilty conscious tells him to leave it unworn for now.)

The walk passes by quickly, far too quickly for his comfort. Before Tsukishima knows it, he’s faced with the front doors of the very school he dreads to enter.

His fingers tingle with numbness as he pulls at the metal handles of the door. The school is quiet, empty for the most part. The faint shuffle of teachers in their classrooms echoes throughout the halls as his feet lead him to Class 1-4.

There’s a faint pitter-patter of footsteps from inside the classroom. Tsukishima passes it off as one of his teachers, again, but the sight he’s met with when he walks through the doorway gives him a disturbing sense of deja vu.

You’re there, at his desk--the same bracelet from a few days ago resting on top of a box that you seem to have just placed on his desk. You blink up at him owlishly. He can only return the gesture, dumbstruck as he is.

It’s too reminiscent of the events from a few days ago. Once again, his eyes are prickling with stinging pain and his throat dries up.

He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to do.

What does he know, he wonders. He knows he hates crying. It’s unfortunate that that’s the only thing he seems capable of doing.

It’s all overwhelming for him. The cold of the outside lingering on his skin, the sheets of sunlight pouring through the window as the sun rises, your eyes, your sheer presence in front of him. It piles on his shoulder and soon he feels liquid heat pouring down his cheeks.

Tsukishima Kei is crying. In front of you, in a classroom, watching you grip the box in your hands and stare at him, unmoving.

His throat hurts. He tries to choke down any audible sobs, but loud, ugly sniffles echo throughout the room. He wants to fall through the floor, squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to look at you. He can’t bear to know that you find him pathetic, even more so than he already seemed in the last few weeks.

Distantly, he recognizes the sound of footsteps coming closer to him but tunes them out in hopes that he’s just imagining them. A hand finds its way to his shoulder--it’s warm, and he flinches. He knows it’s yours, knows by the heat of it and the comfort he feels from a simple touch. It’s the first time he’s felt your touch, but he feels so light now--so warm and comfortable and cloudy.

“Kei.” It’s your voice. It swims through the air and into his ears, sobs only increasing in severity at the sound of his first name on your lips. Your other hand comes to rest on his cheek, both sets of fingers gently brushing away the pouring stream.

Fond. Tsukishima Kei is very fond of the feeling of your skin on his. He hopes he can become well-acquainted with it, if he tries hard enough.

“Kei, it’s okay.” You’re so soft, voice low and lacking any hostility he expected you to have. Your thumbs pat at his under eyes, soaking up the wetness that pools.

“Can you look at me?” He’s stubborn, hand coming up to grip your wrist and lips clamped tightly shut to reduce the shiver of his entire body as he weeps. A gentle shake of his head makes you sigh--he knows the way he’s acting is so uncharacteristic but he can’t help it. Not with the feel of your hands on his face, your voice, the sound of his first name spoken by you still ringing in his ears.

“It’s okay. It’s alright. I’m here.”

You are here. It seems impossible to him, but you’re here. With him. With your hands giving him warmth and comfort and fondness. Everything he ever wanted.

His eyes blink open. Tsukishima Kei looks at you--really looks. Your lips are upturned, gentle as is the rest of you. The sun is halfway above the horizon now, the light from it filtering through the leaves of the trees that are planted outside the window. The golden rays hit your eyes perfectly, changing the hue the slightest bit and making him stop his tears momentarily--just to admire you.

You blink at him. You smile. Tsukishima Kei is in love, just a little bit.

☾.:°∗★.:☆:.★∗°:.☽

(so... this has been a wild ride.

first off i wanna say thank you for all the support i’ve received throughout this whole thing! it really means so much to me. i love you all so much.

im very proud of myself for finishing this. this is by no means the greatest product i could’ve created--it was a little bit messy, and the word count of the entire series (ab 6000 i think) is lower than some long oneshots i’ve seen.

there’s a lot of things i could’ve done better--no doubt about that. but i am very proud of myself for making this. for finishing a WHOLE multipart series,,,,yes it was short but......its here! i did it! i’m finished! very happy with this.

this series was mainly set in tsukishima’s own head--and i know it was probably at least a little disappointing that it was NOT action-based---and the fact that it was tsukki-centric was definitely a downer to some people because you didnt really get to feel what.... YOU would feel in that situation. we didnt get to see that here.

and its okay if that’s what you disliked most!!! in truth i think that was one of my biggest weaknesses writing this series. but i liked it this way, i think. i like trying to analyze characters within my writing and i think that, at the very least, this was a good challenge for me to try to take on with characterization and the like.

anyways....that’s it i think! thank you so much for supporting me, really. i’m very thankful for everyone whose liked or reblogged any of the parts to komorebi. you are all incredible i love you. <3)

(pssst!!! i’ll be talking about my 200 follower event soon. if you wanna participate, be on the lookout for that!!)

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #hq x reader #hq x you #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima x you #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima kei x you #kei x reader #kei x you #kei tsukishima x reader #kei tsukishima x you #tsukki x reader #tsukki x you #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu oneshot #tsukishima fanfiction

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carolyncaves · 4 years

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It’s been three days since I posted a ficlet, but that’s because my hand Really slipped this time and I wrote a canon divergence ‘post-Burial Mounds Wei Wuxian actually goes to Gusu’ fic. I’ll call this Day 19: Journey, but it also includes days 17 and 18 Rest and Breath for bonus points. 3680 words, WWX, LXC, LWJ, JC. Alcohol, vague mental illness (it’s post-burial-mounds wwx), strong undercurrent of wangxian (it’s lwj), angst, tenderness, golden core reveal.

also on ao3

“You do not necessarily need to take up the sword at once,” Lan Xichen called after Wei Wuxian, perhaps too desperately, but it mercifully stopped him in his tracks. “You can come to Cloud Recesses and simply consider it further there.”

“So instead of agreeing to take up the sword, Zewu Jun would like me to agree to agree to it in time. A grand distinction.” Wei Wuxian tipped his head back and drained the rest of the jar of baijiu. When he drew it down and looked at it, the rigid arrogance etched into his profile was mixed very briefly with a desperate despondence. Lan Xichen might not have noticed it, were it not for his conversation with Wangji.

Wei Wuxian had been somewhere terrible for three months, and he was not well. Wei Wuxian needed help. Wangji was forbidden to come, so Lan Xichen had to do this in his place, and please, Xiongzhang, you must get him to agree to come to Gusu, whatever it takes.

After what he’d seen so far of Wei Wuxian’s state, Lan Xichen was not sure it would be within his power. But Wangji had placed his trust in him.

“You will not be required to do anything, if only you will come.”

“I do not recall when Zewu Jun gained the authority to require things of me.”

That hostility could bring them to failure. Lan Xichen needed to shift to his reserve approach. He thought, given the circumstances, Wangji would consent. “To speak even more plainly, it would please Wangji very much to see you. You were correct when you said so yourself. He has been anxious since the close of Sunshot, and lonely at Cloud Recesses. I am asking you for this favor, as his closest confidant, for the sake of my brother’s happiness – so I will not be easily discouraged.” Those words were all true; it had become clear Wangji’s happiness depended very much on Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian’s expression softened once again, this time toward affection. Lan Xichen gave his words time to sink in, and then followed them with a wager: “It will be an opportunity for you to rest.” Despite Wei Wuxian’s bright smile and earnest greeting when they’d met on the street, Lan Xichen had sensed underneath it that Wei Wuxian was haggard and worn.

Wei Wuxian finally turned and looked at him again, and his agitation had fully melted back away. Lan Xichen felt the gentle lift of hope.

“I’m a member of the Jiang sect, aren’t I?” Wei Wuxian asked. “My brother has been named Sect Leader, and needs me now more than ever in his life. How can I go to Gusu with you?”

“Please allow me to ask him,” Lan Xichen said immediately. “On my own behalf, please give me your leave to request of him that you come visit us.” He did not mention, and only barely allowed himself to think, that if Wei Wuxian was here in town drinking baijiu in the middle of the day, he was probably not giving his brother the support he needed regardless.

Wei Wuxian stared at the floor for a very long time. He gave a hollow laugh. “All right. If Jiang Cheng gives you his blessing, I’ll go to Gusu with you.”

Lan Xichen had swayed one immovable stone, only to find another in its shadow.

Jiang Cheng received him almost immediately in Lotus Pier’s Sword Hall. He sat on the carved lotus seat, looking every inch a Sect Leader despite his youthful face. Wei Wuxian stood slightly to one side, looking carefully at the opposite wall instead of either of them.

“Take Wei Wuxian to Cloud Recesses?” Jiang Cheng kept his voice even and respectful, for now, but his features clearly displayed his incredulous irritation. “And you want to go, I suppose,” he added, much more acidly, to Wei Wuxian. “You’d like to run off and see Hanguang Jun, nevermind Yunmeng Jiang.”

“Zewu Jun has asked it of me,” Wei Wuxian said lowly. “Should I just refuse him out of hand?”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrowed, and Lan Xichen could almost hear his rejoinder – So you make me do it instead? “Have you been drinking? I needed you today. Look at you.”

“Sect Leader Jiang, I am asking this of you as a personal favor,” Zewu Jun said, hoping to coerce Jiang Cheng into discussing it with him instead. “I’m hopeful spending a measure of time together at Cloud Recesses will be beneficial for both my brother and yours.”

“Hanguang Jun is more than welcome to come to Yunmeng,” Jiang Cheng countered.

“Currently Wangji has sect matters he is required to attend to,” Zewu Jun answered, before immediately wincing.

“And Wei Wuxian doesn’t?” Jiang Cheng snapped. He looked incensed with a fire more furious than this one conversation would ignite, implying Wei Wuxian’s truancy today was not an isolated incident; this request was precisely the fuel to grow a smolder into a blaze. “Not that he’s been doing them. Are you planning to stand by my side and help me at any point, Wei Wuxian? Have you no sense of responsibility?”

Lan Xichen saw those words hit Wei Wuxian like a blow, but he was surprised when Jiang Cheng flinched as well. Perhaps he had not intended the second meaning – the implication of blame, as well as duty.

Jiang Cheng took a breath to recover, and apparently that gave him the time he needed to reconsider.

“Forget the thing I just said. You should go with him.”

Wei Wuxian looked right at him, then, for the first time in that conversation, and his face was masked with slow confusion and hurt. “Jiang Cheng …”

“Don’t argue with me! Go cheer up Lan Wangji and yourself, and come back. You’ve been impossible and stubborn since you got back from wherever on earth you were, and I need you to get your head back on straight.” Wei Wuxian’s face had gone blank again during that tirade. Jiang Cheng snorted in exasperation and added, “Don’t forget to take your sword with you, and see if you can come back riding it.”

Wei Wuxian stiffened, and Lan Xichen was briefly terrified the situation would collapse mere inches from success. He stepped forward, clamped a hand down hard on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, and said, “We will bring the sword with us.” He hoped Wei Wuxian would remember the assurances Lan Xichen had given him, so he wouldn’t have to repeat them in front of Jiang Cheng. “Where is it, Wei-gongzi?”

Lan Xichen escorted Wei Wuxian to collect the sword and some personal effects from his room – thankfully, Jiang Cheng remained behind. Suibian was tucked behind a chest of drawers, where Wei Wuxian would not see it as he went about his daily life. Wei Wuxian retrieved it and stared at it like it was alien in his own hand, in contrast to the dark flute he held as at his side as an extension of himself in the other.

He thrust his arm toward Lan Xichen.

This disturbed Lan Xichen, the way Wei Wuxian seemed actively averse to the sword’s presence, but he said nothing; he was on the verge of achieving his mission. All this could be discussed in the fullness of time once Wei Wuxian was safely at Cloud Recesses. He took Suibian in his own hand, for the time being. He would bear this person and his sword to Wangji.

Wei Wuxian was slow and lethargic in his movements, some combination of mood and intoxication. It took all of Lan Xichen’s discipline not to rush him. It felt as if every moment that elapsed could bring some unforeseen stimulus that would knock Wei Wuxian off this vital and fragile course. Eventually he was ready, and as soon as they had sky over their heads, Lan Xichen took him on Shuoyue and maneuvered them into the air.

Lan Xichen relaxed, since they were now underway, which seemed a significant milestone in making this more difficult to stop. Wei Wuxian clung to him in strange desperation with the arm that wasn’t holding Chenqing. He stared down and around and out, face wide and wild as they climbed into the dusky sky, and as the minutes passed he began to shake. Did he feel unsafe relying on someone else to maneuver the sword? Had something happened that had instilled in him a fear of heights?

“Hide your eyes, if you would be more at ease,” Lan Xichen told him. “I assure you, Wei-gongzi, I will deliver you safely.”

Wei Wuxian’s fingers tightened ever so slightly in Lan Xichen’s robes, like he was hesitating, fighting a silent battle. Finally, his head collapsed onto Lan Xichen’s shoulder, his face angled into the side of his neck. Otherwise he said nothing, and did nothing. It was so far distant from the buoyant young man who had come to Gusu for lectures and even the sharp, bright, terrible one he’d seen glimpses of during Sunshot. Wangji had been correct. Wei Wuxian was deeply not well. Lan Xichen had been moderately convinced by the end of their conversation at the inn; now he was beyond certain.

The flight was long, but at the end of it, the patch of garden in front of Wangji’s jingshi came up to meet them, and Lan Xichen set them safely down. Wei Wuxian had made the journey.

///

Lan Wangji heard a sound he quickly placed as Xichen maneuvering Shuoyue, and he was out the door of the jingshi as quickly as he could physically manage it. First, because Xichen would not maneuver the sword within Cloud Recesses if he were not on some urgent mission, and second, because Lan Wangji would not have been able to hear him if he were alone and unburdened.

Sure enough, he was met with the sight of Xichen ushering a rigid Wei Ying from the steel onto the grass. A relief so intense it threatened to send him to his knees expanded through Lan Wangji.

“Wei Ying,” he said reflexively, closing the space between them.

Wei Ying turned to him with glazed, hazy eyes.

“He may still be intoxicated,” Xichen said, “and he has been harrowed by the flight.”

Lan Wangji stopped just before he touched Wei Ying, remembering him step away from him at Yiling Supervisory Office, turn away at the cliffs at Nightless City. This time, Wei Ying let him slowly move in and take him by one wrist. It was hope, and forgiveness, and a plea.

“Let’s get him inside,” Xichen said, which meant Lan Wangji had to release him. He followed as Xichen escorted Wei Ying up the walk. By the time they reached the open doorway, Wei Ying had recovered some of his senses, and he pulled himself out of Xichen’s hold.

“You don’t have to … you didn’t have to,” Wei Ying said coldly. “I shouldn’t be here. I should go back.”

Lan Wangji’s stomach sank, but Xichen just said, “Wei-gongzi, surely you aren’t suggesting I fly you back to Lotus Pier by sword this very moment.”

Wei Ying flinched, even as he scowled at himself for it.

“You must at least take dinner with us, and stay the night,” Xichen continued. “We can discuss it further in the morning if you like. You’re no prisoner here, just a welcome guest.” Xichen extended his arm, gesturing for Wei Ying to continue into the jingshi.

At length, he did.

Wei Ying stopped in the center of the room, standing aimlessly as Xichen and Lan Wangji came in around him. “I’ll go have someone prepare us a meal,” Xichen said. He held out Suibian, which for the first time Lan Wangji noticed he was carrying.

Wei Ying stared at him. He made no move to take it.

Xichen smiled sadly and went to set the sword at one of the places at the table.

Lan Wangji said stepped forward and took Suibian from his hand. “Xiongzhang,” he said, bowing formally with Wei Ying’s sword clasped in his hands, “thank you for bringing Wei Ying here. Now I will speak with him.”

Xichen briefly looked taken aback. Then his gaze floated from Lan Wangji to Wei Ying before returning. “I told Wei-gongzi we would not force him to take up his sword if he came here. That we would not require anything of him if he was unwilling.”

Lan Wangji imagined how the conversation must have gone, for Xichen to make that assurance. “Thank you,” he said again, and he hoped Xichen understood him.

Xichen nodded. “I will have the meal sent over for you.” Xichen acknowledged Wei Ying and left, surrendering Wei Ying into Lan Wangji’s custody.

Wei Ying was here. He had come to Gusu, however tensely. Lan Wangji was not helpless any longer. He could do something. He looked at the sword in his hand. Wei Ying’s wild Suibian. “I will play Clarity for you until the dinner comes,” he said.

“Lan Zhan, you can’t help me.”

“You said you would allow me,” Lan Wangji pushed back, pacing around Wei Ying to face him. “You came here.”

“No, Lan Zhan. You can’t help me.” Wei Ying looked up at him, expression gaunt. He was still thin, from wherever he’d been when he was away. If he was intoxicated, it was the morose kind. “You can play Clarity for me until your fingers bleed. I still won’t take up the sword again.”

“Why not?” Lan Wangji bit out, clenching Suibian in his grip. “What happened, Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying’s gaze was heavy on the sword in Lan Wangji’s hand. He thought for a great, long silence. “You have to believe me this time,” he said, swaying a little on his feet. “If I tell you, you have to believe me.”

Lan Wangji had not believed him when he spun a tall tale about a book and a cave with a dark, haughty grin. He had been afraid to believe him when he mentioned the Burial Mounds with a smile. Now, with Wei Ying standing empty in the jingshi, a silent tear rolling down his face, having relented and left his home so Lan Wangji could help him, Lan Wangji was prepared to believe anything he had to say. Lan Wangji nodded.

“It’s a secret,” Wei Ying pressed instantly, and more tears followed the first. “You need to swear to me you’ll keep it a secret. From Zewu Jun, from your uncle, from everyone. I would die rather than have it be known. Do you understand, Lan Zhan? It’s a secret I was going to die to keep.”

That image, the one of Wei Ying dead, frightened Lan Wangji more than anything had previously in his life. A year ago, it would have seemed impossible – his overloud, overfamiliar other, taken by death. Now, it seemed possible. Now, Wei Ying was barely held together by resentful energy and thin wire.

Lan Wangji raised his head, decided. He crossed the room, to the sword stand where his own Bichen stood. He put Suibian to rest alongside it. Then he turned. Wei Ying had turned to watch him.

Lan Wangji held out his hand, palm up. “Then tell me. We will keep it together.”

Wei Ying looked at his hand like a man going to his death. He looked at it like a man who wanted to be saved. He barely took his eyes off it as he took the three steps sideways necessary to walk over and place Chenqing on the corner of the table. Then he took the three steps back – toward Lan Wangji – and Lan Wangji’s hand in his own.

He drew it toward him and pressed it against his lower abdomen.

It took Lan Wangji a second to process this strange action, and another to follow its implication. He controlled his spiritual energy, reached in to touch Wei Ying’s spiritual core.

Nothing.

Lan Wangji’s hand clenched, pulling in a handful of Wei Ying’s clothes. He could feel his own breath begin to accelerate. Wei Ying’s cultivation was a match for Lan Wangji’s own. How could Wei Ying lack a golden core?

Wei Ying had bit his lip so hard he bled. Lan Wangji raised his other hand instinctively, to wipe the blood and tears away.

“Hanguang Jun,” came a voice from outside, and the door slid open.

The junior disciple holding the tray with their dinner froze on the threshold. Fortunately, Wei Ying was facing away from the door, so the tears on his face would not be visible. Lan Wangji could not begin to imagine what his own showed.

The disciple opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“Place it quickly and go,” Lan Wangji said, his voice harsh even in his own ears. The disciple leapt forward to obey, practically diving across the room and setting the tray on the table. Her sleeve brushed against Chenqing as she withdrew, sending it clattering to the floor. She winced and reached for it.

“Leave it,” Lan Wangji commanded. The disciple gave the quickest bow he had ever seen and fled the jingshi, banging the door closed behind her.

Wei Ying gave a wet laugh. Lan Wangji’s hand was still on his face. “Lan Zhan, that disciple surely thought you were in the middle of ravishing me. By morning, every junior in the Lan sect will be talking about Hanguang Jun and his secret lover.”

Lan Wangji drew Wei Ying into the circle of his arms and crushed him to his chest.

“Wei Ying,” he said into the side of his head. He clutched at him, dug one hand into his hair. “Wei Ying.”

“It’s all right, Lan Zhan, really,” Wei Ying said, voice hollow. “It’s not so terribly bad. I’m practically used to it at this point. But you see why I can’t take up the sword anymore.” Wei Ying was still babbling. “Do you see, Lan Zhan?”

“Enough talking,” Lan Wangji said. His mind was beginning to seek causes and effects. “Wen Zhuliu?”

“I thought you said enough talking,” Wei Ying deflected.

The Wen soldiers had said things that hadn’t made sense to Lan Wangji. They’d said the heir to the Jiang sect had been burned down into a mediocre person. The pieces rearranged themselves, and Lan Wangji spat, “Jiang Cheng. Wen Zhuliu, and Jiang Cheng.”

“Enough talking,” Wei Ying whispered, but his hands finally came up and wrapped around him. He finally took hold of Lan Wangji. And he began to cry. It was quiet. Listless. Unlike everything Wei Ying was.

Lan Wangji held him until he stopped.

He didn’t realize tears were on his own face until they dampened Wei Ying’s shoulder and he felt the coolness.

When eventually they pulled back, Wei Ying was barely on his feet. Lan Wangji walked him over to the table. He food had gone cold, but he needed to eat. Wei Ying picked up Chenqing and placed it back on the corner of the table with a shaking hand. Lan Wangji sat beside him instead of across from him, an arm still wrapped around his waist. He did not know when he would be willing to let go of Wei Ying again.

When Wei Ying finished eating, he realized he would have to.

“I will play Clarity for you,” Lan Wangji said, though it came out more stifled than he intended.

Wei Ying shook his head ruefully. “I’ve taken you too off-guard, Lan Zhan. I’m sure you could if my life depended on it, but you don’t need to play it tonight.”

Perhaps that was best. Lan Wangji did not feel even remotely clear himself. He shifted so he could draw Wei Ying back against him, back pressed against Lan Wangji’s chest. As if it were possible to hold him close enough to make this all right.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, I didn’t know you were going to be quite so possessive of my spiritual power,” Wei Ying said – joking even now, joking already. He tipped his head back on Lan Zhan’s shoulder, showing his exhaustion. “Ah, well, now you know the truth. You can send me back to Lotus Pier tomorrow with a clear conscience.”

Lan Wangji shook his head. Slowly, several times. How could Wei Ying say such false things, even in jest? Lang Wangji cupped a hand under his chin, angling his face up slightly.

Wei Ying stared up at him. “Lan Zhan …”

Lan Wangji leaned down and kissed him.

It was brief and light. Lan Wangji could taste the whisper of baijiu on his breath. Then it was over.

Wei Ying stared up at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, lips hanging ever so slightly agape.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said. “You said you would allow me to help you.”

“Oh,” he said, as if he were truly surprised. His chin drifted back down, and he stared across the jingshi unseeing in thought. Then he took one of Lan Wangji’s hands in both of his own and raised the back of it to his lips. “Thank you, Lan Zhan.”

It was barely seven thirty, long before even the Lan sect’s curfew, but soon Wei Ying was starting to drowse in his arms. Lan Wangji wanted to continue to hold him, but he had been exhausted even when he stepped off Shuoyue. He needed to rest.

Lan Wangji might have carried him to the bed, but he woke and was already pulling himself up before Lan Wangji could arrange it. Instead, he walked at his side, supporting him.

Wei Ying slept the sleep of the bone-weary. Lan Wangji sat beside him and watched. This was worse than anything he’d imagined. But now he understood, and he could stop wasting energy on the false problem and help Wei Ying with the true one.

Wei Ying had dark circles under his eyes and alcohol in his blood and no golden core, but he was safe in Lan Wangji’s bed at Cloud Recesses. As long as that was true, hope was not gone.

part two

#untamed spring fest #the untamed #cql #mdzs #fanfiction #i struggled to figure out what lxc and lwj would call everyone in their internal narration #i decided not to have lxc think 'wei-gongzi' every other sentence and only used it in dialogue #that was hurdle one #then i got to lwj's pov which i've apparently never written before #and i'm like does he think 'xiongzhang' every time he things of his brother? i'm not used to reading that and it seems awkward #so that one went dialogue-only too #then there was 'wei ying'#i've been having wwx think 'lan zhan' when i write his pov bc they're close and that's just how he thinks of him #so 'wei ying' got narration status #is that at all sensical? we just don't know #more whimsically i decided lxc was the kind of guy who would think in semicolons #so i sprinkled in a few #as a treat #anyway the overbearing concept behind this fic was that the main stumbling block in canon #is wwx (feels like he) can't tell anyone why he's put down his sword and picked up demonic cultivation #bc wwx is a mental illness/depression mood #so i wanted to take an 'accepting help when you're struggling' crack at it #long fic long tags that's enough rambling #my fic #wwx #lwj #wangxian #lxc #jc

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elucere · 3 years

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Sad Late August Quarantine Thoughts 2.0

Last year, I wrote this. Basically my thoughts on how I felt in my life up to that point and what quarantine had illuminated. It felt cathartic then, so hopefully it’ll feel cathartic now. A part of that probably had to do with the fact that the last part was complete bullshit, but we’ll get into that later.

At nearly the slightest inconvenience now, I’ll say “I’m at my limit”. Technically, that isn’t really true because if I was really at my limit, at the next inconvenience I would completely lose it. But no, I’m just simply reminding myself that while I’m constantly met with a series of unfortunate events, I haven’t broken down yet. I might feel like I’m there, but I’m not. I’m just at my limit. Things are bad, but they aren’t the worst they could be yet. So keep in mind, I am very much at my limit as I’m writing this.

Last year I talked about my struggles with my job. Yeah, I got fired in February. It was not pretty either. I knew I wasn’t doing well performance wise, and they invited me into a zoom call that they said was a project meeting a week before my year anniversary and fired me. My supervisor (or I guess, ex-supervisor) cried on call. I didn’t cry until afterwards. It was an entire year of me trying to get better, him promising that it’ll come with time, and then getting sacked because “we didn’t see improvements”. Really, really fucking sucked. And it messed with me for a long time because I kept replaying those last few weeks, trying to decipher what I could’ve done differently to prove my worth and keep my position. There was a lot. I felt really guilty.

I think the worst part is that I got a performance warning in December and realized at that point I’d become so apathetic about my job that I needed professional help. I’d been trying to go to therapy for a long time, but it never panned out. My mom forbade it when I was in high school, it was practically impossible to get an appointment at my college’s mental health facility unless you were considered a threat to yourself and others (which I most certainly did not want on my record), and after school life happened so fast with the pandemic and the fact that I live in a 2 bedroom apartment with my mom and my brother with very little privacy. Even now that I’ve convinced my mom that therapy is okay, actually, she still highly disproves and sees it as some sort of psychological failing on my part. Which is. Sure. Whatever. Why not.The reason I did not enroll in therapy that December is actually because my dad lost his job and with it, his health insurance, and with that, my health insurance. That means I had to enroll in a health plan through my employment, which became an unanticipatedly long process. I actually got my new-but-useless health insurance card in the mail a few days after I got fired. They actually fired me on the last day of the month, so my benefits wouldn’t extend beyond that month. That’s a bit of fun irony.

To quite a few of my friends, this story solidified the idea that insurance=therapy. As soon as I got insurance again, I’d be able to finally get some help. This was a couple of people’s first response to me when I got hired again (yay, I know I don’t have to worry about that anymore but I’m also afraid that I’ll just inevitably be fired again so I don’t let myself have the victory). I know my friends only want the best for me, and I can’t expect them be able to emotionally support me like a professional, but I’m afraid that they think that therapy will be some sort of magical fix of sorts. I don’t mean in the sense of just getting better mentally, but I think being a tolerable person. I know that sounds like I’m just being self-depreciating, but let me explain.

A few years ago I was at dinner with one of my friends. I don’t remember exactly what we were talking about, but she goes “name three things you actually like” because I was probably being negative or something. I said a few things and whatever, but that comment stuck with me for a long time. I thought it was especially poignant or something. Am I so unhappy all the time because I fixate on things I don’t like? It could be connected to the attitude of social media to be outwardly negative. Casual wisdom, you know.

Well, that was the fact until I was out with that same friend and we visited Barnes and Noble. I’ve been doing quite a bit of reading this year and got more involved in the book community, so I have many Opinions. Some are good, some are bad, some are just me being annoying. After an hour of browsing the shelves, we drive home. I start talking about a series I really like in the car and she goes “It’s nice to hear you talk about a book you actually like.” Which kind of stunned me because I had just did a lot of talking about books I liked. How happy I was that kids were still reading Rangers Apprentice, going out of my way to see how many Brandon Sanderson books I could find in the Adult Fantasy section, and more reminiscing in the Young Adult section about books I liked recently or as a teen. The truth is, I talk about stuff I like all the time to people who will listen. Ask me about my favorite books! My favorite movies! My favorite musicals! I promise I will not shut up. It’s one of the few things I have that lift my spirits when I talk about it, I just don’t get the opportunity to much because it’s hard to find people who want to listen.

The thing is, I’m naturally a critical person, I think. I love tearing things apart, in good and bad ways. I also love gossip. I’m an okay gossip, but I know at this point that I’m a good critic. I’m really good at identifying faults and commenting them on an insightful or constructive way. I edit a lot of my friends’ writings for this reason. I don’t find that to be anything negative, it’s just something that’s interesting to me. Basically what I’m saying is, what if it’s not mental illness and I’m just annoying and I’ll not be able to meet the expectations of other people’s idea of progress for me and I’ll be a disappointment. I’m kind of tearing up while typing that out while listening bopping to Disturbia by Rihanna but this is the third time I’ve been on the verge of crying today so yaknow maybe it is just mental illness.At this point, I can either talk about criticism in relation to the particular way I dish it, or I could talk about how I want to receive it. I think the former will take less time to elaborate, so I’ll start with that.

I mention last year how I got an unpaid gig as a critic for DiscussingFilm. Embarrassing at times, I joke with my friends that “DiscussingFilm Writer” is a slur, but it’s cool at times as well. I got a press pass to go to Sundance and gorged on an entire family sized bag of peanut M&Ms while I watched like 14 movies in one weekend. I’m trying to say positive things about this until I start ragging to prove that I’m not an overwhelmingly negative person, but I don’t think that’s working well. Whatever. The point is, if I didn’t like it I would quit, but if I did quit it wouldn’t be because I didn’t like it. It would because there was an…event. I had quite a falling out with one of the higher-ups that run the site and in response my work has taken a hit. I won’t go into too much detail, but I don’t get assigned anticipated releases anymore. My work is often delayed going out and, in turn, I feel less motivated to turn in my work on time. And then on top of that, it’s rarely promoted. I have examples on top of examples, but this stupid thing is getting long enough. To summarize the DiscussingFilm situation, I feel like shit. I have one of the lowest view counts on the site. I’m told that my work is good and it’s valued, but not enough to get reposted, I guess! Why bother. And also because the person I do not work well with is quite up in the food chain, I’ll never see a promotion. I wanted to become an editor so bad (I do editing on the side for my friends and enjoy it), but now it will never ever happen. I don’t have the opportunity to prove myself, it’s just completely off the table by nature of leadership. Ass. Complete ass. I’m doing quite a bit of work for DiscussingFilm including creating the standard for the Instagram, making graphics for the Instagram, performing interviews and writing reviews for the site, and co-hosting a DiscussingFilm branded podcast, and I will never see neither a dime for my work or recognition in any meaningful or significant way. I don’t have a say in anything, and I feel like an insignificant cog whose opinion does not mean much.

I still get insecure with my reviews, but not as much anyways. Sure, I can’t compare to the great writers at trades who do this for a living and have been doing so for years. But, I am better than a lot of writers at my level. Sometimes I try pitching to other publications, but so far I’ve only been met with rejection. It kinda stings to know that my work is not worth enough to be paid for, but I’m kinda over it. I still pitch. I try my best. That’s the thing about me, I just keep going. Rejection hurts like a bitch, but whatever. I don’t want to quit just yet, so I guess I won’t. There isn’t anyone in my corner who’s actively spurring me to keep going, I’ve just decided that I’ll get paid for my work one day and so now I will.This connects with the criticism I want to receive which unfortunately very much is not of the nonfiction variety. Ew I fucking hate talking about this but I need to get it off my chest.

After I got fired, I was slipping into quite a bit of a depression. I started a podcast at this time with my friend to try and prevent that, but I knew that I probably needed another project. I wasn’t watching movies anymore, DiscussingFilm was not publishing my shit, and all I was doing all day was reading (which I don’t anymore, I’m in a slump and it’s definitely connected to the idea I have in the next sentence). So I had the brilliant idea of “hey, I could do that. I could write a book. I should do it to do it.”You see, this has not been my only attempt at writing a proper book. I tried when I was 13, I tried when I was 15 and into online literate roleplay, I tried when I was 18 by doing NaNoWriMo in college (also, I was actually more depressed then). I also tried to get into a short story class in college that you had to submit a story to get into and didn’t even make it on the waitlist. Nothing stuck. But hey, I was unemployed and I came up with a funny premise that I wasn’t too attached to, so why not?

The book is not funny. It was supposed to, but it’s changed a lot. I’m very comfortable writing in camp. It’s difficult because I know sometimes I have my moments, but often I don’t. I also chose to write it in a genre I’m not super familiar with (Young Adult contemporary, I read Young Adult and Adult fiction primarily). I didn’t expect it to be easy, but the things I thought would come easily did not come easily. I have a lot of male friends, so I could certainly write the male characters as real people, right? Right? I’m funny, so the humor would come across well, right? Did I anticipate that after years of pretty much only analyzing films critically I’d subconsciously structure my story using dialogue-driven storytelling similar to a screenplay? No! Not at all, actually! This journey of self-discovery has been ass at every corner!

I recognize that first drafts are shit and authors hate their writing, but also I’m built different, your honor. By 15k words in, I realized I needed an outside perspective. I hated my own writing and I was afraid none of the characters were coming off right. I needed feedback, and I still do. But I hate being perceived. As long as no one reads my writing, they think that I know what I’m talking about and value my opinion on their writing, but once they figure out I’m just an Imposter then it’s game over. They’ll lose respect for me. Logically, I know this isn’t how this works, but I feel physically nauseous whenever someone reads my writing.

Anyways, back to my much-needed criticism. To make a long story short involving several English teacher that caused me to quit pursuing writing altogether in my formative years and decide to switch to a STEM track, I have very little tangible self-awareness of my own writing and how to improve it. I need the outside feedback, or at least I did. I’m 60k words into my first draft now and I’m cripplingly self aware of all my errors, but it feels too little too late. 60k words are a lot of words, and it feels not great knowing that most of them are trash. I really needed this kind of feedback earlier in the process so I could make tweaks early on. I know that writing is like a muscle and you need to work it out and practice to get stronger, but fuck man, FUCK. 60k words is a LOT of words. And I still need people to read it and give me feedback and I’m literally willingly asking people to read shit. It’s so humiliating. I guess I’m just at a point where I wish I could look at it and find something of value in what I’ve written.

I see other authors and I get so jealous. At their confidence, at their lyricism, their mastery of the art, their enthusiasm for their story, their love of their characters. I don’t have that. I’m not even talking about imposter’s syndrome. I know what that feels like. This is something else. I just wish I was the kind of person who could openly be creative without wanting to die. I’m 100% sure if I could be enthusiastic about the story I want to tell, the entire thing would be better. It’s crazy how I noticed that I’m not writing any metaphors into realizing that’s directly connected with my inability to be vulnerable and that I’m detaching myself from my work. That, and the fact that I’m fucking shite at writing metaphors apparently.

It also doesn’t help that I don’t have a writer group of friends and very little people to talk about this with, none of which are like… enthusiastic. It’s not their fault. I attract people into my life who are very much like me. They’re supportive and wonderful but I need someone who’d be excited to talk to me about it. I just feel like such a huge burden all the time. Everytime I bring it up I feel terrible, but it’s occupying so much of my brain space and I have no outlet. But also, getting that group of friends would require me to be vulnerable online and be willing to share what I have so far which I might actually throw up.I think it’s very fun that “crying and throwing up” has become a saying on Twitter considering that I’ve counted a countless amount of times this year and thrown up from stress four times since last November. It might also be connected to coffee consumption, but if that’s true I’m ready to off myself because coffee is one of my few joys. Honestly, it’s probably a mix of both. I’m very healthy, very much okay.

I don’t know. Last year, I ended my little essay on a hopeful note. Here’s the thing, this may seem like very much just stream of consciousness bullshit but there is quite a bit of structuring I do and omissions I make. I didn’t talk about my struggles reconnecting with people and subsequently taking their irregular replies, because there’s a lot to get into there. There’s a lot I could’ve talked about, but no room. There’s a very specific flow, and I feel like any story, it needs a conclusion. So last year, through tears, I wrote a hopeful ending. It was as much for me as it was to the people reading it. Unfortunately, I don’t have it in it for me to conclude in the same fashion this time around.

The truth is, I need to feel okay. I need to feel like I’m good at something, anything, and be recognized for it.

Life is suffering and I’m just constantly going through the motions. I promise you, this stupid thing is 3k words and the second I’m done I’ll go back to working on my b**k even though today I literally started crying thinking about how shit it is. I’m just a tenacious individual. I persist. I don’t feel good about it, and I’m done with being genuinely hopeful, but there’s nothing to do but keep moving. I don’t know if my writing will get better or if I’ll ever get published or if this story is worth it. I don’t fucking know anything and I feel like shit. But what else am I going to do? I’ve been holding onto this hope that I’ll feel better about things for just so long and it hasn’t happened. But I’m not giving up lmao I’m just working with what I have. I am at my limit.

#mine #bean spews

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vectorfrankenstein · 4 years

Note

I'm torn between "can you help me sit down?" "Woah, hey, you okay there?" And "don't sit up yet. Just relax," for Lancelot and anyone, so dealer's choice I guess? And I hope your day turns out alright. Sending love 💌

Thank you 🥺💖🥺💖 and thank you for the prompt! Here’s some Lancelot and Merlin for “Don’t sit up yet. Just relax.”

Read here on AO3 or under the cut! <3

“Is there something wrong with Lancelot today?” Leon’s voice broke through Merlin’s thoughts that morning as they watched the sparring match on the training field. Merlin had long since tired of watching these endless training sessions, and was indulging in a daydream about his soft bed in the few precious moments before he would be called to perform his servant duties. Now, though, he paid attention, and he followed Leon’s gaze to where Lancelot and Arthur were sparring.

Watching Lancelot move, Merlin found it impossible not to notice how sluggish Lancelot’s reflexes were, how often he was being hit. Lancelot’s usual silent strength and refined skill had won him the respect of many, and on any other day he and Arthur were almost perfectly matched - which made Lancelot's current state all the more noticeable. Arthur frowned and called out to Lancelot, echoing Leon’s question to Merlin.

Lancelot shook his head and squared his shoulders, his stance determined; even from a distance, though, Merlin could see that his weapon-bearing hand was shaking. Something was wrong, even if his friend wouldn’t admit it. Leon, who was keeping a close watch as well, exchanged a worried look with Merlin.

Though he didn’t press Lancelot further about it, Merlin suspected that Arthur was not coming on so aggressively as he had before. That, or Lancelot was pushing himself just hard enough to parry the oncoming blows from Arthur’s sword in time; his thrusts were weak, however, and he visibly tired with each move. Merlin let out a breath of relief each time Lancelot avoided Arthur’s attacks, but with each attack and parry Lancelot lagged; hardly another minute passed before his shoulders started to slump again, and when Arthur next attacked with a hit that should have been easily blocked, Lancelot took the hit and crumpled to the ground, motionless.

Merlin’s mouth suddenly went dry, and for a second he was unable to do anything more than watch the scene unfold in horror. Then he was running, a thousand possibilities and fears racing in his mind at once, until he reached Lancelot and dropped to his knees where the fallen knight lay on his back, his eyes closed and his breathing shallow. Merlin pressed gentle fingers to Lancelot’s neck, finding a rapid and thready pulse beneath hot skin.

“He’s burning up,” Merlin murmured, pushing a few strands of hair from Lancelot’s forehead that had fallen over his eyes. Arthur, who’d crouched down beside him, had his eyebrows knit together in worry.

“He never said a word about it to me. How long has he been like this?”

Merlin tried to think back to earlier that morning when he’d first seen Lancelot in the castle, but a pang of guilt shot through him. He hadn’t been paying attention. He should have noticed - a fever wasn't something so easy to hide. A moment later, Merlin was forced to dismiss these thoughts, because already Lancelot was beginning to stir.

“Merlin?” Lancelot’s voice sounded distracted and confused, and when his eyes began to flutter open, Merlin let out a relieved sigh. As Lancelot shifted on the ground, Merlin shook his head.

“Don’t sit up yet. Just relax.” He ran his fingers through Lancelot’s hair again. “You should’ve told me you weren’t feeling well, Lance.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Lancelot said, his eyes frustratingly earnest and sincere. The briefest look of pain flashed across his face, and he closed his eyes again. “Arthur, I -”

“Don’t apologize,” Arthur said firmly, “it’s alright, though I expect you to tell someone next time you know you’re ill. We would not think any less of you. Camelot needs its bravest knights in good health.” He smiled a little, then looked up at Merlin. “Come on, help me take him to his chambers.” With one of them supporting Lancelot on each side, they carried him to his chambers and laid him on his bed.

As Merlin began to pull off Lancelot’s boots, Arthur stopped halfway out the door and addressed Merlin. “I’ll send for Gaius, and make sure he receives everything he needs. I trust I leave him in more or less competent hands?” Merlin rolled his eyes and nodded, and Arthur left, a stifling somberness filling the room with his departure.

“Here,” Merlin said, helping Lancelot sit up. He was struggling to keep his head up now that he no longer had to maintain the pretense of being fine. As Merlin removed Lancelot's hauberk and gambeson, Lancelot let out a small cry of pain, his hand flying to his side.

“Cramps?” Merlin asked quietly. Lancelot nodded, breathing hard and slurring another string of apologies as Merlin finished removing all of his clothes and dressing him in a nightshirt. Sweat beaded his forehead, and Merlin finally let him settle down on his back again. “Do you want me to get anything for you?”

Lancelot squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and Merlin could see his muscles tense underneath his thin nightshirt. “Cold - ’m so cold.”

Merlin gathered some more blankets from the wardrobe in the room, and tucked them around his friend’s shivering frame. He passed a light hand over Lancelot’s forehead again - it seemed he was growing hotter by the minute.

He moved the chamber pot inconspicuously in front of Lancelot’s bed in case the need for it should arise, then seated himself on the edge of the bed. His heart tugged in his chest as he watched Lancelot curl up on himself in pain. All the movement from sparring was no doubt making it worse, and Merlin again felt a flicker of frustration that Lancelot hadn’t said anything, and had instead chosen to push himself too far and take Arthur’s hits. But he knew now was not the time to lecture Lancelot about that.

“I should go,” Merlin said gently, “you’ll need to drink plenty of water, and I can fetch some soup and warm cloths for your cramps -”

“Stay,” Lancelot whispered, meeting his eyes through half-closed lids. “Till Gaius comes?”

Merlin smiled a little, and attempted to disguise his worry under a more lighthearted tone. “Alright, but only because you’re too pitiful to leave alone.” He reached over and gave Lancelot’s hand a reassuring squeeze, and in the silence that followed as they waited for Gaius, not another word passed between them.

#bbc merlin #merlin #lancelot du lac #bbc merlin gen #my fic #you'll notice that every single title i've ever given a fic is just a line from a poem i'm currently learning in english lmao #this is so self-indulgent #honestly the most fun i've had writing pretty much all year so tyy G

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mortedeveles · 4 years

Text

A Search at Midnight.

SUMMARY: Who knew that a ill and sleepwalking Present Mic, and a pair of lost glasses would be the start of your love story witth Tokoyami Fumikage?

PAIRING: Tokoyami Fumikage x gn!reader

THEME: fluff, pining, awkward teenagers <3 [ONE-SHOT]

TW: I don’t think there’s anything?

a/n: Please read! this is a personal and writing update.

hey guys, i known i’ve been MIA for a while. school is kicking my ass majorly, i just got a C in one of my subjects (im usually a straight A student) :’) wishing i could attend therapy and focusing all my time on schoolwork and very little for myself, much less for writing. but ya know, life’s wack. old news. due to this, i can’t promise frequent content. i only have a few planned works that will be released. on another note, regarding my writing, i will be publishing about 2-3 drabbles in the upcoming weeks! i know my interaction is prob gon be low because i’ve been gone for a while ;; but please continue to support me if you enjoy my content <33 FANTASY WEEK has been postponed until further notice. however, we do have a new writing event coming up on late October! will release more information later on.

sorry for the rant :( i think that’s all and without further ado, please like, reblog, follow and/or comment if you enjoy! supporting content creators is extremely important! love y’all <3

(will be using banners made by ME from now on. do NOT REPOST. this one-shot is kinda over the place,, may have some inaccuracy with present mic’s quirk ;; also, this one-shot is shorter than usual, but i hope you enjoy!)

The loud blaring of sirens and shouts snap you awake. One moment, you were snuggling your pillow, silently asleep and the next you're scrambling to find your slippers, slapping your glasses on, and racing outside of your U.A Alliance dorm.

You meet the eyes of your best friend Tokoyami, and rush to his side, eyes darting to observe your surroundings. The rest of class 1A is in the same hallway as you, kids murmuring nervously. Everyone has messy bed hair and ratty sleep clothing.

The sirens that shook you awake went silent and within a few seconds, tore into the silence with another screech. Everyone yelps and you flinch.

''What is it?!'' Everyone begins to murmur and you find yourself clinging to Tokoyami's arm, nervous and half-asleep.

He's been your closest friend since you arrived at U.A. and the two of you share a mutual bond of trust. With just sharing a glance, the two of you know you have to stick together.

''This is not a drill!'' Aizawa's voice booms- you're not sure from where it’s coming from, ''Class 1A, head to the exit!''

Even though your class consists of heroes in training, emphasis on the in-training part, you're still human and react with fear.

Sleep-deprived and overly hyper teens race past you, and while you cling to Tokoyami's side as the two of you rush forward, someone slaps your glasses off your face. It slightly stings.

You don't even register it, adrenaline is pumping through your veins and all you can focus on is reaching the exit of the dorms. The sirens are so loud your ears are straining at the sound.

Eventually, everyone calms down and Iida, as the good class president he is, turns the chaotic mess of your class into organized students standing in rows.

Your class is standing in the green areas of the campus, the sirens had gone silent a while ago and everyone is fidgety and nervous. What had just happened?

''Alright, class 1A!'' he adjusts his glasses and acting on instinct, you raise your hand to touch yours, only to notice they're gone. Iida continues talking but you block him out; focusing solely on finding your glasses.

''No, no...'' you murmur, and Tokoyami notices when your hand releases his arm. He frowns and watches as you murmur to yourself and pat down your shirt and shorts.

''Aizawa-sensei will be here shortly,'' you manage to catch a few of Iida's words. ''It seems that a...'' he falters. ''Present Mic is ill and is suffering a few symptoms. He's been affected by an unknown quirk, which causes him to release his sonic scream at any time.''

Everyone begins to murmur bewilderedly at this, sharing glances and looks.

''That's right,'' Aizawa stepped out of the dorms and stood next to Iida. The night was dark and you could barely make out Aizawa's figure.

''And Present Mic...'' he winced. ''Tends to sleepwalk. That's why you heard the sonic screams in your dorms. They're highly dangerous, which is why I ordered you all to leave the dorms and stay away from his range.

''Now,'' your sensei sighs and you realize how his posture was slumped. He was exhausted. ''You can all return to bed. Present Mic has been awoken and returned to the U.A. facilities.'' A classmate or two snickered at this.

''Alright, you heard sensei!" Despite the time, Iida was rigid and instructive as ever. ''Off to bed! Class 1A, please form a line! Sero, please wrap up Mineta, we don't want any issues this early.'' Sero cheers in agreement and you smile as you hear Mineta shriek.

One you were in a line, in front of Tokoyami, you groan and lean back into him. There seemed to be some commotion upfront and the dorms were still closed.

''Tokoyami...'' you murmured nervously. He frowned in concern at your tone and leaned closer.

''What's wrong, L/N?''

''I lost my glasses,'' you grimace. ''I was about to tell you earlier but I wanted to listen to Aizawa-sensei. Do you think you can help me find them once we step into the dorms?''

Tokoyami's body is screaming for sleep, but he knows he'll do anything for you. So he quickly nods.

''Of course,'' he spares a glance at the quickly advancing line. ''It seems that the dorms have been opened. We should head inside and find your glasses.''

''Yeah,'' you smile softly- the smile that always makes Tokoyami's heart skip a beat and walk at his side. ''Thanks, Toko. I really appreciate it.''

He hums in response, feeling his throat clench as his heart performs an acrobatic show in his ribcage. Tokoyami wonders if you notice how his heart goes euphoric every time you smile at him.

Once the two of you are inside the dorms, Tokoyami summons Dark Shadow; he was a bit fearful at the start, but the lighting of the dorms is far enough to keep Dark Shadow on reins.

After minutes of searching and several grumbles of annoyance, the two of you find nothing. Well, the search was mainly of Tokoyami and Dark Shadow, since you weren't able to see much without your glasses.

''Oh man...'' you sigh and slump your shoulders. ''I'm going to have to buy new glasses.''

Tokoyami frowns at your disappointment and his eyes catch a gleam of silver on the ground. ''Wait,'' he steps away and grabs the glasses off the floor. He grimaces as he presents them to you. They're cracked, twisted, and definitely not wearable anymore.

''Oh no...'' you frown as you hold them in your hands.

Your sadness unsettles him; and before Tokoyami can even close his beak, a string of words escape them.

''I'll help you.''

Slightly frightened, you flinch before looking at him. ''How? You don't have to pay for them Toko, they're my responsibility. I appreciate the thought, you're very sweet.''

He feels his feathers ruffle at your compliment and he's thankful you aren't wearing your glasses otherwise you'd see his flustered face.

''I-I,'' the boy clears his throat. ''Ahem. I can help you take your notes and so on until you receive a new pair of glasses.''

You gasp and grin gleefully. Your body is racing towards him before you can even blink and you wrap your arms around his back, squeezing him as you bury your cheek into his chest.

Tokoyami falters in surprise and nearly squawks- thankfully, he's able to shove it down his throat before he hesitantly returns your hug.

''Of course, Y/N. You are very dearest to me and I would do anything for you.'' God damn it! It seems that he can't control his body tonight! The romantic confession leaves his body and nearly takes his soul alongside.

His words make you freeze and he internally curses at himself, knowing he's ruined your friendship.

''...Really?'' your voice is barely higher than a whisper and Tokoyami finds himself slowly nodding.

''I like you too, Tokoyami,'' there's a soft smile playing on your lips that makes his knees weak.

''Well,'' he diverts his gaze from your smiling face. Tokoyami knows that if he stares for too long, he'll never be able to stop. ''That's-that's wonderful.''

You laugh quietly at his sudden bashfulness and tug his hand towards the dorm's elevator.

''C'mon, we should head to sleep.'' Tokoyami feels impossibly happy as he walks with you, hand in hand, and shoulders brushing against each other. He doesn't think he's ever felt this happy before.

And after the two of you step into the elevator and the doors are about to close, you press a soft but brief cheek on his feathery cheeks before returning your gaze to the floor. The doors slam shut with a ding! and the two of you are blushing impossibly hard.

Needless to say, losing your glasses is the best thing that's happened to both of you. Who knew that a pair of missing glasses would result in a romantic confession from your best friend?

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kristallioness · 4 years

Text

The candy thief

Summary: Kya goes to search for some healing candy.

Word count: 3,218

Author's note: Honestly, I came up with this idea BEFORE I fell ill this past Thursday. *angry muttering* Long story short, my dad caught a nasty cold about 2 weeks ago and apparently, now I finally have it, too (so does my mom, which makes sense since we're all cooped up together at home, as most people are nowadays). Luckily it started off with only a mildly sore throat this time (that's pretty rare in my case) and the rest of the symptoms were barely noticeable, so I'm fine with that (and as of this Tuesday, I already feel quite normal again, which is good since I gotta be healthy if I wanna get my flu shot next Friday). At least I had a personal point of reference while writing the story (not that I intended to have one *lol*)... Anyways, I remember when I was a little girl, then sometimes I didn't dare to admit that my throat was sore, or I really hoped that it'd go away if I waited long enough. Instead, I chose to suffer for at least half a day (before the pain became unbearable or I realized that it isn't going anywhere), cause I was afraid that my mom would start lecturing me that I wasn't careful enough when I caught that cold in the first place (she did anyway, but just a little bit, and after that she of course did everything to help me feel better). So, I kind of took that idea and self-inserted my silly child version into Kya's character, to show how she'd try to keep it secret for as long as she could by sneaking past her mommy to find some medicine on her own. Which, knowing Katara, is practically a "mission impossible".

----------x----------

Telling mommy was the last thing on Kya's mind. The 3-year-old reluctantly swallowed another mouthful of warm jook, lifting up the next bite with her spoon as she still had the other half of the plate to finish.

"What's the matter, sweetie? Aren't you hungry?"

Kya shook her head and quickly took a bite to not arouse suspicion. Katara eyed her for a second longer, then shrugged her shoulders and continued drying the rest of the dishes.

The poor little waterbender had no idea how much longer she could possibly tolerate this pain. Ever since she woke up, her throat had been killing her. Last night, it started off as a weird scratchy feeling on one side, which didn't really seem that bad when her mother tucked her in bed. But by the time morning arrived, it had spread all across the back of her throat.

"You seem kind of quiet this morning. Is everything okay?" Katara wondered, running the towel over the ladle she'd used to cook breakfast for herself and her baby girl.

"Mhmm," Kya hummed and nodded with her mouth full. She wished that she could enjoy this delicious food more without having to think and prepare herself for the burning sensation each time she swallowed it. Jook was one of her favourite dishes, but it certainly didn't taste as pleasant as usual right now. She'd had enough of this torture.

Kya grabbed her half empty plate from the kitchen table and hopped off the high chair to walk over to her mother and hand the dirty dishes to her. Katara smiled and squatted down as she saw her baby girl approach her, taking the plate off her hands.

"Can I go play?" she asked innocently.

"Yes, sweetie. You can go ahead and play in your room now."

After receiving a tender kiss on her forehead, Kya hurried out of the kitchen. But instead of scampering back to her bedroom, she tried to be stealthy and reach the infirmary without her mother, or anyone else seeing.

Kya knew very well what would happen if she told mommy the truth: first, mommy would become angry and she'd get berated for not taking care of herself better. Then, she'd get dragged to the healing hut inside their temple and her mommy would poke her with these scary instruments to find out what's wrong. And finally, she'd have to drink some sort of bitter tea or take some other kind of nasty medicine for a couple of days before she started to feel better.

Coming clean was surely out of the question. There had to be another way she could both hide, yet relieve her suffering. So she decided to take matters into her own hands.

Kya managed to sneak into the infirmary room unnoticed. She gave the hallway one last glance to be certain she wasn't followed, after which she made her way to the cupboards at the back of the room.

The healing hut, as her mother liked to call it, was a spacious room no bigger than the dining hall used by the residents of their little island. She passed several empty beds, which were covered with indigo blankets that had pretty flower patterns on them, and white pillows for resting your weary head on. These beds were meant for mommy's patients - be it a member of their own family, one of the air acolytes, or sick strangers who desperately needed mommy's help from time to time. Kya never liked having to sit on or rest in any of them.

As she reached the other end of the room, she paused for a minute to think. There were two cupboards on the floor and three cabinets hanging up on the wall. They all looked the same with their delicate wooden carvings, but they contained various items that mommy usually used to help sick people feel better. Now came the hard part: where to find the right medicine?

Kya knew what she was looking for. The last couple of times she'd suffered from a sore throat, Katara had given her some special lemon-flavoured candies to suck on, which helped soothe the pain until it disappeared a day or two later. If she could get her hands on them, she might be able to make it through without having to tell her mother.

The little waterbender opened the squeaky doors of the first cupboard and had a peek inside. She didn't have any luck on her first try. The shelves were full of materials for wrapping up sprains or bandaging wounds, along with a couple of clean towels and a few tins that contained stinky salves.

It was the same with the other cupboard right next to it. Nothing resembled those candies Kya remembered eating the last time she was sick. She had no other choice but to get a closer look at the cabinets high up on the wall. The problem was how was she ever going to reach them?

For a little girl like her, it was supposed to be impossible. Katara had stored all the vitamins, pills and pointy medical instruments up there, so her kids wouldn't get their hands on them and harm themselves by accident.

Kya climbed up on the nearest bed to have a better view of what's in there. But she was still too far away to open the cabinet doors on her own. Was there anything she could use as an extension of her arms? Maybe she could make a lasso out of the towels or an elastic bandage and toss it around the handle?

Instead, she noticed the two big pots filled with bending water in the corners of the room. Mommy would normally use that water for healing purposes, but it gave her an idea.

The little waterbender knitted her brows, summoning an uneven stream of water from one of them. She couldn't control the element exactly the way she wanted it to behave, but if she could just get it around the door handle..

And then there was a loud bang. The 3-year-old startled and lost complete control over the water, which splashed down on the cupboard below, leaving a small puddle in front of it on the floor.

She'd nearly managed to pull the cabinet door wide open when she lost her waterbending grip and gravity did its job, thus causing it to fall back shut. Her mother's tactic justified itself. It was a miracle if she didn't hear the noise.

Kya climbed back down from the bed to go clean up the mess. Using her clumsy waterbending, she attempted to place the water back into the pot. The blobs she carried between her hands dripped from beneath, leaving a trail of wet spots on the floor.

"What are you doing there?"

The next blob fell down on her booties and soaked them. She'd left one important variable out of the equation - her daddy returning from his morning meditation outside in the pavilion. She stood completely still, having been caught red-handed. Or wet-handed was more like it.

"Nothing," she uttered, guilt written over her face. Aang stepped inside the infirmary, surprised to see his baby girl in there in the first place. She avoided this place like fire.

"It sure doesn't look like nothing. What happened? Why's there water on the furniture?"

Kya hung her head in shame as her daddy squatted down in front of her, laying a supportive hand on her shoulder.

"It's okay, I'm not mad. I just wanna know what happened. Were you practicing your waterbending?"

She shook her head in response.

"No? Then what were you doing in here?"

Kya stared up at the row of cabinets hanging from the wall, taunting her for her small height and inability to fend for herself. She pointed her finger at the one she'd tried to open earlier.

"I wanted healing candy," she said, sparking a bit of confusion in her father. She didn't know any fancier words that'd describe the medicinal sweets she was after.

"You wanted what?"

"Healing candy," she repeated one more time, watching how daddy waterbended her shoes dry so her feet wouldn't get cold. Not that it mattered anymore since she already had a cold.

"Don't tell mommy," the 3-year-old pleaded. Now Aang felt even more confused.

"Why not? I'll help you clean up here and tell mommy it was an accident. It's no big deal."

To demonstrate, he waterbended the top of the cupboard dry with one simple flick of his wrist. He moved on to cleaning up the wet tracks on the floor.

"Mommy's gonna be angry."

Her reasoning made the airbender chuckle since there'd barely be a trace of the mishap left by the time he finished.

"What? Why would mommy be angry at you?"

"Cause my throat hurts."

Aang had to pause for a second as everything began to fall into place. He dropped the dirty water into the sink and turned to face his daughter.

"Oh, you poor thing.." he murmured, running his fingers through her hair to console her.

"Now I get it. You wanted some of those special candies that mommy has that can soothe your sore throat, right? But you couldn't reach the cabinet, so you tried to open it with your waterbending."

"Mhmm," the little waterbender agreed with a nod. Aang pondered for a minute before he proposed a plan that wouldn't frighten her any more than she already was for going behind their backs and lying about her condition.

"Tell you what, I promise I won't tell mommy about your sore throat. But I need to go ask her where she keeps those special candies so I can give you some. Okay?"

Kya wasn't too happy about that last part, cause then her mommy would figure it out. But it was the only way she could get her hands on the right medicine if daddy didn't know where to look for it either.

"Is there anything else I can get you? Your mini Appa, perhaps?"

"No. I want candy," she said, determined to get rid of the constant burning sensation. She didn't care whether mommy would be mad at her or not anymore. She just wanted the pain to go away.

"Alright. Be a good girl and wait right here. I'll be back in a minute."

Aang patted her head before standing up and leaving the room to go search for Katara.

In the meantime, Kya perched on the edge of the bed opposite to the cupboards to give her feet a rest. She swung them back and forth, patiently waiting for her daddy to return. Mentally, she was preparing herself for the lecture her mother was bound to give her on being more careful when it concerned her health.

She pricked up her ears, but couldn't hear her parents talking in any of the rooms nearby. Her curiosity got the better of her after a minute or two had already passed, so she went to peek into the empty hallway. Once she saw her mommy stepping out of the kitchen, she quickly hurried back to the bed where she was told to stay.

"I'll show you where it is, so the next time you need it, you'll know where to look," Kya heard her mother speak. It wasn't long until she entered the healing hut, followed shortly by her daddy.

But to her surprise, mommy looked happy rather than angry. She headed straight for the middle cabinet and opened the door on the left side. Katara didn't even seem to notice that she was sitting there on the bed behind them.

"It's right here on the lower shelf, next to the bottle of vitamins."

She picked up the correct box of lozenges and put it on the cupboard for her husband to see.

"Alright, I'll definitely remember it now. Thanks!"

He gifted her with a tiny peck on the cheek. The little waterbender already felt that she was off the hook. While her parents were distracted by their show of affection, she'd hopped off the bed and squeezed herself between their bodies to reach for the medicine on the counter. But it was too far away, and then her mother came down to her level to talk.

"Kya, do you wanna tell me what's going on? Why's daddy looking for these healing candies?"

All of a sudden, she felt cornered again. Maybe mommy wasn't as clueless as she'd hoped. Kya stared up into her daddy's grey eyes in search of answers, unsure about what she should do. Luckily, Aang helped her out.

"Do you want me to tell mommy?"

Her mouth fell a bit agape. It wasn't until then that she realized that daddy had kept his promise. He hadn't mentioned a word to mommy about her being the reason why he wanted to know the location of the candies.

Ultimately, Kya decided it'd be better if he took the blame. She nodded. And that was all Aang needed to hear, or see.

"She has a sore throat," he confessed, squatting down to her and Katara's level, pulling their baby girl into his protective embrace by resting an arm around her shoulders.

Kya looked away, expecting her mother to raise her voice at her. Instead, she felt her mother's warm hand cupping her cheek and gently lifting her chin up so she could look her in the eye. She was frowning.

"Oh, sweetie.. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

When she remained silent, Aang chimed in.

"She was scared that you'll get angry at her for falling ill."

"Is this true, baby?"

The little waterbender fiddled with her fingers for a bit, then gazed into her mother's blue eyes and nodded shyly. Katara released a heavy sigh, as if she'd been holding her breath the entire time.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. I never mean to get mad at you. It's just that.. I'm worried about you when you don't feel well. And when I'm worried, sometimes I might overreact a bit."

"A bit?" Aang laughed, but shushed up when Katara glared at him. She continued brushing her fingers through their daughter's hair to soothe her.

"The point is.. Next time you feel sick, you don't have to be afraid to tell me, okay? We all get sick every now and again. The important thing is to start the right treatment as soon as possible, because then you'll feel better a lot quicker. Do you understand that?"

Kya didn't comprehend everything what her mother said, but she did understand that her mommy felt sorry, and that it's okay to approach her the next time she felt under the weather.

"Come here."

Katara spread her arms and invited her baby in for a hug.

"Now, will you be a brave little waterbender and let mommy have a look at your throat?" she whispered into Kya's ear, to which she broke free from the hug and ran back between her daddy's legs, hiding her head under his shawl. Aang started laughing again.

"Looks like she's still scared."

Even Katara found the situation to be funny. She giggled as she stood up and opened the other side of the cabinet where she'd gotten the lozenges.

"Kya, I'm not going to hurt you," she reassured the little waterbender, who turned around to peep at what she was doing from under her red hood. Her mother placed a glass tube on the counter, next to the box of candies she wanted.

"I only wanna look into your mouth to see if your throat is red," Katara claimed as she knelt back down and shifted closer to her. Aang urged Kya to come out of hiding and take a step closer to her mommy so she could examine her.

"Can you open wide and show me your tongue, like this?"

Katara demonstrated for her by sticking out her own tongue, hoping that Kya would mimic her. Once she did, she pressed her tongue down with a wooden stick to see the back of her throat. It did seem a tad red, but there was nothing that would indicate a serious infection.

"Good girl," Katara praised.

"Say 'Aahh'!"

"Aahh!" Kya repeated obediently, allowing her mother to pull the stick out of her mouth. Next, she threw it away in the trash bin and gently pressed her fingertips below her jaw on either side of her neck.

"Don't worry, I'm just gonna feel your neck for a bit to see if it's swollen," Katara explained while palpating the lymph nodes in that area. She tickled her chin in the end, earning a short giggle from her baby girl. It was high time she rewarded her for her good behaviour.

"Alright, I think you've been through enough."

She reached for the box of lozenges, pulled it open and pushed one out from the blister pack.

"Here you go, sweetie. Suck on this and your throat will feel a little better for a while."

Kya took the yellow piece of candy from her mother's palm and shoved it in her mouth. After she'd swallowed a couple of times, the dissolving medicine slowly began to do its job.

"Thank you, mommy!"

The elder waterbender grinned and gifted her with another tender kiss on her temple.

"You're welcome, baby. Do you mind if I take your temperature while you suck on your healing candy? I wanna be sure you don't have a fever."

Since the little waterbender showed no signs of protest, her parents escorted her to the nearest bed. Aang sat down next to her for moral support, watching how she happily sucked on the lozenge while his wife tried to measure her temperature.

Katara grabbed the thermometer and squatted down in front of Kya. Using her motherly, but caring tone, she explained in rather great detail why she's tucking it under her arm. It was a sight that made the airbender's heart flutter with joy - a healer doing what she does best.

"Aang, could you apply some pressure here to make sure it's in contact with her skin and doesn't slip anywhere?"

"Sure."

He held his hand against Kya's upper arm to keep the thermometer in place for a few minutes. She no longer seemed to mind them prodding her in any way. She had what she'd wanted: sweet relief, literally.

Katara stroked their daughter's rosy cheek with the back of her hand to pass the time. She wore a loving smile, but her brows were furrowed in concern. She was thinking of a way to remind her baby girl why it was essential for her to know when she's sick.

"Sweetie.. I wanna help you feel better, but I can only do that if you tell me what's wrong. Will you promise me that from now on, when you don't feel well, you'll let mommy know right away?"

"Okay, mommy."

Katara let out a content hum at that. She scooted closer and pressed one last kiss on the little waterbender's forehead.

"Good girl. And in turn, I promise I'll try not to overreact so much."

She pulled the thermometer out from under her tunic and had a look at the silver line of mercury inside the glass. Her smile grew wider, she had no fever.

#Kataangtag #Kataang #Aang and Kya II #Katara and Kya II #Aang #Katara #Kya II #ATLA and TLOK #my fanfiction #mine #shards of Kristal

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purplesurveys · 3 years

Text

1279

Are you and the last person you kissed in a relationship or just friends? I don’t keep contact.

Has anyone ever pointed out that your laugh was unusual? Hmmmm, I don’t think so. I feel like that would be the type of comment that would get to me so I definitely would’ve remembered it.

Would you get a lip piercing? I don’t plan on getting any piercings.

Nose piercing? Nopes.

What are you currently waiting for? For this fucking day to end so I can be closer to Thursday and to the weekend.

Do you have feelings for anyone? Nah.

Have you ever run over an animal? Nope. I’ve had extremely close calls with animals who suddenly dart into the road, but fortunately these have all been situations wherein I got to hit the brakes with nobody behind me.

Have you chewed gum after someone else already has? That’s disgusting, no.

When people sneeze do you say ‘bless you’? Sure, out of habit and just to be polite.

When was the last time you were on a bouncy castle? I don’t think I’ve ever been on a bouncy castle, but I’ve been on a lot of bouncy other things haha, like inflatable slides, soccer balls, Anpanmans, etc. The last time would probably be a nearly a decade ago; I definitely haven’t been near one in a while.

Have you ever went on a bouncy castle whilst drunk? Well no, because the ones I’ve been on were situated in school fairs, which is the last place I would want to be drunk in.

Have you ever entered an art competition? No, I have no justification to join one haha.

What is one thing you will never do? Try hardcore drugs. < Same.

What is one food that you detest? Pineapples.

Did you have a rebellious phase growing up? Yeah I was a bit of a handful to raise, but I’m in firm in my stance that it had a lot to do with the way I was raised. I grew up mostly without a father figure because my dad worked abroad and I felt neglected by my mom who had her own shit to deal with. There was no stable support system to lean on, so I ended up lashing out a lot in my puberty years. Unfortunately everyone else just saw a rebellious child and not a plea for help.

These days when I show off my achievements on social media, I’ll see congratulatory comments from my mom’s friends and she’ll usually go on about some “late bloomers grow with time” narrative and it pisses me off because nobody knows how much I’ve had to grow and mature and learn how to be happier all by myself, all from scratch. If I had just received the proper care and attention early on, I wouldn’t have had to do any catching up to begin with.

What religion were you brought up with? Roman Catholic.

Are you still that religion? Jesus no. I darted out of there as soon as I gained the consciousness to think about these sorts of things.

Do you often find yourself questioning your future? Sometimes, but I do my best to not let it get to me.

How many friends do you have on Facebook? Over 670.

What sort of music did you listen to when you were in high school? I started with punk rock in the first half of high school, so I had my Rancids, H2Os, Against Me!s, Cro-Mags, etc on my iPod. It evolved a little bit towards more indie, folksy sounds towards the latter half - Banks, alt-J, Hozier, Twenty One Pilots - which I largely attribute to the crowd I was part of at the time.

What pet names do you use with your significant other? I’m pretty straightforward so baby works out for me. Other, more specific pet names just grow naturally with the relationship, I think.

What’s the name of the store you usually get your groceries? S&R.

Have you ever seen a theatre show? Yeah. Most of them have been required.

What’s your favourite vegetable? Broccoli or bell peppers.

Have you ever missed a flight? Never. I’ve experienced several delayed flights, though, which is always such a hassle especially if the delays happen in provincial airports since they never have any recreational offers to keep passengers from getting bored other than TVs that run the same damn five ads.

Do your neighbours have any pets? Have you ever met them? Yeah, a lot of have dogs. I’ve met some.

What color is your bedroom door? Brown.

If you were ever to become famous, would you grow annoyed at fans? Only towards obsessive ones who wouldn’t give me time to breathe or would go so far so as to stalk me or my loved ones. But I am a fan too, so I imagine I would actually be understanding of those who would ask for pictures or whatever as long as they were polite and not at all intrusive.

Have you ever met your favourite band/singer? Nah. I am terrified of meeting celebrities HAHA so I’ve always shut down the chance. I’m pretty sure I would actually turn down the chance to meet BTS if I hypothetically suddenly got the magic keys to that door.

Are you embarrassed by any of the songs/singers/bands you like? No. I feel like that sort of thing just happens in like high school, when your friends are still a bit judgmental. Nowadays I don’t see why I should be embarrassed of anything I like, especially if it’s not hurting anyone.

Have you ever written a story? I’ve made attempts but was always terrible.

Think of the last poem you wrote: What inspired you to write it? My homework that required me to write said poem hahaha.

Do you have a chance with the person you like right now?

What’s the weirdest thing you were scared of as a child? Watching commercials at night. It’s still a slight fear of mine but it’s mostly dissipated now.

Are there any embarrassing stories your family tells about you? About me? No. I don’t have a lot of those since I was a really shy kid who barely moved a finger anyway.

In your opinion, what is the funniest TV show? I have a *really* soft spot for Perfect Strangers, which I actually revisited yesterday :) The show was never super popular so it’s near impossible to find clips online, but when I checked YouTube I did see a slight increase in short snippets from the show so I had a really fun time binge-watching yesterday.

What is the maximum number of children you’d ever have? Three, but that’s pushing it. Ideally, I’d have two so my first would have company.

Have you ever been concerned you had a serious illness? Mental ones, yes.

Are you comfortable with who you are? For the most part, yes.

Would you date someone even if you knew you’d get made fun of for it? No. Why would it be any of their business?

Does popularity matter to you at all? I mean, yeah in the sense that I honestly aspire to be well-liked by as many people as possible. But I don’t necessarily want to rub shoulders with popular kids.

Would you ever consider homeschooling your children? Continued from sometime this week ider. No. I don’t think I’m capable of teaching, and generally I’d want them to be able to learn in a more open environment where they can have regular contact with different kinds of people.

Who told you about the band/singer you are currently listening to? Well Angela got into them first and since we’re best friends, there was a certain point where she just decided to loop me into conversations that involved them. I was impossible to sway for a long time, but then one day a video compilation of them showed up on my feed, and for some reason I actually watched it, and I watched all the way through, and I was immediately intrigued – particularly by J-Hope haha. I then asked Angela to tell me more about them and the rest was...financially irresponsible history HAHAHAHA

Do you ever read fanfiction? OMG yes. Funny you should mention that because my favorite author uploaded a brand new fic this morning, which I obviously couldn’t get to all day because I had to go to work. I’ll be reading it in all its 44,000-word glory tonight :D

Would you rather die in a plane crash, ship wreck or fire? Plane crash. Instant and mostly painless.

What are your top five favourite TV shows? Breaking Bad, BoJack Horseman, Friends, The Crown even though I was never able to continue it since...andddd that’s all I got.

What is your favorite superhero movie? Not a fan of superhero movies.

If you died next week, what would be the cause of death? Stress from overworking. I’ve FINALLY started to consider taking a leave for the first time this year because I’ve just realized just how fucking exhausted, burned out, and overwhelmed I actually already am from having no rest at all in the last 13 months.

Have you ever taken a break from Facebook or other social media? Why? Yes, I do mass deactivations when I’m severely depressed. These days I can’t really afford to that anymore, though, since my work is closely tied to social media.

Who is the most talented person you know? Probably Andi.

Are you currently platonic friends with anyone you’ve had sex with? No.

Where did you and your current interest go on your first date?

Have you ever experienced two people fighting over you (physically or mentally)? What happened? Nah. I’ve had two people like me at the same time, but there was never any tension to watch out for since they mostly didn’t know each other.

Have your parents ever thought you were gay? What happened? I think they know I dated Gabie and that we broke up because they’ve stopped asking about her. Everyone knew we were best friends, so the fact that they’ve avoided her as a topic for a whole year is able to tell me something.

Are your parents more liberal or conservative? Dad’s on the liberal side, mom dances around on the spectrum a little bit. I know she’s fine with things like tattoos and having LGBTQ+ co-workers, but she’s also conservative especially towards matters like religion.

What year are you going into at the beginning of the next academic year? No longer in school.

How far away does your closest family member live? A few footsteps away.

If you’ve seen both, did you prefer the Disney version or the Tim Burton version of Alice in Wonderland? It’s not my type of movie/genre to begin with.

Would you have sex before marriage? Why or why not? Yes. I don’t see the big deal; I’ve already done it anyway.

Are you more liberal or conservative? Liberal.

Who is your favorite Harry Potter character? Ooh not sure. I haven’t gone back to the books in a while, so I don’t remember if there was anyone I had an attachment to.

What’s the worst that could come out of letting gays marry? Nothing.

What’s the most sexual thing you’ve done? Had sex...I guess? And a bunch of stuff that comes with it.

Name something that you are against. Racial discrimination.

Why are you against it? Because it is infuriating to see, and it shows me the very same treatment can happen to me or my family as well and that scares me, especially since some people turn particularly violent towards people of color.

Have you ever played the Tomb Raider games? No.

Do you like it or hate it when your partner is clingy? I imagine I wouldn’t enjoy it if I’m not as into whoever my next partner would be.

Beatles or Rolling Stones? I don’t listen to either.

When was the last time you changed your opinion on somebody? Not so sure about a whole change in opinion because that hasn’t happened in a while, but I grew more grateful for my manager today because I finally mustered the strength to tell her that I’m begin to struggle mentally with work and she not only encouraged (read: begged) me to file a damn leave for once, but she also got sushi delivered to my place.

What was the last thing that made you feel proud and why? Andi was telling me about their day today and how they handled being misgendered by a prof, who then proceeded to throw a fit when he got corrected, and how they, again, maturely handled said fit. I was proud of them because there are a million ways that incident could’ve turned out, but they dealt with it in an extremely mature and calm manner considering they were the one who was wronged.

Do you feel uncomfortable when people you hardly know confide in you? If it was about an extremely personal problem I would probably be taken aback at first, but I still would definitely make some time for them and help in however way I can, since they apparently trust me enough to confide.

What was the last thing to fascinate you? The music video for My Universe! Super cool to watch and I love that they made a short film out of it too.

Is there a certain noise/sound which scares you? Doors being slammed shut, because that’s what my mom does when she’s furious. She did that when I was a kid and she does it to this day, so I get extremely nervous when I hear the sound, even if it happens by accident.

Do you have a favourite microorganism? Nope.

Out of the people you know, whose birthday is next? My cousin Bree.

If you have pet fish do you bother to name them? I did when I had them as a kid.

Do you keep your eggs in the fridge? Yes?

Have you ever owned chickens? Nope.

When did you last listen to music? Like five minutes ago. I tried to have a jazz playlist on but I realized I wasn’t in the mood for music so I changed my background noise to have a random VLive on instead.

#surveys #survey

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panda-noosh · 4 years

Text

the missing part {George Weasley x Reader}

Words: 10.5k

Summary: The trio becomes a pair.

Genre: angst

Warnings: mentions of death - grief - this is also a platonic fic so if you’re looking for some good good romance, you might not wanna waste your time with this one.

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions! - THIS IS A SAD ONE BOYOS

----

You receive the news shortly after everything happens.

The change to the wizarding world is a physical one. Wizards all over the globe can feel the difference, even though they weren't at the scene, even though news has yet to break of the details describing what really happened that evening in Hogwarts. People are cheering and screaming victory in the streets, because everyone just knows. Everyone is breathing normally again. Everyone is safe.

It's excitement that claws at you first and foremost, because you're stuck in that head space where nothing feels wrong. Voldemort is dead – you know it, the world knows it, everyone is okay. You celebrate with a glass of wine, too absorbed in this massive victory to think of the sacrifices that must have happened to make it happen. For tonight, all you want is a chance to bask in a freedom you have not felt nor experienced in many, many years.

But the euphoria can't last forever. One problem has been taken care of, and now there is room for more to trickle in.

You receive the letter the next day. You wake up from a wine-induced sleep to the sound of the owls beak tapping against your window; you retrieve the letter with a hopeful mind and trembling fingers, because it has been so long since you've received a letter that isn't a warning of the Ministry getting closer to your home, or a newspaper reporting news you do not want to hear, news so false and manufactured it made you start buying The Quibbler just for a real taste of what was happening in the outside world.

You open the letter at your kitchen table, and this is something you will always, always remember, a moment that will forever be locked in your brain due to the trauma – genuine trauma – it swept upon you. Over a glass of milk and a bowl of cereal, you read the words Fred is dead, scribbled in the handwriting of Molly Weasley.

You read it over and over again, just to make sure your mind is not playing tricks on you – you would be less surprised if you suddenly found out your months of isolation had made you gone insane, because it seems most impossible that Fred Weasley is no longer alive, no longer with you, no longer laughing and smiling and brightening up a room with his twin brother at his side.

Through your heartbreak, this thought leads you to the even more heartbreaking thought of the twin that is still doing all those things – George. How his world must have shifted, how he must be feeling. You remember sitting beside him back at Hogwarts, listening to him and Fred speak at the exact same time – back then it felt so weird, and you'd cringe and tell them to stop; now, however, you can barely stomach the idea of not hearing their synchronised sentences.

You write back, asking Molly if there's anything you can do, sending your condolences without making it obvious you are completely and utterly crushed. She replies shortly, saying she wants you there for the funeral, George wants you there for the funeral, Fred would want you there for the funeral.

And you don't want to go. Call it selfish,cowardly, but you don't want to. Standing beside his casket, surrounded by his family and friends, will make it real. When you're huddled in your home, away from it all, it's easy enough to pretend Fred is sat at The Burrow, celebrating the same victory as the rest of the wizarding world, the victory he played a part in.

Nonetheless, you arrive at The Burrow the very next day.

Molly opens the door before you've knocked, having clearly heard the faint pop of you Apparating in her front garden. A gnome runs right for your knees, but Molly shoves it away with her foot before dragging you into a bear-like hug; you can see she's been crying furiously, her eyes swollen, her face having aged a number of years in the space of a day. Her hug, though, is just as you've always remembered it, arms tight around your neck, body swaying slightly from side to side as she whispers unintelligible things in your ear.

She pulls away and holds you at arms length; you can't imagine what she must be seeing. That young wizard she used to babysit is gone now, replaced by someone harder, someone more refined and experienced. She's not the only one who has aged a great number of years in such a short space of time.

“How are you?” is the first thing you can manage to say.

And already the tears are flooding her eyes again, like the question has triggered some memory she cannot fight off. Her lower lip trembles, and she humours you with a small nod before she wraps her beefy arm around your shoulders and guides you into the warmth of a home that should not be able to hold so many people but does so anyway.

There they are – the Weasleys, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, all stood in the kitchen. They're chatting, but the conversation is hushed and it ends as soon as you make an appearance. Harry is the first to stand, offering you his hand for a handshake he is too young for; you roll your eyes and tug him into a hug. He grunts against you, but you don't even care – it has been two years since you laid eyes on the Boy Who Lived, and a handshake will simply not cut it.

“You made it,” Hermione says, approaching you once Harry has stumbled off. She wraps her arms gently around your waist. “How was the trip?”

“Easy enough,” you reply, lips pressed into her hair.

“Where have you been all this time?” Bill asks.

Still holding Hermione close, afraid of letting go lest she takes your composure with her, you say, “I've been hiding. Just a flat in Hogsmeade; a pure-blood owns it. He let a bunch of us Muggle-borns stay with him until it all died down.” You glance at Harry. “You feeling alright?”

He nods. “Just. . . Still tired, I guess.”

You can understand that; though you know the newspapers will never do the scene justice, you were able to gather the basic jidst of the events that took place in Hogwarts only a few days prior – the deaths, the injuries, the horrors so many young kids have seen and will now never be able to erase from their memories.

“Well,” Molly exhales shakily. “I'll get the kettle on. Y/N, you must be starving. How does a bit of stew sound?”

You nod, giving Molly a grateful smile before your mind zones back in on where you are, what you're here for. Instinctively you search the room for any sign of your best friend – the one that's left – and it's not exactly a surprise when you see he is not there. The rest of the Weasleys are – even Percy, who sits in the corner with his legs folded over one another, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a cup of coffee in his hands. He looks up at the feel of your eyes burning into him, surprising you by nodding towards the back door.

You raise your brows, but follow him out nonetheless. Percy and you never truly got on – he was Fred and George's bossy older brother, and that was always what you left it as. Whenever he decided to abandon the Weasley name for the sake of his precious minister, you lost what little respect you had for him.

Now, however, it's difficult to keep that attitude up; the other Weasleys all look exhausted, but Percy looks a little ill, stumbling over the final step the two of you descend. You grab his elbow before he can fall, and he shakes you off in his attempts to pretend he hadn't nearly fallen face first onto the concrete.

He turns to look at you when you're a decent enough distance from the house. “I wasn't sure if you were going to be here.”

“Of course I was going to be here,” you reply, startled by the croak in his voice, as if he hasn't spoken to anyone in weeks. “He was my best friend, Perce.”

“I know. I know he was, but – just – with everything that happened. Mum wasn't even going to send you an owl. She was just going to let you enjoy the celebrations with everyone else. It was Dad who had to step in and tell her you had a right to know.”

Your stomach flips. “Well I'm glad she told me. I'm – I'm glad I can be here.”

Percy nods, looking off into the distance. “Has anyone told you what happened?”

“No. I'm not going to make you relive it if-”

“I was there when it happened. I watched the curse hit him.” His voice breaks, and that drives it home for you; Percy Weasley, usually so composed and professional, is struggling to form a sentence right now. He can't even bring himself to look in your direction.

You step forward and touch his elbow, as if that will cure anything, take away his pain. His eyes close at the feel of your fingers.

“I'm so sorry,” you mumble.

“Yeah,” he replies shakily. “I got the bastard who did it, though.”

You force a smile. “Good.”

“And you know what the most fucked up part of it is?” He opens his eyes and looks at you. “My first thought wasn't even Oh God, my brothers dead. It was Oh God, George is going to be heartbroken.”

Your lower lip trembles before you can stop it, before his words have even properly processed; it's heartbreaking to hear something like that, a blow to the gut you were not prepared for.

Percy laughs, cold and dead. “Can you believe that?”

“Yes,” you choke out. “Yes, I can. Where is George?”

“In his room. He didn't want to see you yet.”

It doesn't even hurt your feelings. You completely understand, considering you're not entirely ready to see him just yet, either.

You glance over at the front door; everyone is beginning to gather round the kitchen table. Arthur pops his head in the window and beckons for you and Percy to hurry up; you give him a thumbs up before whirling back to Percy and grabbing his hand. He starts, eyes widening, but you hurry on before he can say anything.

“What happened to him, Perce? What happened to Fred?”

Percy pauses. “He was dead before he even hit the floor, Y/N. There was nothing anyone could have done.”

You inhale shakily; you cannot cry, not right now, not whenever dinner is being served and his family has pulled themselves together. Percy pulls you into a tight hug when he sees the struggle for peace on your face; you asked for that detail to see if it would help, to see if stripping the mystery from the equation would help you heal a bit quicker, but it doesn't. Now all you can imagine as you walk back into The Burrow, tucked under Percy's arm, is that curse blasting Fred's chest cavity apart, his forever smile fading away for good.

---

The next morning arrives, and you are still yet to see George.

Molly apologises a grand number of times for his absence, but you brush it off every single time – you understand. He's healing. He's suffering, trying to process this just as much as you are. Seeing you after so long apart will only bring back fresh memories, and you don't want to be the reason behind his breakdown.

So you keep your distance, helping Molly and Ginny with breakfast before heading out into the garden to help Ron and Charlie clean up bits of shrapnel that had been left behind from Bill and Fleur's wedding, shrapnel they weren't able to clean up with everything going on.

Charlie keeps the conversation up, forever the chatterbox. Ron humours his older brother with little bits of laughter sprinkled in here and there, but it's obvious he wants nothing more than to just sit in silence for a little while.

As the morning rolls into the afternoon and jobs become scarce, you find yourself walking around the garden on your own. Once upon a time, this used to be the playground for you, Fred and George – three best friends who had nowhere else to go, nothing else to do, an entire summer on their hands. Your parents never outwardly disowned you after you received your letter to Hogwarts, but they were always weary of you afterwards, as if expecting you to snap at any given moment. Their fear gave you an excuse to spend the two months of summer holidays at the Weasley's house, where you, Fred and George would play Quidditch for hours on end, hiding from Molly when you could just tell she wanted you to do a job for her.

The memories come back to you in waves, and it hurts, but you force yourself through it, because you'd much rather remember the good times spent with Fred than sit and concentrate on the fact there will no longer be any more of those good times.

You arrive at the tiny square of grass you used to use as a make-shift Quidditch pitch; George would haul the bins over and enchant them to float high enough in the air that you could trick yourselves into believing they really were Quidditch goal posts. You would always be Seeker, because you were good at that, and Fred and George would play against each other with the Quaffle, yelling insults that had Molly emerging from the house, threateningly waving a wooden spoon in their direction. You could never hear what she was saying from so high up, but maybe that was for the best.

You place your hand on the fence, gazing out at the square, so unused and untouched. A gnome scatters across the centre of it and dives into a hole on the other side; you don't even try and grab it.

The sound of footsteps makes you freeze; after months of being in hiding, any noise you cannot immediately identify has you on edge, though this is something you're trying desperately to combat; Voldemort is dead now – he doesn't have to control your life any more.

“Mum told me you were walking about on your own, you little loner.”

George's voice is like a song. Your favourite song. A song you haven't heard in years, but one you love no less than when you heard it every single day.

You glance at him over your shoulder; he's still in his pyjamas, red hair stuck on end, lips chapped and cheeks sunken. His skin looks pale – paler than it usually does – but he's still smiling when his eyes meet yours. You know it's not real, but you appreciate his attempts nonetheless.

“Yeah,” you reply. “I was just getting a bit of fresh air.”

“Nothing fresh about the air around here.”

“It's better than being inside.”

George shrugs. “I didn't get the memo.”

You hollow out your cheeks, turning back to the field. “Harry told me about your ear.”

“Oh, did he? Did he happen to find it lying about somewhere, 'cause if so, I'd love to have it back.”

“He said you lost it. It got blown off or something.”

George hums. You can see his knuckles tightening on the fence, and you silently wonder if you've perhaps said too much; maybe he doesn't want to talk about that time.

“It was Snape,” George says at last. “Knocked me out cold, so I don't remember too much. Not like I really need to – I've got all the evidence I need of it happening right here.” He turns his head, showing off the hole where his ear used to be. It looks clean, unbandaged, not very painful if his jokes and snide grin are anything to go off.

Nonetheless, your heart skips at the sight of it; yet another moment where George needed your help and you weren't there to offer it.

“Bloody hell, Georgie,” you whisper. “How many girls did you manage to bag with an injury like that?”

George scoffs. “Not many, I'm afraid. Bit of a waste, I think.”

“Definitely.”

It's quiet for a moment. The wind whistles, and the birds chirp, and there's a gnome cursing beneath the dirt, but all you can focus on is the heavy presence of George standing beside you.

Maybe it's not even George's presence you're focusing on. Maybe it's Fred's, because you know he's there. He's always there, making sure you and George don't step out of line or embarrass him, because now it's the job of his two closest confidants to carry on his legacy – Fred Weasley would want to keep an eye on that.

“How are you feeling, Georgie?” you whisper, the silence suddenly too much when you think of Fred standing within it. It would never be silent if he was really here. Never. “How are you really feeling?”

George takes a moment to answer. You glance over to see him nibbling his bottom lip, brown eyes trained on a spot in the garden where yet another gnome has just emerged and is scarping across the field to freedom. “I don't know.” He looks at you. He's taller now, so he has to look down. “What about you?”

You shrug. “I've – I've definitely been better.”

“Yeah.”

“Percy hugged me.”

“He hasn't been taking it well.”

“I can't really blame him, poor git.”

George chuckles; it's not a noise George usually makes, but you don't question it, knowing he isn't really himself right now.

“The funeral's tomorrow,” he says after yet another pause. “I don't know how any of us are going to do it with dignity.”

“Dignity isn't important at a funeral.”

“You know full well Fred would take the mick out of us all if we showed up to his funeral sobbing our eyes out.”

Your lips twitch, the first signs of a true smile you have worn in weeks. “I suppose so. But he's going to have to get over it, isn't he?”

George chuckles. “You tell him, Y/N. You tell him.”

You and George hang around the makeshift Quidditch pitch for only a few more minutes before you start back towards The Burrow; although neither of you want to acknowledge it, you have to get ready for the funeral tomorrow. Things have to be put in place for the small number of visitors who are due to arrive tomorrow morning – Fred, McGonagall, Oliver Wood, some other members of the old Quidditch team. Over the hill, you can see Molly already stressing out over everything that has to be put in place, and your heart aches for her.

“She never slows down, your Mum,” you say before you can stop yourself.

George hums, a fragile attempt at agreement. “Keeping busy helps take her mind off things, I think. It's when she stops that it all crashes down on her.”

“Will she be okay tomorrow?”

“No.”

You're glad he isn't lying. At this moment in time, you can almost pretend it was all a dream; opening the letter, reading the news, having to come to terms with it all. None of it will truly be real until you've looked down and seen Fred's body for yourself, and maybe that's why you're dreading it so much. It's not the idea of seeing him – god, what you wouldn't give to see his smiling face one last time. It's the idea of no longer having that excuse. Once you've laid eyes on his body, any denial you have of his death will just be pitied.

You and George head into the house and go your separate ways. You head into the bedroom you're sharing with Ginny and Hermione whilst George goes back to his own room; you don't think Molly bunked him up with anyone, considering the circumstances, and the thought of him sitting in Fred and George's room on his own makes your heart ache. You have half a mind to turn and go after him, but your plans are foiled when Ginny emerges from the bedroom and smiles warmly at you, despite the puffiness around her eyes.

“Hey,” you say. “You alright?”

“I was just coming to find you,” she replies. “Can we talk?”

Anxiety prickles at your skin, but you nod and follow her into the bedroom anyway. Hermione is nowhere to be seen, though her funeral clothes have already been folded and stacked upon her camp bed, along with a packet of tissues and her wand.

Ginny takes a seat on the end of her bed. You stand by the door, nervously biting your lip as you realise this is the first time you and Ginny have been alone since everything happened. You haven't had a proper chance to sit down with the youngest Weasley and ask her how she is truly feeling.

Keeping her eyes on her freckled hands, she says, “Were you talking to George?”

You tilt your head. “Y-yes. He came down to the Quidditch pitch – oh, uh – the fields, sorry, just to talk.”

Ginny sighs, rubbing her knuckles into her eyes. She's clearly exhausted, no longer even trying to hide it. You have the urge to reach out and hug her, just as you would have done when she was younger, but Ginny has been through so much in the two years since you last seen her; she might not appreciate a hug any more, so you keep your distance.

“And has he gone back to his room now?” she asks.

“I think so. I think he's getting ready for. . . you know. . . tomorrow.”

“He's not handling this well, Y/N.” She drops her hands into her lap, shaking her head grimly. “I know none of us are, but I've never seen George acting like this. The only person he's properly spoken to in three days is you.”

Your heart lurches. “He's grieving, Ginny.”

“We all are! We've all had to grieve before this, too.” She hollows out her cheeks, and it's only then do you spot the tears making their way to the surface of her eyes. “The Weasleys grieve together – that's how we've always done it. We're a family.”

Something inside of you snaps. You dart forward, sitting down beside her and tugging her into your chest. It is there, wrapped tightly in your arms, that she finally lets go, sobbing into your collarbone with a ferocity you've never seen from her – not once. Not even when she used to take a tantrum every time one of her brothers got to go to Hogwarts and she didn't, not even when her cat passed away, not even when she was possessed by Lord Voldemort himself.

She clings onto your jacket, trying to speak but being unable to do so past the sobs. You grip her tighter, stroking your hands through her red hair that hasn't been brushed in days. There are things to say, procedures to take when this kind of thing happens, but nothing you have been taught to say comes to the surface; she's heartbroken, utterly heartbroken, and you know why. Just because you're not sobbing doesn't mean you don't feel the same way.

“Make sure George is okay,” she chokes out. “Please make sure I don't lose him, too.”

You close your eyes, tears slipping from your eyes. “I will, mate. I'll – I'll try my best.”

---

Everyone is here.

You greet them all, because that's what is expected of you. They give you hugs and kisses on the cheek, because that's what is expected of them. Nobody wants to acknowledge the fact that nobody truly wants to be here; to the untrained eye, this gathering of black-clad wizards could very well be some kind of high school reunion.

But it's not.

A high school reunion would hold the air of memories, people rekindling, saying hello after a long time apart. This event holds the air of denial, sadness, saying goodbye to someone taken too soon.

All morning you are busy taking over the jobs of Mr and Mrs Weasley; both of them are too shaky to function, though Molly tries her damned hardest to get out of her chair and do something. She ends up tipping a cup of coffee over poor Harry, and so you and the Weasley kids take over. This means you have barely any time to find George.

He's not around. Ron told you he's still hiding in his room, not wanting to show his face until the very last minute.

“You should go and talk to him,” says Ron, voice wobbling with the effort to keep the tears at bay. “He won't let anyone else in. Mum's tried, Dad's tried, I've given it a go.”

You flick your wand, sending a chair across the grass where it lines up with the rest of them. “What makes you think I'll be any different?”

“He likes talking to you. He only came out of his and Fred's-” Ron's eyes slip closed. He takes a deep breath before starting again. “He only came out of his room yesterday because he heard you arrived.”

You bite your lip, flicking a glance back towards the house; his curtains are still shut. He might still be asleep and nobody would even know.

You sigh, handing Ron the stack of napkins you were given. “I'll go see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

You nod and duck into the house, giving Oliver Wood a watery smile which he returns as best he can, hands trembling around a glass of pumpkin juice. You march upstairs before anyone else can see you, heading directly for the room at the end of the hallway.

The glittering sign is still nailed to the door: Fred and George's Room. KEEP OUT!

You wonder how long it will take for George to take that down – if he ever will.

You knock softly and take a step back, folding your hands in front of you. For just a second, there is no answer, not even a call of Who's there? And you force yourself to step forward and knock again, a bit harder this time, lest he didn't hear you.

Again, there is no response.

Heart hammering, you do the last thing you can think of – you tap three times, pause, and then tap again. It's the secret knock the twins used to do on your door when they wanted you to come out with them past curfew, how you would know they were up to no good.

There is a moments hesitation, and then, “Y/N?”

You press your forehead against the door, relief flooding you. “Yes. It's me. Are you okay? Can I come in?”

You pull away from the door just as it opens and George pokes his head out; his hair is still a mess, but he's wearing something other than pyjamas at least. His outfit consists of a white shirt tucked into a pair of black trousers, a black blazer hanging over one shoulder. Fred would be laughing if he could see him now.

George gives you a tiny smile before moving out the way, offering you access. You hesitate, and George notices.

“I know,” he mumbles. “You don't have to if you're not ready.”

But he's been forced to sleep in this room since everything happened. He's had to endure that pain, so you will too. You brace yourself before stepping in, trying desperately to ignore the flip of your stomach, the sudden fight or flight response that is attacking your system at the sight of it all.

The room has barely changed since the last time you stayed here nearly three summers ago. Two beds pressed against either wall, one perfectly made, the other slept in. Posters hang upon the walls of different Quidditch teams you remember they used to be mad over, and thrown in the midst of them all is a new poster you have never seen before – a poster dedicated to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

“Mum made his bed the day we got back.” George's voice is fragile. You glance at him; he's still stood by the door, hands pushed into his pockets as he watches you wade around the room. “Fred never made his bed when he woke up, so she always used to do it for him.”

You nod, remembering those summer mornings when all you could hear was Molly telling Fred off for – yet again – not making his bed.

“Old habits die hard, huh?” you reply, and George hums his agreement. “Ron sent me up here to make sure you were ready.”

George scoffs. His bed springs protest when he leaps onto his mattress. “You can go back down there and tell Ron to have a little patience. I'm fragile today.”

“You are a little late, Georgie. Worryingly late; I thought you'd gone back to sleep.”

George rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. You stand over his bed, arms folded over your chest. “I'd love to, but I'm afraid I have my brothers funeral to attend today.”

You bite your lip. “You know, George...” And this is it. The sentence has started, and George's eyes have snapped to meet your own, waiting for you to finish whatever you have to say. “We're all grieving. A lot. A whole lot. But locking yourself away like this isn't going to help anything. It's not going to make anything easier. Not for you or anybody downstairs right now.”

George stares at you, waiting for the punchline.

“I'm serious.”

He lifts his eyes back to the ceiling, wearing a frown you have not seen him wear in the many years you have known him. Your heart picks up, panic spiking at the idea of upsetting him; he's not going to listen to you, that much is clear. He hasn't listened to anybody else when being told the same thing, so why should you be any different?

“Look, okay,” you hasten to add, “we'll go down there together, alright? You and me. You don't have to do this on your own.”

“I don't want to go at all. I don't want to see him like that.”

You sit down on the corner of his bed and grab his hand, pulling it onto your knee. The tears slip from the corners of his eyes, which he squeezes closed in an instant.

“I know,” you mumble. “I don't, either. Nobody does. But once we've got this funeral out of the way, you're free to mourn however you want. It's over then; Fred will be peaceful, and we can . . . we can move on. We can try and move on. That's what he'd want us to do.”

George's shoulders jerk, a silent sob. Tears of your own flood your eyes. You grab his shoulders and pull him up, pulling him into a hug that reminds you so much of last night, the exact same scene but a different Weasley sibling. You just want to comfort them all; you want to round up each and every one of them and pull them into this embrace, let them know it will all be okay and you will not leave them to suffer on their own, not like last time. You will be there for all of them through everything if they'll let you.

George's arms wrap around your middle. He rests his head on your shoulder, stifling his sobs as best he can; he's better at it than Ginny, who all but wailed into your collarbone yesterday evening. George doesn't want to be seen like this, but it's clear he can't hold back any more.

“It's okay,” you whisper. “It'll be fine. We'll go downstairs together.”

He nods, pulling away slowly. He bites his lip, glances at your shoulder and says, “I got tears on your shirt.”

You shake your head, brushing his hair out of his face with trembling hands. “Don't worry about it. Fred would say it adds flare.”

“He would,” George chokes out. “He really would.”

And so, the two of you stand and head towards the door, hand-in-hand. George hesitates before shutting his bedroom door behind him, and you pretend not to see the way he gently runs his fingers over Fred's name engraved in the metal sign.

You walk downstairs slowly. Heads start turning when you appear in the doorway of the kitchen, George all-but cowering behind you, his hand still in your own. You run your thumb along his knuckles, giving his awaiting family members a smile despite their eyes all being trained on George.

Molly is the first one to run forward. A cry escapes her lips, and you have only seconds to jump out of the way before she barrels through the doorway and into George's arms; George grunts, stumbling before he catches his balance and hugs his mother back with just as much enthusiasm as she is showing. You slowly remove yourself from the scene, letting the rest of the Weasley family file in to mimic their mothers actions.

“So you did it,” Harry says when you find yourself standing at the back of the room with him. “You got him to come downstairs.”

“He just needed some coaxing,” you reply, wiping your eyes. “Is Fred here?”

“Kingsley's just brought his body back.” Harry nods out the window, but you don't follow his gesture because you know exactly what is going to be there; the back garden, chairs all lined up, Fred's casket set up at last. You can only imagine that is the reason the Weasley family is stood inside – they don't want to be around it any longer than they have to be.

But they cannot hold off forever. Arthur and Molly head out first, Arthur with his arm around Percy's shoulders, Molly holding Ginny's hand. Together, the Weasleys take their seats at the very front of the garden, each sobbing quietly into handkerchiefs and sleeves and partners' shoulders. You, Harry and Hermione take the seats directly behind them whilst everyone else files in behind you.

And you see him up there, eyes closed, hair styled, suit perfectly pressed. His hands have been folded on his chest, and his wand has been tucked into his fingers. Standing beside his casket is a picture of him and George – because there is not a picture in existence where the two of them are on their own, not one – and Fred is pulling a funny face whilst George looks off into the distance, oblivious to the photo being taken.

It hurts. It hurts worse than you ever imagined it would, but you can't bring yourself to cry – not whenever his body is right there in front of you. Fred used to chastise you every time he saw you cry, swat you over the shoulder, make some wise-crack comment along the lines of, “What do you have to cry about? You have me!”

You always did have him. You always will have him, as long as you keep his memory alive.

Kingsley says a few words, kind words that speak of Fred's bravery and his knowledge and how he did not die in vain. They sound so official coming from him now that he's the temporary Minister of Magic, but you know for a fact Fred would have appreciated it, scripted or not. Oliver Wood says some things, and Molly and Arthur try their hardest to get some words out about their son, but it doesn't go to plan and they end up just sitting down, passing the baton onto Percy who makes a big, emotional speech about how he and Fred didn't always get along, and how he's glad they managed to find peace with each other during those last few hours of complete turmoil within the Hogwarts castle.

George doesn't make a speech. Neither do you.

The funeral ends with the burning of the body. Kingsley waves his wand and the white curtains fall from nowhere, closing around the casket, and soon, the only thing you can see is the smoke billowing from the top of them. The air suddenly erupts with the smell of black current – one of Fred's favourite scents – and people are standing, giving each other hugs, crying.

You and George stay seated, him directly in front of you. You don't tap his shoulder, don't move, don't say anything at all – you just watch his shoulders rise and fall as he tries desperately to keep his breathing slow and steady. He's staring at his brothers casket like he can't quite believe it's there, and you don't blame him, because you're feeling the same way.

How can a ten minute ceremony be enough to celebrate the life of someone like Fred Weasley? How can a few words passed between people who knew him be enough to remember the wonders he discovered, the joy and laughter he brought upon so, so many lives? It doesn't seem possible. It's ludicrous, completely unfair, and suddenly the sadness you have felt since hearing the news is morphing into anger, and you have the urge to just scream, to just let your lungs rip in half with the fury that rushes through you at a million miles per hour.

But in real life, you're rooted to your seat, fingers curling against the back of George's chair, staring at the smoke rising high, high, higher into the air, disappearing amongst the clouds – Fred's final resting place.

George stands up.

It's so abrupt. It takes you a second to even comprehend what he is doing as his chair tips back against your knees, only failing to fall due to you still being seated behind it. Your head snaps up, mouth opening to call him back, but you don't get a chance to say anything before Angelina Johnson is grabbing you and pulling you to your feet, into an embrace you were not prepared for in the slightest.

“Oh, Y/N, I knew you'd be here! I knew you'd make it! Fred would have been so happy to see you and George back together again!” You laugh awkwardly, watching George march up to The Burrow over her shoulder.

----

George doesn't make an appearance for the rest of the day.

The guests Disapparate, giving the Weasleys some much needed time and space after the exhausting day they have just performed. You, Harry and Hermione head up to bed for the same reason, crowding in Harry and Ron's room for a few hours before you and Hermione excuse yourselves for the night.

Hermione is asleep in minutes, and you can't really blame her. Not only has that girl gone to hell and back these past few days, she's also had to deal with the additional baggage of death. She has fought absolute monsters, seen things no person of her age should ever see, had to think quicker than anyone just to stay alive – and now that it's over, she's been given the additional task of mourning people she loves.

You, however, struggle to close your eyes without the thoughts flooding your mind, making you restless. You keep remembering his body, the tip of his nose peaking out from the casket, the smoke that billowed, the smell of black current that was surely conjured to hide the smell of Fred's burning flesh; god, you want to throw up. You feel ill, and angry, and you want to punch something so, so desperately.

Back in your school days, George taught you how to use Quidditch as a way to get your anger out; he and Fred had been the best Beaters the Gryffindor had ever seen, and they claim it was solely because they got themselves riled up before a game. They would make themselves so angry that the idea of volleying a heavy ball at someone was all that could calm them down again.

That's what you need right now; a good game of Quidditch, a Bludger to just annihilate someone. But you have none of that; all you have right now is your pillow, which you shove your fist into multiple times over now with no results. Your stomach still feels tight, and tears are still threatening to reach the surface, and you're beginning to lose hope that you'll ever feel calm and collected ever again.

The clock has struck four am when you finally give up trying to sleep. You slip your feet into a pair of carpet slippers – courtesy of Hermione – and head downstairs, pulling a dressing gown on as you do so. The kitchen is barren, the sun just starting to peak over the green hills surrounding the cosy cottage. From the window you can see a garden gnome furiously kick a wicket chair before howling in pain and bouncing back into the floor to go and huff on its own.

You head outside. The fresh air feels nice on your skin – cold, but it's enough to bring you back to reality a little bit. You walk across the garden, and before you know why, you're sitting down in the very same chair you sat in whilst watching people talk about your dead best friend, like you want to relive that moment all over again.

But this time you're on your own. It's just you and the chairs, and the odd garden gnome that sprints across the grass, sees you and then sprints in the other direction. You fold your legs over one another, stare at the space Fred's casket once stood, and then you start speaking.

“Miss you, buddy.” It starts as a whisper, hoarse and fragile. “Thank you, for everything. Fighting for the sake of the world – you're braver than me. I couldn't have done it. I was – I was hiding away in my flat, pretending nothing was happening, convincing myself you two weren't stupid enough to get yourself into any danger.” You close your eyes, tilting your head back, talking directly to him now. “Nothing feels right any more, Fred. The world isn't meant to be without a Fred Weasley. George isn't meant to be without a Fred Weasley. God, I'm not meant to be without a Fred Weasley.”

The tears start trickling, running quickly down your cheeks and disappearing within the corners of your mouth.

“I'll make sure he's okay, Freddie,” you whisper. “George, I mean. We'll keep each other sane, I promise. You can watch over us and – and make sure w-we keep each other in ch-check. I won't let him out of my sight ever again.”

“Y/N?”

Your head snaps up, eyes opening. Standing in the pink light of the slowly rising sun is George Weasley, wand in hand, still dressed in the very same clothes he was wearing earlier. His tie has been pulled loose from its knot and is now cascading messily down his middle, a few of his buttons undone, his hair back to being a disgruntled mess.

You stand up. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“You sound like Filch.” He tilts his head to the side, just enough to let you see the bags under his eyes. “What are you doing?”

You awkwardly kick at the ground. “Nothing.”

“Mhm.” George walks over, examining each of the chairs as he does so. “You were talking to him, weren't you?”

You don't reply; he knows. You don't feel a need to confirm it for him, not when he probably heard every single thing you said.

“I can't do it,” he continues. “It feels weird not having him say the exact same thing as me. My voice isn't meant to be on its own.”

“Yeah,” you croak out. “I noticed that, too.”

“I'll get past it,” he mumbles. “I just. . . I just wanted everyone to leave today, you know? I didn't want all these people in my house, staring at my brothers dead body, crying over him like that. This was supposed to be a family event.”

A tinge of guilt stamps an imprint into your heart. “Right. Should Harry, Hermione and I have left?”

George purses his lips. “You guys are family – it's everyone else I was a bit iffy with.”

And maybe it's the anger from earlier that boils over now. Maybe it's the reminder that George left – halfway through his brothers funeral, he got up and left his family, his grieving family, to deal with everything. You know he's upset, heartbroken, downright traumatised, but so is everyone else. Nobody is taking this lightly. Nobody was here today just for the sake of it.

You curl your hands into fists. “George, you're being really selfish right now.”

His head snaps up. “What?”

“How can you sit there and say you wish those people who came today had just stayed home? Do you think they wanted to be in this situation any more than you did? God, You-Know-Who was killed a few days ago – people want to be out celebrating their freedom, not going to the funeral of one of their friends. None of this is easy on anyone, so it's really bloody ungrateful of you to say they should have just stayed home, because I'm almost positive that's what most of them wanted to be doing in the first place!”

George's eyes cloud over. “Fred wouldn't have wanted the Ministry taking over his funeral.”

“Kingsley knew Fred just as well as I did!”

“No he didn't! You and Fred were best friends – Kingsley was part of the Order. That's how he knew Fred – through business! That isn't a bloody friendship!”

“So, what? Kingsley should have just moved on, walked away whenever he looked down and saw Fred's body that day in the castle, huh? Because god forbid somebody grieve if they don't know someone for more than seven years!”

George throws his hands in the air, face beaming red. “You're putting words in my mouth now, you are. You know that's not what I meant-”

“Yeah? Well, maybe you should learn how to word things better, because at the minute you're sounding like an absolute arse!”

George opens his mouth to respond, but you're crying. You're crying, and you can't stop it, and you don't want him to see you like this. You dart off before he can get the words out, cracking your shoulder against his before picking up your pace to a run, darting back towards the house. Behind you, George calls your name, but you don't listen. You shove past Charlie, who stands in the kitchen door with a mug of coffee, and head directly to your room, not wanting to talk to anyone.

---

Charlie comes to visit you a few hours later.

It's eight o'clock now; Hermione has risen, said good morning and headed off to help Mrs Weasley make breakfast. You stayed huddled under the covers, using the excuse of exhaustion as a way to get her to leave without worrying too much; as soon as she was gone, you had pulled yourself from your bed and headed to the window, where you have been for a while now, dreading the moment you will have to go downstairs and face George again.

Charlie knocks softly on your door before letting himself in. He's wearing a pair of grey sweatpants this morning along with an oversized jacket. His skin has been paler since he came home from Romania, since his little brother died, since it felt as if his world was falling apart. This morning, he looks a bit better, as if the relief of having finally set Fred free was a weight from his shoulders.

“Morning,” he says. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I'm fine. You?”

He closes the door and walks to your side, placing his head against the wall as he, too, takes to gazing out the window. “I'm good. Better than I was yesterday. Worse than I'll probably be tomorrow.”

“What a Charlie way to answer that question.”

He smiles before nudging your arm. “You gonna talk to me about what happened this morning?”

You purse your lips and look away. Charlie gazes at you, waiting for you to say something, anything, but you don't really know what he wants to hear – that you're sorry? That you were tired and heartbroken and it just kind of happened all at once, a jumbled mess you couldn't quite keep track of?

That's not what it was at all. It was the truth spilling from your lips, though you will admit you now wish you could have executed it with a little bit more sympathy. George, the man who has been your best friend for so many years, didn't deserve that kind of treatment – not after everything. Not when there's still so much more to come.

Charlie sighs, folding his muscled arms across his chest. “You know George loves you, right?”

“And I love him.”

Charlie pauses, contemplative. “I just – I don't know what you two were arguing about, but I think it would be a real shame for George to lose two loved ones, which is what is going to happen if you don't talk to each other. Do you want to cut ties with him?”

Your head snaps up. “No! No, of course not. Look, Charlie, the argument wasn't even that serious. We just-”

“If it wasn't that serious, then why did George punch a whole in the dry wall when I tried to ask him what happened?”

You pause, mouth running dry. Charlie raises a brow, leaning against the wall. Your voice is quiet when you say, “He did what?”

“He punched a hole in the wall. Tried to punch me, too.” He sighs. “Obviously, a scrawny little git like him compared to me didn't get very far, but it was the intent that shocked me; George hasn't got a violent bone in his body. Not a properly violent one, anyway – a few dangerous pranks here and there, but he would never want to genuinely fight someone. I think this whole thing is getting to him – and bad. The only time he's been calm is when you've been in his bloody eyeline.”

“He tried punching you?”

Charlie waves a dismissive hand. “That isn't the part of that speech I wanted you to pick up on.”

You close your eyes, pressing your head against the window. “I lost my temper, started an argument with him for no reason. I should have realised he's not in the right head space – he isn't talking right, Charlie. He isn't himself.”

“Well, no, I wouldn't say he is.” Charlie leans forward. “But right now, the only person getting through to him is you. How I see it, you're the only person who's going to drag him through this before he hurts himself or somebody else.”

“That's a lot of pressure, Charlie.”

“Has it been difficult talking to him since you got here?”

“No.”

“Then you're fine. Just keep doing what you're doing.” Charlie stands up straight, brushing his hands down his jacket as he does so. “Mum said breakfast is gonna be ready in a few minutes if you're feeling hungry. If not, don't tell her that or she'll be up here in two seconds flat with the thermometer out; she did it to Ron a few days ago, gave him a right telling off when it turned out he just wanted to stay in bed for a bit longer.”

You nod, giving him a warm, grateful smile as he walks out of the room.

You give his words thorough thought; though your brain is no less exhausted, and your heart no less broken, you can see where you went wrong now better than you would have been able to at four this morning; Charlie has helped you realise that perhaps everyone needs to be a bit patient with each other right now, needs to learn how to put themselves in other people's shoes.

You get changed and head downstairs. Sure enough, breakfast is already being served, and everyone besides George is already sitting round the table. You take a seat next to Hermione and tuck in, trying to regain some energy sapped due to your lack of sleep.

Once breakfast is finished, you head straight to George's room. Charlie gives you an enthusiastic thumbs up when he turns away from the washing up basin and sees you heading upstairs; you give him a smile, though a nervous one.

You have to do this now. You have to talk to him, tell him you're sorry, explain yourself a bit better than you did earlier, and if you don't do it now, you're going to back out and you won't ever do it. And so, you reach his door and do the secret knock that granted you access yesterday, and you wait.

There's a shuffling on the other side, followed shortly by George's soft voice calling, “What?”

“Hey, mate. Can I come in and talk to you for a minute?” You wince at how formal you sound – this is George you're speaking to, your best mate, the person you've grown up with. “Please?”

“You're just gonna tell me off again, aren't you?”

“No, George, don't be daft. Open the bloody door, or-”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up.” The door opens, revealing the exhausted looking George. He isn't smiling, but instead keeps his eyes narrowed when he looks at you. “Do you wanna come in, too?”

“Yes.”

“You don't ask for much, do you?” He rolls his eyes and steps out of the way, granting you access to the room that still sends eerie chills racing along your arms, because Fred is no longer occupying it, too.

You push these thoughts from your brain and enter, immediately spinning around with your arms folded. “Our argument was stupid.”

George falters, one hand still secure round the doorknob. “Come again?”

“Everything I said to you was stupid, and said in a fit of blind rage. I didn't mean it. Not really.”

“Right...”

“So, yeah.” You nod, glance around the room once before saying, “That's all I wanted to say.”

“Is it now?”

“Yes. I'll see you at lunch if you fancy coming down for a bit of food. If not, I'll – uh – see you when I-” You try to step around him, but he's quicker, blocking the door. You bite your lip. “George-”

“Nothing you said earlier was wrong, you know.”

You lift your eyes, and the tension in the room suddenly becomes a physical thing. He's staring down at you, that exhausted look in his eyes that he's worn for weeks pushed to the forefront. His lips are still chapped, and his knuckles are white around the handle of the door. You want to push his hair out of his face, but you're scared he'll push you away or cringe from your touch if you even try.

“I was being a selfish little git when I walked off, and I should have been – should have been thankful to have so many people come out to send Fred off. He would have liked that, I think, having a crowd around him.”

You laugh softly. “He always did enjoy the attention; you both did.”

“Oi.” He nudges your shoulder. “You were part of our group, you know. You liked the attention just as much as we did.”

And he isn't wrong. So many pranks, so many years of getting into trouble, so many years filled with laughter. When it felt like the world was falling apart, when your parents stopped talking to you, stopped asking you to come home for Christmas, stopped sending you owls – it was Fred and George who reminded you that you didn't need anyone. You were perfect on your own.

“I agree that our argument was stupid,” he says softly. “But you were right.”

“I shouldn't have made you feel bad-”

“You could never make me feel bad. Not with a voice like that.”

You roll your eyes, shoving his shoulder. He laughs, stumbling back into the door. You realise with a jolt that this is the first time you've heard him laugh since you arrived at The Burrow, and it seems as if George is realising this too. His smile fades uncertainly, as if he's not allowed to let himself laugh, not allowed to let himself smile when Fred isn't around to join in.

You tilt your head to the side. “Well that's a step in the right direction.”

He closes his eyes. “I haven't had the chance to tell you how happy I am that you're here.”

“Of course I'm here. I would never miss-”

“No, I know.” He opens his eyes and shrugs. “I'm glad you're here to – like – mourn Fred and all that, but I'm glad you're here for me. Most people would have given up on me by now. Nobody would have bothered putting me in my place.”

You shudder, can hardly help it when you're hearing him speak like this; it's so weird, so not what you're used to, but it hits a nerve nonetheless. You have the sudden urge to throw your arms around him, to pull him in for a hug that means more than just It's going to be okay.

“I'm a complete state when you are here, but I wouldn't even function if you weren't,” he continues, nervously scratching the back of his neck. “Everyone's told you that already, though, haven't they?”

You bite your lip to suppress the giggle. “I've heard I've been a good helping hand.”

George rolls his eyes. “Don't let it go to your head. No one likes an arrogant bastard.”

Your grin breaks to the surface before you can stop it. It feels weird upon your face after spending so long believing you would never smile again, and yet with George stood in front of you, it couldn't make more sense. You're brought back to your Hogwarts days, when this very smile would never leave your face, was a permanent fixture to your expression. And it doesn't feel like you're back there – it will never feel like that again, not with Fred missing – but it's a start. It's the first step back into the normal world.

Looking up at George's smile now makes you feel like you're walking back into it, slowly, with George by your side.

----

“So what's the point of all this then?” you ask, struggling to fight your way through the crowd of screaming school kids.

George moves with such grace, not even pausing when a group of kids nearly bowl him over in their struggle to reach the Pigmy Puff pens on the other side of the shop. He's grinning from ear to ear as he walks, his fancy, dragon skin blazer billowing out around him.

“This, my dear Y/N, is what Fred and I have built from the ground up – and we're about to take it to the next level.”

You raise a brow at his back. “Oh?”

“Oh, indeed!” He hurries up a flight of winding stairs and stops at the top. He spins and smiles at you, pulling a sheet of paper from his blazer pocket with that dramatic flair you love so much. “Have a read of this and tell me how proud you are of me, right now. Quickly!”

You roll your eyes, snatching the parchment and unrolling it. At the very top are the words Dear Mr and Mr Weasley, followed by the announcement that Weasley's Wizard Wheezes will be opening a shop in multiple areas around England and Northern Ireland.

Your eyes widen, snapping back up to George who is staring at you fixedly, waiting for your reaction. You don't even have words. All you can do is stare at him, jaw open, hands beginning to tremble.

George glances at your shaking hands and laughs, rushing down the steps towards you. He snatches the parchment back and bundles you in his arms, laughing brightly into your hair.

“Don't show too much excitement, Y/N, we're in public!”

“George Weasley, you brilliant old git!” You wrap your arms around his waist, burying your head in his chest, and together, the two of you laugh – you just laugh, unable to fully process that this tiny little business Fred and George have always dreamed about will finally be taking off, dotting itself around the globe for wizards everywhere to enjoy.

You pull away from the celebration and yank the parchment back, giving it yet another read. “Mr and Mr Weasley – you and Fred?”

“Of course,” George confirms. “I sent the request letter in using both of our names – it didn't feel right just signing it with my name and my name only. Fred would kill me if I did that.”

“Aye, it's better not to take the risk. I'm still convinced he's punishing me for ordering that BBQ base pizza the other night.”

“Yeah, definitely.”

You reread the contract over and over again, grin getting wider every single time. It gets to the point where George groans and has to pry it from your hands, getting tired of watching you read the same sentence over and over again.

You look at him and shake your head. “It's so cool that I'm able to say my best friend is a businessman. A real life businessman.”

George cocks a brow. “You're gonna use me to make yourself look good, are you?”

“You still owe me for that time I got you out of detention with Umbridge – it's the least you can do.”

George laughs, bundling you in his arms again. “Just remember to mention Fred when you're giving us the good reviews – he'd appreciate it.”

And you know, somewhere out there, Fred is nodding, saying, “You've done a brilliant job, Georgie.”

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rpbetter · 3 years

Note

Raven used to be my friend but I had to cut ties recently due to feeling like walking on eggshells everytime we spoke and they never apologized to me for when I brought up something that they did upset me. I really miss them but I don't want to deal with the if it's not about me I don't care attitude.

Pt 2 of Ravens old friend. They reblogged anti fandom posts on their resource blog and I happened to be in that fandom and it hurt. A resource blog shouldn't be doing that.

Hey, Anon! I wanted to post this before I released one of my drafts, as that draft happens to be something I do not want you to misconstrue being about you. Thought about it after the fact and honestly, felt a bit ill over potentially making you think any such thing! The post is about how pushy people can be about what they like (usually as regards fandom) that you don't, and how that can be a contributing factor toward people saying hateful things about fandom topics. It was the quickest of the finished drafts sitting around to edit, so it was being queued, that's all! I do not think you were being pushy about your likes to "deserve" this, and frankly, even if you had? One's meme/resource/help blog is not the venue for shitting on your friends.

Okay, just wanted to clarify, everyone is stressed and feeling judged enough, I don't want to inadvertently contribute to that with any drafted posts!

I'm really sorry this happened, Anon. I don't mean that in a passing, flippant way that looks good on my blog. Not that I mean anything that way lol but I frequently have had "friends" in the past who felt like it was totally fine to reblog, even make original posts, like what you're talking about. Anti-fandom, anti my part of the fandom, my muses, my takes, and so on. Really hurtful things when we'd spoken in DMs about how upsetting it was, then they go and throw full support behind it in front of me.

It would be irritating with a grain of betrayal if it was a friend of a shorter time, or a mutual one doesn't really interact with OOC, but with a closer or longtime friend, it's actively hurtful. It feels like they looked you right in the face, said they do not give a single shit about either what is important to you or sparing your feelings, and went on. Yeah, it's just fiction, but the way we treat each other over fiction is real.

Given the behaviors displayed openly, it's not a shock you received no apology. Whether you got an apology or not, though, good on you for trying to bring it up to them! It's hard to do that with friends, even ones you're more certain won't blow up at you for it. I think if we could all be a little more (calmly, nicely, reasonably) open with each other like this, we could avoid problems that result from things festering and piling up, but it's hard to take that step...and I'm sorry this was your reward for it.

Just as blogs that are not one's RP or personal blogs shouldn't be openly judging and hating fandoms like that, friends shouldn't leave you feeling like you're walking on eggshells.

And, I'm going to say something unpopular here - sometimes, we all are capable of doing that to people we care about. Bad moments in lives combine, there are misunderstandings, sensitive topics, and things we can't entirely control otherwise. I don't like this idea tumblr has that anything other than a perfect, sweet, forever-cheery relationship is the actual height of abuse, so I want to be clear on that because it's just trivializing and blinding people to the possibility of toxic and abusive interactions. When you think "toxic" means "they don't like x, I love x, we don't talk about it," you're not aware of legitimate signs like being too worried to be yourself around them.

It's when this is the typical, established behavior that it's a problem. It's when there's never any meaningful acknowledgment, apology, or attempt at changing that it's a problem. If you constantly feel like you have to be worried about what a friend is going to say or do, it's not a friendship you need to be in, and I'm glad you recognized that and got out of it!

But there's also the idea that this is easy because it's the right and logical choice. It is not, and it's often made even harder because admitting to other friends that you miss the good times with the former one is all but impossible. They're often only reacting out of concern for you, the fear that if you miss this person they watched hurt you, you'll go back to that friendship, but it effectively shuts down a more healthy way of dealing with your feelings by sharing them with better friends who could support you.

So, Anon, it's also fully alright and normal to miss Raven! They were a longtime friend, and the thing about these kinds of friendships, these kinds of relationships in general, is that we seem to fail to realize that if things were straight awful from day one, we'd not have been friends. Of course, there are memories! Of course, you have the impulse to send them a link or that meme you know is their humor! It doesn't stop for a long time, either. That doesn't mean you're fucked up for it, it's something to be ashamed of, or that you're going to drop your better judgment and go send Raven a message immediately and rekindle that friendship. It's okay!

This right here: "I don't want to deal with the if it's not about me I don't care attitude." This is the place you should be in, and I congratulate you on being there because it takes a lot of shit heaped on someone by a friend to get there. Just keep remembering the good things you experienced with them, but always with this in mind, that their end of the friendship appears to have been predicated upon what they were getting out of it only.

Case in point, like everything they displayed to the whole damn RPC that encountered them these last few months, their personal interest and viewpoint was of greater importance to them with that anti-fandom post than a friend was.

I will say, it can be a delicate thing having this blog. I have opinions and takes that most of my friends share, what's important to me tends to run in the same lines as what is important to them, that's the basis of a lot of our friendship. We still disagree! We still have different interests, fandoms, favorite characters, songs, and experiences. Sometimes, I have to address a problem that they could misconstrue, in a totally normal and reasonable way, because while they're not doing whatever in a bad way, others are. I've made a point, more than once, to contact them and talk about it a little preemptively, and that's not just to keep up friendships, it also allows for extra insight from them and better phrasing from me so that other people I don't know won't take it the wrong way either.

Yes, I have some immutable, incredibly hard lines lol I think we all know what most of them are now, but expressing my purely personal opinion on something like fandom is not more important on this blog than anything else. I may genuinely feel like there is diseased connective tissue of disappointing behavior stemming from an origin point in a popular fandom, I'm not going to go off about it on this blog. It's inappropriate as hell, going to make people feel isolated and targeted whether they're my friends or not. Being passionately displeased about that does not have place here, and that's the kind of thing you have to consider, reconsider, force yourself to shut up about when you've got a blog that isn't for RP or a personal, you know?

I don't think everyone is cut out for doing that, and no one is cut out for doing it without ever making a mistake in judgment. Some people really should simply realize that there is nothing wrong with not being in the place in their lives or mental health to put that much effort into being fair or being quiet and concentrating only on memes. If you're one of those people, random reader? I'm serious, it's okay if you can't do it! It's not shameful, I'm also a deeply flawed human being, the quietest, politest, helpful meme blog out there is also run by a flawed human, they're just at a different place with themselves than you are. And. That's. Okay. Just don't hurt other people (and yourself, ultimately) by forcing it, please.

I suppose, knowing that it wasn't important enough to chill and reevaluate for the sake of a friend is some consolation lol what one won't do for friends definitely won't be done for random muns deemed problematic. So, maybe that'll make some other people out there feel a little better, and I thank you for sharing...as much as I wish you had nothing of this experience to share. I know it's an unpleasant one to have had, and I hope you have much better friends!

I promise you that I'll never post anything here that is viciously against any particular fandom or any such thing, and that if you feel like I've been unfair about anything at all, I welcome polite messages as a way of discussing it so we can all be clear and/or learn from each other. I know, I openly admit, it's kind of a draw of the blog, that I have a...um, tone of salt about things lol and sometimes, I don't phrase things the way they deserved. So, it's always okay to drop in for clarification or counterpoint, so long as it isn't being done with a shitty attitude that incites hostilities. Let's do have a legitimate conversation about it instead of hurt feelings!

Thanks again, Anon!

#vespertine #answered #anonymous #fandom #toxic friendships #drama cw

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queenoftheclluds · 4 years

Text

Charlie Barber Imagine - Strong

Charlie Barber X Reader

1.9K

The number of times you had been strong for Charlie through it all were innumerable. When he first received the news that Nicole was leaving him, he called you while he processed it. You were on standby on days that he wasted in court, arguing over where was best for Henry, waiting for him with open arms and a listening ear. When they finally settled on bringing Henry to California, you supported Charlie every step of the way, even if it meant fewer nights spent with him. You did all of this because you loved him.

Your love even extended as far as keeping your feelings concealed sometimes, for his peace of mind. He couldn’t know that it was eating away at you - watching him struggle with losing his control on the situation, watching the countless tears he shed. You’d leave your own tears for your pillow, when Charlie wasn’t around to witness it, even if it meant biting them back until well after midnight.

That’s exactly what you did. He had been over for the evening after a particularly taxing day of arguing with lawyers. Charlie didn’t even bother to head back to his house, it didn’t really feel like a home anymore - not really. Instead he found himself driving over to your house which was only a few blocks away. When he showed up at your door, eyes rimmed red from crying and a forlorn expression pulling at his features, you pulled him into your embrace and shut the door behind him, effectively securing the two of you alone.

As soon as the door clicked shut he allowed himself to decompress once again. You graciously took in all of his worries as you fixed two cups of tea, feeling the weight of the situation. Eventually the sniffles subsided and you made dinner for the two of you, and finished with a movie. He left with a sigh, leaving you to your own devices and the ability to mull over your own feelings.

The first thing you did was shut off the lamp on the bedside table, allowing yourself to settle in the dark. You had half a mind to pick yourself up and head to the bedroom but it was easier to sink into the couch cushions, to curl up in a ball and just allow the tears to slide down your cheeks. So you did. You allowed the warm tears to finally spill over the brim of your lashes, where they had been waiting for the better part of the hour. The ghost of Charlie’s cries echoed in your memory, haunting each and every free space.

You cried for Charlie, who wanted so desperately to give both Henry and you a perfect life filled with everything good the world had to offer. You cried for Henry, whose mother up and left the family, leaving it shambles in her wake. You cried for yourself, who so desperately wanted to give Charlie the stability he needs, who desperately wanted to prove to him he is worthy of love, and to rid him of all his anxieties.

Before you knew it, you were sobbing, your body retracting into itself as you hiccuped through your cries. It was cathartic and painful all at once, but anything felt better than keeping it in. Your hands trembled as they reached up to swipe away some of the dew that had collected on your cheeks. It was a pathetic sight in your opinion, and you were thanking your lucky stars Charlie wasn’t here to see you like this, it would break his heart.

As fast as you were thanking that he wasn’t here, you were being jolted out of a hysterical haze. Your sobs halted at the sound of your name from that all too familiar voice. Charlie was kneeling on the ground beside you with outstretched hands firmly pressing into your arms to try and pull you back to reality. His form came into view behind the well of tears, the pained concern that contorted his face was enough for your body to attempt to pull away - but he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Y/n, babe, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He questioned, eyes scanning over your form in search of any ailment. When he found none at first glance he moved in closer and took your face into his strong hands. “Y/n, breathe.”

“Breathe.” He whispered into your hair, helping you control your sobs down to soft hiccups. You focused on trying to blow out even breathes which waivered at first as you reached out to hold onto his forearm for support, the contact a reminder that you weren’t in this alone.

Once your breathing evened out into steady, long breathes, Charlie rose from his spot on the ground and scooped your body into his arms and settled atop the couch with you in his lap. One hand splayed across your back, spreading smooth circles into your shirt while the other held your head against his chest. It was a trick he found worked when Henry was worked up as toddler, but worked equally well for instances like this.

Charlie patiently waited in silence, holding back the many questions that were swirling in his mind. Only when he felt your body relax into his did he even consider moving. At some point Charlie had flipped on the lamp again, which allowed him to see how pale and small you looked curled against him. Brows furrowed, speculating what could have set you off like this. A defeated sigh passed your lips as you nuzzle into his neck, accepting that you would have to reveal just how much you were struggling with it all.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, not wanting to push too much. Charlie wasn’t used to this, seeing the woman he cared about cry. Nicole seemed physically incapable of crying, even when her job depended on it, let alone actually showing any real kind of sadness.

“I just,” You blew out a breath to compose yourself, “It’s not fair Charlie. I see you hurting and there isn’t anything I can do about it. This divorce is throwing you through the ringer - and Henry. Little Henry. Neither of you deserve this. I wish I could take away all of the pain, I would I swear, just to see you smile. But I can’t, and it’s not fair to you.”

“Y/n, where is all of this coming from?” He asks.

“Every time you walk through that door, I can see what it’s doing to you. I try my best to stay strong, for you, because you don’t deserve that either. I allow myself to grieve when you are gone.” Your words are soft and quiet against his skin as you try to bury yourself further into him.

“Oh princess.” He breathes, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. He wasn’t quite sure what to say but he knew the thought of you huddled up night after night crying alone made him physically ill. “Why would you hide that?”

“I didn’t want you to worry about me. You have so much hanging on your shoulders, I didn’t need to throw my burden on you as well - I just couldn’t.”

He wanted to cry, but for an entirely different reason than what the majority of his tears were from. “But I can’t have you hiding your feelings from me. We are in this together. It doesn’t matter if I have the entire world on my shoulders, it’s still my responsibility to take care of you - physically and mentally.” His lips found their way to your temple, pressing a chaste kiss to reassure you of his presence.

“I’m sorry-” you started, pulling away from his chest so that you could look him in the eye. He didn’t want apologies though, he just wanted to know that you were going to be okay.

“Shh, it’s alright. How about we get you to bed, hm?”

Sheepishly, you nodded and decided to give in to the drowsy feeling that was cast over your body. Moving seemed like an impossible feat at the moment, and if it weren’t for Charlie being right there you probably would have just nodded off on the couch knowing how bad it was for your back.

Fortunately for you though, he was there, and more than capable of transferring you over a few rooms. Like a little child, he scooped you up once again this time supporting your legs with one arm and whisked you away to somewhere more comfortable. It was his turn to be strong, and was he more than happy to do so, making up for all the times you had pushed through whatever you were feeling in order to focus on him.

Charlie set you down on the edge of the bed before turning over to your dresser to find something more comfortable. A fond smile formed at the sight of the various shirts of his you had neatly folded, interspersed amongst your own clothes. Ever since the moment you had started seeing each other you had started a collection of his clothing that you loved to steal. When you stayed at his house, you occasionally slipped on one of his button downs in the morning. After you showered at his place you’d steal one of his t-shirts to wear with a pair of jeans which would wind up at your place later on. He fished one out from the pile and brought it over to you, helping you peel out of today’s clothes and pulled the cotton fabric over your body.

He marveled at how adorable you looked sitting there in his shirt. You were significantly smaller than him, causing the fabric that would sit comfortably over his broad shoulders to bunch around yours, and drape down to your mid thigh. He could sit and look at you all night, truthfully. But he knew that the best thing for you was to lay down and rest your head. Still beside you, he managed to help you settle underneath the covers, bringing the blanket up just under your chin - the way he knew you liked it.

“What are you doing?” You rolled over under the covers, watching as he toed off his shoes and placed them along the wall.

“You didn’t think I was going to let you sleep alone tonight, did you? Not after that.” He shook his head, pulling off his shirt.

“What about Henry?”

“He’s over at a friend’s house. So I’m all yours.”

After stripping down to his boxers, he peeled back the opposite corner of the duvet and slipped underneath, pressing his body as close to yours as he could. He outstretched one arm, making room for you to snuggle in against him, the other curling around your waist and pressing you into his side.

“What made you come back?” You ask, nuzzling into his chest, your finger meandering a lazy pattern into his skin.

“I forgot my phone on your coffee table.” He answered simply.

It was something so small as forgetting a phone that would ultimately bring you even closer to Charlie - if that was even possible. Because of a small mistake you didn’t have to spend the night alone, allowing your tears to lull you to sleep, only to wake up to swollen eyes and an empty bed. Now you’d have him to wake to.

#charlie barber #charlie barber x reader #charlie barber imagine #reader insert #fluff #charlie #marriage story imagine #fandom #requests open

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gogo-karasuno · 4 years

Text

Haikyuu Self-Ship Meme

I was tagged by: @haikyuudreaming

Tagging: @samwrights @bokutokoutarou @queenktbigal @pinkieperil @iwaixiumi Sorry if I’ve tagged someone who has been tagged before.

Rules: Ship yourself with your favorite character and give headcanons on how your relationship would go.

Notes: I’m an overly complicated, dramatic bitch so there’s like some build up here. Y’all getting some character set up and my personal headcanon for various characters too. This is about being Self-Indulgent and damn am I here to Indulge.

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Tsukishima x Tadashi x Gogo: TsukkiYamaGo

- The Basic Background: I’m a first year student at Karasuno and from Kitagawa First along with Nozomi Watabe, the Girl’s Team Libero. We’ve been friends for so long we kind of function as the same person sometimes. Since we’ve also been playing volleyball for just as long it makes us Something on the court. Because we went to Kita we’ve possibly had classes with Kageyama, Kindachi, and Kunimi. My personality has things in common with Kunimi so I imagine were were friends and this brought Kindachi into my friends group. Since I’m a Setter (for the pout, perceptiveness, strategy, and tendency to enjoy pulling the string) I did totally did some pick up games with Kindachi and Kunimi because sometimes a person just wants to get a toss they can hit. Nozomi and I both knew were were walking into Something for the Karasuno Girls Team but we still made that call.

- Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, and I are all in the same class first year. Because I selected the college prep course I knew I wouldn’t share classes with Nozomi but it is still a total bummer. I’m at a new school, kind of introverted, and sort of on my own in class because she’s not there. This should, in theory, make me pay attention in class but it absolutely does nothing of the sort.

- If I reached out to someone first it would be Tadashi. One of those “Introverts Unite” kinds of things because maybe we can at least Exist near each other. I was used as the person to split up talkative kids in school and here is no different.

- Tsukishima and I do that thing that cats do where they circle each other while deciding if they want to coexist or slap each other. We’re both sarcastic piles of salts so we’ve got to figure out how that is going to meld together. I’m also delightfully bitch on top of this and am always ready to throw down at a moment's notice. If anything, we probably get along too well while shittalking other people.

- Before the Saturday First Year’s Game for the Guys I find out they play volleyball. There’s some actual apologizing because wow they have the King of the Court. Between my own irritation at Kageyama for being so Kingly (Part of being the Control Tower is Communication) and hearing even more details from Kindachi and Kunimi...I’m just so unhappy. This school doesn’t have an Oikawa to carry through the year either.

- I hide behind Yams a lot in class so the teacher forgets I exist with how quiet I am. If I could change it up to sit behind Tsukishima I would. After meeting the Girl’s Team, my free, and not so free moments, become trying to figure out how to make this team workable? There has to be something to do with what we have to be better.

- A lot of our original Just Us interactions outside of school tend to involve notes and homework. Sometimes I miss things in class or I need extra explanation for math so Yamaguchi helps me. Tsukishima, having nothing better to do, tends to show up with him to snark while helping. However, I won’t study with them because I’m very much a solitary studying kind of person.

- Eventually we start hanging out more and more without homework or class as the excuse. Sometimes it is the three of us watching movies, listening to movies, or just kind of moving around town. Other times, Yamaguchi and I throw a volleyball around while talking with Tsukishima sitting nearby and doing his own thing. Volleyball takes front and center more after Interhigh. The girl's team did way better but they lost out in the end. So, I double down practicing with the team and on my own. This carries over to a lot of practices with those two and occasionally Nozomi. I have a strong belief that everyone should be rock solid at receiving and as someone with a pretty great serve I openly admit to targeting Middle Blockers. It is something I really encourage Tadashi to learn because "A pinch-serving, Middle Blocker screams 'Target me!' if they need a person to spike at."

- A big note from Interhigh, though, is the guys actually saw me cry for the first time. I'm so frustrated at working so hard and still losing that it turns into angry, frustrated tears rolling down my cheeks. Nozomi and I are both just seething at losing to Niiyama because we were hellbent that this would be the time we went to Nationals. The past three years was playing second fiddle to Shiratorizawa Junior and now we've got Niiyama standing in our way.

- The first thing that should be a Clue about what is building up is very much the first time I slip up and call Tsukishima "Tsukki". I'm perceptive enough to have noticed that it is very much a Yamaguchi for Tsukishima Nickname and not a "For everyone" Nickname. I go to apologize for my slipup. However, I actually get that it is okay. Tsukishima admits he doesn't mind hearing that name from me. Should be pointed out that I turn fucking scarlet because I blush at any major emotion. Yamaguchi also isn't annoyed at me using that nickname.

- I can also see Yams and I falling into a habit of being touchy with each other. When given the chance we sit close together we just do. We aren't exactly touch starved but there is something so reassuring to both of us. It goes from slight brushes to being draped around each other more or less. Sometimes Tsukishima is slightly pulled into things. We'll lean against him while animatedly talking in front of him or just watching something.

- These should be like Giant Obvious Hints that we are all clearly getting to be more than friends. It goes directly over the top of my head. Honestly, all three of us missing such hints feels like an ongoing theme for the three of us. For a perceptive trio of people we really are not picking up each other's hints.

- At some point I admit that they are like Nozomi to me in that they are don't count as "People". I'm very introverted by nature so there are very few people who don't drain me. It is a huge thing when someone doesn't tire me out let along finding two people who don't tire me out at the same time is gold.

- Since I'm a storyteller by nature I start to let it slip to them that I enjoy writing a lot and even want to make a possible podcast telling stories. Tsukki teases me because that is just how Tsukki communicates with people. But, I also see him sending me links later that night for microphones and headphones that would be great to start with. Yams is like 500% supportive from the get go. I tease them about how they should join me. We can all banter together, especially when Tsukki and I riff off each other so well.

- Summer is training for all of us and our time spent together is honestly trying to speed through summer homework. Sometimes it becomes more talking to each other over video calls or text than truly getting to see each other. I do make it a point to ask Yams about learning the Jump Float. I've got a regular jump serve but I need something extra for the next time I see Niiyama. I also Tsukki about blocking. Even if my team as a whole depends more on receiving than straight blocking there has to be something I can do.

- Sometimes before this I feel like it comes out that I have a couple of Mental Illnesses (and I headcanon as Yams having Anxiety and Depression as well) so like sometimes we are just both coping together. I also have a very poor reaction to "Fight or Flight" because I literally turned it into "Fight or Fight". It means I jump straight to arguing or spinning on my heel while swinging. Also, tears. I could see Tsukki originally being an ass about it until it quickly sinks in that this is actually a very serious thing. I could see both of them getting kind of protective over me because of these and I'm just as protective over them.

- Us actually getting together probably comes in the Exhilaration of both of us getting to go to the Spring Tournament to Represent Miyagi. There is something about doing the Impossible on top of Pure Exhaustion that just drops all sense of filters. It kind of comes out that hey we all kind of like each other as more than friends probably during a like 2am video call that night. Tsukki acts like he totally knew what was going on the entire time and was waiting on us to catch up. I admit I thought I was just misreading things a lot. Yamaguchi is probably the most together and we realize this is a thing. How do three people date? Well, that's something we're going to figure out.

- A lot of our dates are probably to museums or to the planetarium with cute cafe visits after. Tsukki's love of sweets, and mine too, mean we've been to a lot of cafes together. It is just like one of our Things.

- I am a caffeine fiend so sometimes I bring everyone coffee or one of them surprises us. Kei Tsukishima is weak for super sugary Starbucks style drinks and nothing will change my mind. Yamaguchi teases us about how much we love them. But, I will also drink coffee with two creams if it is good coffee.

- Tsukki blames Tadashi and I for the "Lame" Hobbies he picks up. My phone games expand to include the two of them so I have partners for things. Tsukki is fond of the quiz and stratgey games so we kind of get way too competative. Tadashi already pulled him into playing Pokemon but I double that need to actually play. Tsukki teases me, and to a lesser degree Tadashi, for reading fanfiction until a series he loved ended poorly. Guess who got really into Fix-It fics after that?

- I bitch and moan to Tsukki about “Playing volleyball with glasses *sucks* like. We get such ugly goggles to keep from shattering glasses.”

- Tadashi, and Tsukki who would die before saying it, thinks it is so cute when I argue up at him. I have to fully tilt my head back to make eye contact but that has never stopped me. In fact, Tsukki is a total dick about me being way, way shorter than him. Honestly, I look like an angry Porg when I argue with him. That being said, at concerts he works to get us seats where I can see.

- Yams has a picture of Tsukki and I flipping him off when he told us we look "Cute" with our sports goggles when playing. Even if we both found "cool" designs we still don't like them. But, we're also both smart enough to know that taking a volleyball to the face can crack contacts.

- I told Nozomi about us but we otherwise were just like, "People can find out when they find out." and that's going to take a while. None of us are okay with PDA beyond like hugs or handholding. It's also not something out of the ordinary with Yams and I by this point. Yeah, I'm prickly about being touched unless asked but I'm also pretty touch oriented when I've given someone the go ahead. I also get lost easily, especially when paying more attention to my phone, or get super anxious in crowds and touch calms me down.

- Akiteru nearly cried when he realized Tsukki had two partners. He cried when he realized Tsukki finally got along with a team and made a friend beyond Tadashi. Him dating Tadashi wasn't unexpected but the fact they're both dating me just causes him to have pride at coming out of shell to date people.

- Tadashi and I are flavors of nonbinary so we totally trades clothes with each other that fits sometimes. I love his hoodies and he gets my skirts or dresses sometimes. Makeup is a little out of my league beyond the basics but I could see him taking to way easier. I paint his nails a lot and introduce him to the base and top coats. I also totally braid his hair and put cute clips in it. We trade body sprays too. Tsukki glares at people who think of saying things to us.

#gogo tagged #self-shipping meme #gogo things #lots of my own headcanons #i'm poly bi and nonbinary #so i'm catering to me

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