#see previous points of me talking about my ailments

[peapod20001]

*parents spend almost 2 whole hours trying to fix a screw on my glasses*

[wooawrites]

love or letter: wonwoo version

pairing: j. wonwoo x fem! reader

summary: hopeless in her endeavors, [name] turns to a radio show for love advice and somehow causes her situation to become worse.

word count: 10k+

genre: childhood friends to lovers, fluff

playlist

love or letter series

“Welcome to Love or Letter, a segment of BSS Radio Show dedicated to answering and advising our very own university students with their current (and maybe even future) romantic ailments! Depending on your story, we’ll either deem it a success by claiming it as a love or will call it a letter if our experts believe the sender should reconsider.”

Collective clapping could be heard in the background, courtesy of the grainy mics provided by the university. “Our first sender seems to have a pretty big problem—the paper is almost three pages long!”

Chuckles could be heard. “Wow, I’ve never had someone even send me a paragraph through text message.”

“That’s because you don’t have anyone to let them do that to you, DK.”

A chorus of shouting soon followed after, though a sharp hush ended the argument before it could continue, prompting the previous host to start speaking. “Dear Love or Letter team, my name is Sender A (F22) and I’m undoubtedly in love with my childhood friend (M22). He has always been a part of my life—from the minute he helped me to the bench when I scraped my knee at the local park to even now, where we both attend the university.”

“That’s so disgustingly cute.”

“But…”

“...But I think my childhood friend sees me more as a sister than he does a girl friend.”

“Girlfriend?”

“No. Girl space friend. Do you think Sender A would be writing to us if she was already his girlfriend, Seungkwan?” The host reading clears throat, ready to continue the note. “Whenever we go out, people always assume we’re related in some way since we’re roommates and apparently the only explanation for opposite sexes to become roommates is if one or both are gay or if they’re related.”

A hiss of annoyance followed soon after. “So outdated.”

“I know.”

“While I tend to correct people that we’re actually childhood friends, he, on the other hand, doesn't bother to correct anyone. In fact, he even seems to like that idea by mentioning that ‘it’s practically the same thing’ when I asked him why he never bothered correcting it to anyone.”

“Oof.”

“On top of this, he has a tendency to lean on me when it comes to relationship advice. He’s only dated a few girls casually here and there throughout our years of knowing each other all these years, however it's become more frequent ever since we started attending the university. While it’s not by much, I’ve heard enough of his stories about his previous girlfriends more than I’d like to admit and it doesn’t help with my situation.”

“Talk about a punch to the gut.”

“Right? Sender A continues by mentioning that she’s been wanting to say something to him but all these signals are pointing to a completely opposite direction and believes she might need to move out if something doesn’t get done. Sender A ends it with ‘I usually don’t ask three random strangers on a radio show to help make decisions like this, however none of my friends know about my situation. Please help me out, BSS Radio hosts. Sincerely, a hopeless romantic’. Man…”

“That’s tough. Thank you for choosing us to help you out though!”

“Dokyeom, you punk! They clearly said we were her last resort so speak carefully.” Seungkwan’s voice chimes in, followed by an irritated sigh. “From the sounds of things Sender A, you sound like you’re at odds with this situation at the moment. You want to tell someone you’ve known your whole life something serious while also keeping whatever dynamic it is you have the same, which will no doubt change if you do end up following through with your plans. In my opinion, I’d consider this a Letter, since you aren’t entirely sure how he feels yet.”

A hum followed, clearly agreeing with Seungkwan’s response. “I think this feels like this might be a Letter, too—but that doesn’t mean you should give up! Afterall, just because you don’t know how he feels doesn’t mean anything, right Hoshi?”

The host who had read let out a strained cough. “Y-Yeah… Definitely not the end of it just because we deemed it a Letter. Like Seungkwan said, you just seem unsure of your decisions and this Letter can turn into Love with the right course of action. This has been the Love or Letter segment of BSS Radio Show, onto other campus news—”

The quick shut down of the radio show invited the bustling noise coming from the cafe that [Name] had forgotten she was even in. Frustration bubbled up in her stomach as she thought back on the declaration of her current predicament. For a moment, she had the childish belief that the BooSeokSoon Radio hosts had the answer she actually wanted; that all came crumbling down as she listened to her submission being read out loud.

Embarrassment flooded through her as the story relayed in her head. Had it sounded that obvious he wasn’t into her? If it was, then why did she even bother sending that kind of message for a huge crowd to hear? [Name] could only ponder this question as she took a sip of her coffee, mouth pursing as the bitterness washed the piece of cake she had eaten just a few minutes ago.

Her eyes glanced over at the cafe’s door, body shaking in anticipation. She felt as if she had been at the cafe for hours on end, though she was sure it was only less than an hour. The radio show had taken up the majority of her time, her term paper long forgotten the minute she noticed an email saying BooSeokSoon would present her message for this week’s segment.

“A waste of time that is…” [Name] hissed under her breath, blowing at a fallen stray of hair.

“What’s a waste of time?” A voice asked. [Name] nearly froze in her spot, eyes flicking back to the door before going back to the owner of the voice, who stood so close, her face nearly ran into his stomach. [Name] gave him a slight shove, ignoring his humored chuckle and the fact he clenched his abdomen when her hand made contact with him.

“Being here and waiting for your class to end.” [Name] responded, motioning for him to sit across from her, a cup of coffee similar to her’s waiting for him. “I don’t know how you can enjoy that coffee so much. It tastes like sadness and dead poets.”

Wonwoo laughed. God it’s a cute laugh. “That’s… Actually a good way of putting it. How’d you figure out I was a tortured artist?”

[Name] watched him sit down, his larger frame towering over the small chair as he shifted. She almost laughed at how he hunched himself over, something he always had done since they were children to appear smaller than he originally would. However, it looked as if something was poking at his lower back and he was avoiding it.

No matter how many times [Name] pointed out to Wonwoo how strange he looked, he never failed to put himself into that position. She wasn’t sure if it was to be considerate of others or just to make her laugh at this point.

“Maybe because we’ve known each other for 15 years of our lives? Or you’re a literature major. And you dress like someone’s grandpa. You even sit like one—”

“I get it, I get it.” Wonwoo replied, raising his arms in surrender. He shuffled through his bag, pulling out his laptop and notebook, casting a glance at [Name]’s unopened laptop and earbuds. “Did you get any far with your paper?”

“Huh? Yeah, yeah…” [Name] said dismissively, looking away as she snatched her phone. Wonwoo narrowed his eyes at the action. As if on instinct, he offered his hand. “Won—”

“Phone. Now.” He commanded, face stern for a second before a pacifying smile made its way to his face. “Please. We made a deal, remember? No phone until you get a page done.”

“Yeah, yeah.” [Name] grumbled, handing her phone over to him, breath hitching for a second when she felt the tips of his fingers grazed her wrist lightly. Wonwoo let out a gentle thank you before shoving the phone into his pocket, a smile still settled on his face. He pulled out an earbud, handing one half over to [Name] as he played one of her favorite songs for the both of them.

Work followed soon after, [Name] typing furiously at her term paper while Wonwoo flicked through pages of a book written by some writer older than their own grandmothers. Every now and then, [Name] glanced across, taking in her friend’s appearance.

His hair was windswept from the autumn breeze, clearly slicked back just a few moments ago before entering the cafe. He had just recently changed his glasses prescription, finally listening to [Name] when she suggested a pair of circular glasses instead of his usual blocky choice. It framed his face nicely, highlighting his cheekbones whenever he smiled, though it always drew [Name] to look at his lips right afterward.

How can someone be so… Wonwoo? A strange way of putting it, yes, but what else was [Name] supposed to compare him to? She could imagine all the beautiful and fascinating things possible and all of that pales in comparison to him. For some reason she couldn’t make up her mind if he was one or the other at this point.

“Were you listening to the BSS Radio Show again?” He asked all of a sudden, making [Name] jump back to look at her paper again just in case he looked away from his book.

“It’s scary how well you know me so well.” [Name] commented with a shiver.

“What’s so interesting about their radio show anyways? I’ve never seen you pay attention to that until now.”

[Name] knocked her fingers against his, a smirk etched on her face. “Maybe I think one of the hosts is cute. Y’know one of them, Seokmin, is in my Speech 101 class?”

Wonwoo frowned at the notion, gently flicking his fingers at the tips of her’s as a response. “You can’t even talk to someone if you find them remotely attractive.

That’s what you think. [Name] stuck her tongue out at him. “They’ve got… Insightful moments.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow. “They only say insightful things when they’re doing Love or Letter, which I know you definitely don’t listen to.”

[Name] almost threw up at the mention of that dreaded segment. She straightened her back at the comment, however. “What’s that supposed to mean? That I’m not romantically available?”

Wonwoo gave her a shocked look. “No—like, I mean like you’re not the type to be into listening to that kind of show.”

“What type of person do you see me as then?” [Name] challenged, eyes glinting for a moment as she gave Wonwoo a pointed look as he opened and closed his mouth for a second. For a second she wondered if he understood her double meaning, her thoughts completely flying out the window when he let out a sigh of defeat.

“I offended you, didn’t I?” Wonwoo asked. “Sorry, I just meant to say that you usually don’t pay attention to people’s plights for entertainment, especially if it’s personal like romantic issues.”

This idiot. Maybe [Name] shouldn’t stick to dropping hints. If she continues on with this kind of confession style, Wonwoo would most likely be in a grave by the time she has the courage to confess her feelings. [Name]’s stomach dropped at the idea. She wasn’t sure she wanted to wait that long; she’s waited long enough.

“Wonwoo—”

“Oh my God, Wonwoo is that you?” A new voice chimed in, making [Name] stop her words, glancing over at a girl—a pretty girl—waving her hand at the lines their way. [Name]’s stomach nearly dropped as she watched Wonwoo’s face light up and wave an arm in return, pushing himself off his seat.

“I’ll be right back.” Wonwoo said quietly, making sure to be quick with his strides as went up to talk to the girl. A frown settled on [Name]’s face as she recalled him never being so hasty with his actions with her like he had with the girl. She did her best to go back to the paper instead of putting all her attention on the two people in front of her, who looked painfully good together.

His mouth was quirked up, being attentive to whatever the pretty girl was telling him by providing a nod or simple response to her as they spoke. They didn’t speak for long, Wonwoo pointing at their shared table. [Name] cast her eyes back at the screen, pretending to be focused on her essay instead of them. Her eyes didn’t let up from the screen until she noticed Wonwoo come back, a content look etched on his face.

“Friend of yours?” [Name] teased, half hoping he’d give her information and the other half to dispel the drop in her gut as she thought of the best and worst things possible.

Wonwoo only let out a hum, smiling down at his work. That certainly wasn’t an answer [Name] expected. Or wanted, for that matter. She wasn’t sure what to respond with so she made sure to look back at her own work, typing nonsense instead of actual meaningful words that might help affect the course of her grade.

The silence lasted for only a moment, however, as Wonwoo’s gaze lifted towards her, eyes alight as he asked, “What did you wanna ask me again?”

“Huh?”

“Before I went up to Chaewon. You had something to say to me, right?”

[Name]’s mouth fell open for a moment, unsure of her circumstances anymore. If it had been just a moment ago, she was sure to have told Wonwoo about her affection. After witnessing his reaction to that girl—Chaewon—though…

“I… Can’t remember.” [Name] said, feigning an apologetic smile. Wonwoo only let a hesitant nod, eyes not leaving her face. Unwavering, [Name] motioned to his book. “You better keep reading unless you expect the book to write your analysis, do you?”

An exhausted sigh escaped [Name]’s lips once she found herself shutting the door of her apartment. If she hadn’t been at school or studying for exams, she found herself working on campus, a task that is almost as exhausting as studying and attending classes.

If it hadn’t been for the millions of accidents coupled with the slow coworkers, maybe her work day wouldn’t have been as stressful as it had been that day. [Name] could already feel her eyes drop heavily as soon as she stepped foot into the comforts of her home. She had almost missed Wonwoo lounging in the living room had she been any more tired.

“Welcome back.” Wonwoo greeted, a smile erupting when [Name] groaned in reply. She wasted no time tossing herself over the couch he was sitting on, staring at the ceiling as she felt Wonwoo’s leg shake beneath her head from the laugh he let out. For a second, [Name] shut her eyes, relishing in the laugh. “That tired, huh?”

“You don’t even know. How can someone be in their twenties and not know how to be an effective worker? Am I in some alternate universe where I’m in a constant state of being Punk’d?” [Name] complained, not stopping to take a breath as she let her bottled up irritation finally burst. A hum could only be heard from her friend, urging her to continue. 

“Not to mention how irritating customers can be—ugh, don’t even get me started on them, Woo. One of them got mad when I asked if she already purchased an item that was set aside and started grilling me on some bullshit about ‘not believing her’. I was just making sure she bought the item! The nerve of some people…”

“That sounds frustrating.” Wonwoo agreed, reaching out to grasp at the hair tie on [Name]’s head and gently pulling it off. A hand ran through her hair, putting a pause on [Name]’s rambles. She wasn’t sure how long they stayed that way—Wonwoo basically giving her a massage to help destress. She kept her eyes closed either way. She was unsure if she wanted to risk getting a good look at her best friend, who was most definitely staring at her right now.

She wasn’t sure why it was such a habit of his—the incessant staring. It was a bad habit Wonwoo had; [Name] lost count of how many times she had to drag him out from places when his staring habit put him into unnecessary trouble.

[Name] hadn’t minded his staring—he was usually lost in his own thoughts and not bothering her since he was so quiet. Not to mention he had killer massaging skills.

She opted to let the silence continue. Wonwoo seemed to not mind, equally enjoying her presence as much as she had with him. His fingers, deft and soft, worked out the tangles in her hair. He was careful to be gentle when facing harsh knots, massaging at the tender spots if he tugged too hard, earning a small hum in appreciation of his efforts.

“You’re spoiled, you know that right?” Wonwoo suddenly commented. [Name] responded with a sharp slap to his knee. “Ow! I’m just saying! Who gets treated like this by their roommate?”

“Oh so we’re just roommates now, huh?” [Name] teased, opening her eyes. “Let’s just throw away a decade worth of friendship. I see how it is, you heartless jerk.”

“Ahh, you gaslighter.” Wonwoo groaned, poking her side in retaliation. A laugh escaped from [Name], fighting off his hands as she tried to get herself off of her friend. He seemed to have known what she was doing, though, from the way he dropped his other arm to wrap around her shoulders and bring her to his side to keep poking at her sides with his other one.

“Woo, I swear to God—AH!” [Name] shrieked, smacking at his arms to get him away from her after his fingers coincidentally found its way to a certain spot that made her laugh a little harder than she liked. “I swear if you tickle me anymore I will be putting honey in your hair while you’re sleeping.”

“Oh really?” Wonwoo asked, turning her over and holding her arms in place.

“Yes really—”

Her voice caught in her throat as Wonwoo looked down to stare at her. Usually, she had been pretty good at hiding her feelings toward him—a quick change in facial expressions when she caught herself smiling for too long when he was failing at cooking eggs in the mornings, keeping her glances fleeting when they studied together, opting to tease him instead of complimenting his appearance to keep up with appearances.

[Name] wasn’t exactly sure how she could evade this moment. Or if she even wanted to move at the sight in front of her. Wonwoo had clearly been home hours before [Name] came home. Besides the soft pajamas underneath her head, his hair had not been touched and was angled every which way. His glasses looked like they were on the verge of falling as he kept his gaze down toward her. It didn’t help that his chest—Jesus, did his chest always feel that muscular?—was taking deep breaths, clearly just as winded as she was of their wrestling match.

The sight was endearing. She was more than sure Wonwoo could do anything and make it look beautiful in her eyes, though, so she might have a bit of a bias. [Name] chewed at her lip as an all too familiar thought passed through her head. Now’s your chance. Her mouth opened for a split second, trying to form the words she’s been so desperate to let out for the past few months.

“I’d consider this a Letter, since you aren’t entirely sure how he feels yet.”

A Letter. A chance of rejection is probably high. Should she really risk a friendship over a love confession? Maybe. It’s highly tempting, especially with how he looks right now—so effortlessly handsome, it was irritating, honestly.

Wonwoo’s eyes softened for a brief moment. Carefully, he brushed the tips of his fingers against her cheek to grab her attention. “You good?”

[Name] felt her throat dry up, immediately getting up from her spot. “Y-Yeah. Just remembered I need to take a shower. I’ll make dinner tonight!”

Wonwoo looked as if he were ready to reach out a hand to stop her, but [Name] made sure to keep a distance from him. “Are you sure? You seemed pretty worn out today, though. I can make—”

“No, it's fine! I’ll get my energy back after I wash the stink out of me. I’ll be back soon!” [Name] interrupted, making her steps quick as she turned around to run to the bathroom.

Once she found herself in their shared bathroom, [Name] slid down the door in a huff. Her heart was nearly ready to jump out of her chest as the moment replayed in her head. She could feel her face heat up as she remembered her original task of confessing, which was a complete failure again.

“I’m so screwed…” She whispered to herself.

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since [Name]’s embarrassing attempt of admitting her feelings to Wonwoo. The moment replayed in her head more times than she’d like to admit, constantly beating herself up at missing the opportunity of confessing again.

“Hey, if you’re going to have that lovesick look on your face all day, you might as well take the rest of the day off. You’re gonna scare the customers.” Chan chastised, words harsh, but the smile on his face indicated he wasn’t at all irritated in the slightest.

[Name] huffed. “I do not look lovesick.”

Chan snorted in response. “You must think I’m stupid then.” A crumpled up coffee filter found its way bouncing off his dark hair and a blank stare from the girl as a response. Chan let out a sigh. “You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not comfortable. You just seem… Sad lately.”

“Sad?” [Name] inquired, Chan nodding. It had only been a week and half since [Name]’s second failed attempt at her confession and if she were to be honest, [Name] was a little upset with herself after she managed to overcome her embarrassment. The moments continued to relay in her head, letting her self pity overtake at times.

But was she that obvious? [Name] worried if Wonwoo ever caught on; he always had a tendency to read the room, especially when it came to her. He always seemed to understand when she was overdoing or uncomfortable before she was even able to comprehend her emotions. What’s the possibilities if he picked up on her recent habits? A high chance, only making her question why hadn’t he mentioned anything to her?

This only sparked her worrisome behavior even more, eyebrows furrowing further, though she wasn’t able to spiral any further when the sensation of a sharp poke to her forehead brought her back down to reality. “Ow?” [Name] prompted, hand covering her forehead as she looked at Chan.

“You’re doing it again.” He admonished, frowning too. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Honestly? No, not really.” [Name] admitted, leaning back to watch the entrance of the café to see if anyone had walked in yet. “It’s kinda complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

“A guy kind of complicated.”

“Ah…” Chan hummed. “I have no idea what that means.”

[Name] only groaned quietly, fighting off the urge to waste any more work products to throw at her younger coworker’s head. “Nevermind. It’s hard to explain.”

“We’ve got five hours until our shift ends. I think I can grasp difficult concepts.” Chan reassures, chest puffing up proudly

“Fine, fine. I don’t even know where to start. There’s this guy…”

[Name] wasted no time explaining her hopeless conundrum—her seemingly unrequited love to the Love or Letter segment and even the embarrassing, half-hearted attempts of her confessions. 

Surprisingly, Chan managed to keep up with her, despite her lack of tracking with the timeline and needing to run back and forth between explanations. She’d pause for a second, watching to see if he was even hearing her despite his nods, receiving encouraging hums whenever they made eye contact. 

For some reason, this brought her to relax more as she began to speak freely. At one point, she even brought up the Chaewon girl from their study session (or study “date” from Chan’s point of view—again, he was served a hit to the leg with [Name]’s towel). Chan had been kind enough to provide a third party viewpoint, mentioning that she could more likely have been a project partner with Wonwoo and nothing more.

By the time she finished, [Name] could almost feel the tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She hadn’t exactly expected herself to pour her thoughts and feelings into one night, albeit someone she hadn’t really expected—the sarcastic first year Lee Chan who always seemed to keep himself guarded with his own feelings despite having the most expressive display of emotions.

“Wow…” Chan said. “That sounds like a lot of unnecessary stress.”

“Lee Chan…”

“But I can see why you’re so caught up on your feelings about him.” Chan said, making [Name] raise her eyebrows at him. “Trust me, I’m having similar issues. I’m honestly making more mistakes than you.”

[Name] only nodded as a response, knowing when to not ask questions.  “Idiots in love.” She sighed out in despair, Chan holding out a fist for her to bump in solidarity.

“Idiots in love.” The younger man chanted back. “I think you should tell him, though. Despite getting a Letter.”

“...Why though?” [Name] asked, a look of horror crossing her face.

“Because you’re undeniably in love with this guy and from the sounds of things he’s acting like you’re the center of his universe.”

Chan was quick to dodge the towel thrown at his head. [Name] could only watch as the towel dropped on the ground, not ready to move just yet as she fought off the embarrassment rising from her neck.

“You—I—What part of me saying anything to you made you think that?" [Name] asked.

Chan only patted her shoulder. "You're literally hopeless. How are you about to graduate in less than a year?"

"I'm being practical."

"You're being in denial." Dino corrected, head turning when the sound of a door squeaking came to life. "If you're not going to accept it, let's just go back to work."

[Name] didn't respond, only watching as Chan walked up to the register to greet customers. Her? The center of Wonwoo's universe? In what way did she make it sound like that? [Name] could only scoff at the comment, turning away to continue with work, doing her best to find herself engrained in her tasks instead of Chan's words.

From [Name] 😒:

at the location. where are you? Sent 07:50 PM

From Wonwoo:

close by. why did i have to grab the blanket? hao was already at the apartment looking for something you asked him to get 😭 Sent 07:50 PM

From [Name] 😒:

wasnt answering my text. where now? Sent 07:52 PM

Wonwoo let out a sigh at the last text. Impatient as always. Especially when she was excited about something, It’s almost as bad as her memory when she’s in a hurry, which also seems to be something she does when she’s excited. 

He wasn’t exactly sure how many times he had to head back to their apartment to retrieve whatever it was [Name] forgot on her way to the campus grass but he hadn’t bothered to count after she frowned at him when a refusal almost slipped off the tip of his tongue.

“You’re lucky we’re friends.” Wonwoo grumbled as he handed off his backpack to [Name], who was gracious enough to offer to hold it so he didn’t need to drag it back to their home. He watched as [Name] hiked the large bag onto her shoulders, a smile forming when he noticed how much the bag stuck out from her, reminding him of a snail.

He was careful to tug off a strand of hair that was trapped under a strap as [Name] smiled up at him. “Don’t act like you don’t treat everyone with the same fake courtesies.” She teased, knocking her fist onto his arm.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes in response. “With you, I don’t think I can treat you the same way as everyone else.”

He had left shortly after that, not wanting to see [Name]’s face when he said the last part, which almost sounded as awkward as when he thought of it. Wonwoo could have died right then and there if he didn’t turn to run back to their apartment. His brain hadn’t allowed him to stop thinking about it until he got a call from Minghao, who they both deemed trustworthy enough to have a key for their apartment, mentioning he was inside to retrieve another item [Name] left behind and needed to have.

They had spent less than five minutes looking for the items before trudging back, Wonwoo with a bag full of chips and blanket and Minghao with [Name]’s portable charger in their hands. Wonwoo struggled to text [Name] back, mentioning they were nearing the clearing on campus where they agreed to meet everyone else.

“You know she can wait on that text, right?” Minghao reminded him. “Your chips are about to fall.”

Wonwoo was quick to hit send before readjusting his hold on the chips. “Yeah I know. I guess I’m just used to responding so quickly to [Name] I don’t want her to think I’m ignoring her or anything.”

Minghao hummed. “[Name] always takes forever to respond with my messages.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah. It took her a day to respond to a message from me asking what she wanted from the nearby bakery.”

The last time [Name] had taken so long to respond to him was only an hour because she was out on a lecture. “Huh…”

Minghao only opted to shoot an expressionless smile at Wonwoo’s curious hum, speeding up when he took notice of Jun’s towering figure next to [Name]. Minghao muttered something to Jun quickly in Mandarin, prompting the older man to land a slight nudge to his shoulder as a wordless response.

[Name] let out a laugh at the banter, making Jun offer an embarrassed smile in response. Wonwoo couldn’t help but frown at the small interaction, a feeling in his gut dropping. It disappeared once [Name] recognized him moving closer to them, the grin on her face never leaving as she ran up to him.

She tugged the blanket off his hand. “I promise I don’t need anything anymore.”

Wonwoo only shot her a doubtful look as they spread the blanket out together. Once all four were settled down, [Name] was quick to make the center of the blanket her spot, laying down as she stared up at the empty sky.

“How much longer?” She grumbled at Wonwoo, who settled himself to her right.

“So impatient.” Wonwoo jokes, prodding her side. [Name] squeaked, though she didn’t bother moving away from him, only keeping a hand on his wrist to keep him from doing anything else. “Vernon said they’ll start at 8:30. It’s still 8:20.”

[Name] groaned in response, rubbing her eyes. “I might be asleep by then…”

“Stay awake.” Wonwoo reprimanded, tugging her eyelid up.

“Gahhh.” [Name] grumbled, earning a “Gahh” back from Wonwoo. Regardless, she kept her eyes closed for a moment, breathing in the air. "When was the last time I laid down like this?"

"Summer before we started high school. Your brother threw a mud pie at your face and you went to my house for some reason to cry about it." Wonwoo responded. From beside them, he spotted Jun and Minghao engrossed in their own conversation, both their eyes shifting to a pair of girls on their phones a few blankets away.

"That's because I knew you'd  let me play your games out of pity." [Name] responded, laughing at the memory. "I can't believe you even remember that."

"I remember a lot of things."

"Hopefully I'm in most of them." [Name] respondes cheekily, scooting closer to Wonwoo to nudge his shoulder.

Actually you're all of them. Wonwoo wanted to say, but he wasn't stupid enough to say that, despite it being the truth. No matter how far back he can fish for memory, [Name] was always a constant in every single one of them.

 In every good or bad moment Wonwoo experienced, he always managed to remember that [Name] was with him and would do something so spectacularly outrageous or kind that he couldn't help but etch her into his mind.

His stomach turned again, all those memories rushing back in, hyperfocused on [Name]'s presence than whatever life lesson he was supposed to learn from them. He kept his gaze up at the sky, hearing a loud whizzing noise shoot up before colors burst out of seemingly thin air.

Everyone gasped. Jun's mouth dropped open wider and wider at the fireworks, grinning excitedly at Wonwoo when their eyes met for a brief period. Minghao was nowhere to be seen—Wonwoo guessed it might have to do with one of the girls he and Jun were eyeing.

Wonwoo let himself get lost at the bright skyline, marveling at the colors illuminating the campus fields. Whistles from other groups were heard, making Wonwoo laugh at their amusement.

“Ahhh, there’s always fireworks for any event the university hosts and everyone acts like it’s the first time anyone’s seen them.” Wonwoo jokes.

He had half expected [Name] to just hum or say a joke in passing, too occupied with the fireworks to hear what he’s saying. No such actions were made. Wonwoo turned his head down, curious to her silence, but was quick to learn why.

“Of course you fall asleep before the fireworks.” Wonwoo whispers to her, brushing off the curtain of hair that fell over her face. Everything was completely still for him, the sounds of cheering and fireworks falling deaf to Wonwoo’s ears as he watched a newer, more fascinating sight.

[Name]’s breathing was heavy and deep; a clear sign she hadn’t been sleeping too well. Wonwoo should be concerned at the thought, but he couldn’t help but appreciate the chance to see her this way—so relaxed, so unguarded around him. 

Recently, [Name] seemed so… Distant. Wonwoo wasn’t sure if it was something he had done and she was just waiting for him to acknowledge any mistake he made or if she was just preoccupied with school and he was reading too much into her actions. Regardless, he felt as if he hadn’t seen his best friend in forever and he was just seeing her now—beautifully flawless despite her antics.

A breeze passed by, making [Name] shiver. She stirred only slightly, though, turning her body to the closest heat source: him. Wonwoo didn’t fight against her as she curled herself into his side, letting out a sigh of relief once her head pushed itself to his shoulder.

Wonwoo froze only for a second—majority of that second consisting of him internally screaming like some lovesick school girl—before he maneuvered his arm carefully around her back, pulling her closer to him as he wrapped his arms around her.

[Name] was quick to move her head onto his chest instead of his shoulder at the new position, her arms wrapping around his middle and her legs tangling with his by the time Wonwoo finished adjusting himself. Again, Wonwoo let himself stop moving for a moment to internally wonder what life he saved in his past life to put himself into this position.

“Oh?” A voice beside him says. Wonwoo peaks over the mass of hair in front of him to see Jun grinning their way, not paying attention to the fireworks anymore.

“Shut up.” Wonwoo warned, eyes narrowing behind his glasses.

“I didn’t say anything.” Jun defended.

“Just shut up anyways.”

Jun rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the fireworks with a smirk. “Whatever. Text me once you tell her how you feel by the way. I made a bet with Hao and I wanna pool in my prize money.”

Wonwoo felt his jaw drop. “You made a bet on my love life?”

“Yeah,” Jun admitted with a shrug. “Don’t worry, though. Once you’re done with your little pining we can make a bet against Hao and that one girl he’s working with. Something tells me he’s worse than you about admitting his feelings to someone.”

“You—”A groan could be heard beside Wonwoo as he started talking. [Name] was stirring in her sleep, clearly feeling his voice reverberating against his chest as he spoke. Wonwoo was quick to stop himself, squeezing [Name] gently to keep her from waking up. “You’re lucky she’s asleep.”

Jun chuckled. “You’re lucky she’s asleep.”

Damn Jun. Was the only thought that went through Wonwoo’s head. He gave up on his argument with Jun, half afraid of waking [Name] and half afraid of admitting the truth that, yes, he’s the biggest idiot alive for not realizing until now just how undeniably in love he is with his childhood friend and all those years of him watching her back wasn’t just out of friendly courtesy.

By the time the fireworks died out, Wonwoo was still pondering on his next move. Minghao came back, a small smile edging on his usually stoic face. He made no argument against Jun as they helped pack Wonwoo and [Name]’s stuff while the taller of the three men woke [Name] up.

“Hey, come on.” Wonwoo urged, grinning when [Name] opened her eyes. “We have to go back home.”

“Did I miss the fireworks?” [Name] grumbled, staring at the nearly empty field. Wonwoo nodded. “Damn…” She knocked her head against his chest. “At least you’re a really comfortable pillow.”

God take him now. “Thanks.”

[Name] groaned as she picked herself up, offering a hand to Wonwoo to help him up. She only offered small conversation with Jun and Minghao, too focused on trying to find her footing after napping for so long. Wonwoo was quick to put an arm on her shoulder, leading as best as possible.

He shot Jun and Minghao a warning look when he heard one of them snicker to one another, conversing in Mandarin through hushed whispers (though, he was more than sure he heard [Name] and the word money be passed around a bit).

“You okay?” [Name] asked suddenly, making Wonwoo jump at her sudden concern. [Name] gave him a funny look. “You look constipated.”

“I’m fine.” Wonwoo said, voice a little too stiff for his liking. [Name] didn’t seem to buy into it either, though she didn’t bother to push further, most likely for privacy’s sake.

“Whatever you say…”

Wonwoo let a comfortable silence they were familiar with wave through them, the scraping of their sneakers against the pavement being the only sounds to come from them. Every now and then, he shot glances their way, watching as [Name]’s eyes blinked a little too hard at street lights.

Heh. Cute.

“What?”

“Huh?” Wonwoo asked, heart hammering out of his chest as he realized he just verbalized a very, very private thought. “I said, ‘Huh. Cool.’ at that star over there.”

[Name] glanced up at the sky, a frown on her face as she attempted to find whatever star it was Wonwoo was pointing at. “I don’t see a star—”

“You’re just blind then.”

“You—!”

She was about to cry. He didn’t even need to look at her to tell that she was crying; he could hear her sniveling all the way from the kitchen. Peaking over the window counter, Wonwoo glanced over at [Name] narrowing her eyes at her computer screen.

Yeah, she's definitely going to cry. And she definitely hadn’t eaten yet. No matter how many times Wonwoo warns her about her health, [Name] had a tendency to avoid eating until she was finished with whatever assignment it was she was working on. And crying was just a natural response out of her for papers at this point—meaning she was dehydrating and starving herself at this point.

Wonwoo glanced at his plate, which consisted of a sloppy looking burger at what Mingyu had attempted to teach him earlier.

“How can someone so independent be so useless at something like cooking?” He remembered Mingyu complaining after another failed attempt at making a burger with him the other night. Wonwoo had essentially trapped his poor underclassman, under the guise of offering to edit his literature papers for the rest of the next semester if he helped him achieve the impossible: cooking a decent meal.

“What even made you want to do this in the first place? You never found it interesting until now.”

“Something came over me.”

“Well let’s hope it passes over soon because you’re an impossible student at this point.”

Wonwoo was surprised he hadn’t managed to burn down a portion of their kitchen when he made the meal. Still, it didn’t stop the fact it looked like it was going to come to life at some point.

He sighed. “Even I wouldn’t eat something like this…” He mumbled, looking over at [Name], who is still engrossed in her paper. Her hair was down, a sight he was the only one he was able to see often since she kept it tied up and away when they weren’t at home. Her eyes were watering, from the computer screen or tears of frustration, Wonwoo wasn't sure anymore. 

[Name]’s lips were chapped too, obviously neglecting any water despite the water gathering behind her eyes. She licked at them in an attempt to ignore the growing sahara in her throat. Wonwoo swallowed down his nervousness, the burger thrown into the trash and a cold glass of water in his hand as he made his way to [Name].

Gently, he placed the water against the back of her neck, causing her to jump up with a scream. [Name] gripped at her laptop screen as she spun around, eyes wide awake now. Wonwoo could only offer a dismantling smile, offering the water to her wordlessly. [Name], still quite offended at his sudden presence, took it gratefully, chugging the water without question and setting it down on the table.

“Let’s get some food.” Wonwoo suggested, nudging her arm with his hand gently.

Surprisingly, those words alone were enough (or it could have been the part when Wonwoo offered to pay for her meal). Wonwoo could only watch in amazement as [Name] seemed to have some sort of skip to her step as they made their way to their favorite restaurant, a hole in the wall noodle shop known to be open in the late hours.

The server, an older woman who seemed to practically live there, offered a smile and wave to the both of them as she set a bowl down to a table where a lone man sat. “It’s been a while.”

“It’s the time for finals.” [Name] admitted, flinching when Wonwoo placed his large hand on her head.

“I’m just dragging her out to eat.”

The older woman smiled. “How sweet of you. I’ll get your usuals out and you can take a seat anywhere.”

Both nodded, situating themselves against a wall as they sat and waited for their food. [Name] mindlessly tapped at the table, humming an English song—Taylor Swift?—to herself as she examined the people in the restaurant. Her eyes stopped a little longer at the table the woman stopped at earlier, eyes narrowing slightly as she examined the man.

Wonwoo recognized him, but wasn’t entirely sure where exactly he was from. Regardless, it’s hard to even notice him with the copious amounts of black he’s covered himself in, making him blend into the dark wall. A red watch was around his wrist, which seemed to constantly light up with messages he didn’t bother to look at as he sipped mindlessly at his noodles.

A frown settled on his face as [Name] continued to stare, though he bit back whatever jealousy was bubbling up in him. “You think he’s cute?” Wonwoo teased, hoping the smile on his face didn’t match the bitterness he bit back.

[Name]’s widened, face morphing to embarrassment. Clearly, she wasn’t expecting him to be watching her long enough to notice. “No! Nothing like that; I just know him. He’s one of the producers for BooSeokSoon Radio. I can’t remember his name. Lee Jimin?”

“Jihoon.” Wonwoo corrected, finally remembering him. “Isn’t he the one that got popular around campus because Hoshi posted a selfie with him when he wasn’t looking?”

“Yeah and everyone thought he was hot?” [Name] whispered quietly. They both looked back this time, examining the man’s side profile. “I mean, they aren’t wrong.”

She laughed when she felt Wonwoo tug at a strand of her hair. “Superficial.”

“I’m just saying something we’re all thinking, Woo.” [Name] answered with a cheeky grin. Wonwoo rolled his eyes, though the bitterness was well pushed aside in favor of the easy going conversation.

Time flew by as they continued to speak, most of it being meaningless conversations, though Wonwoo hadn’t minded. He wasn’t much of a talker, meaning [Name] was the one who continued with the rambles and he was more than willing to not talk if it meant just watching and listening to her.

It seemed like forever when the food arrived. Wonwoo wasn’t exactly concerned with however long it took, if he were to be honest, but something in his stomach flipped when he watched [Name]’s eyes widen in excitement when favorite noodles were placed in front of them. [Name] made sure to smile up at the old woman and provided a grateful thank you before turning to her food.

Wonwoo watched her push her loose hair out of the way as she slurped at the noodles, not caring how messy it looked. She had been hungry and clearly hadn’t realized until now. A laugh almost escaped him at how her cheeks looked filled with noodles. Kind of like a chipmunk. A very cute chipmunk.

[Name] turned her eyes up, nearly making Wonwoo’s eyes widen when he realized two things: 1) He had yet to put his head down to eat his own noodles and 2) he was definitely smiling like an idiot right now.

“You okay?” [Name] asked curiously.

Wonwoo only nodded, wordlessly dipping down to eat his meal, so he wouldn’t be able to say no, he most definitely wasn’t okay. Especially when someone like her was always around him and he couldn’t seem to find any sort of courage to do anything about it.

“Wonwoo’s acting weird.” [Name] muttered. She was currently frowning at her paper, eyes practically glued to her computer. Chan nodded, clicking at his keyboard loudly as he listened to her.

After [Name]’s cry session with him, their friendship had graduated past the usual ones co-workers fall into—polite conversations turned into confession nights about their respective tumultuous love lives. Chan liked to call it a newly found kinship, while [Name] liked to call this an emotional support coworker situation.

There were even a few times both met outside of work settings to study together when no one else was able to come with them, like right now. They were sitting in a library, [Name] mulling over her research paper while Chan studied for his physiology final.

“What do you mean by that?” Chan inquired.

“He’s just been… Weird.” [Name] frowned at the word, not liking the sound of it to describe the taller man, though she hadn’t been wrong.

It was no secret that Wonwoo was quiet. But not as quiet as he’s been as of recent. [Name] could be sitting in their living room or eating whatever was left in their fridge in the kitchen and she wouldn’t notice him suddenly standing behind her, which frightened her a little too much.

Naturally, she would chastise him for making her jump, but he’d only reply with a quiet apology with a follow of silence afterwards once he made himself comfortable. 

His eyes were always seemingly focused elsewhere, too. Wandering or gliding somewhere else whenever she found herself staring at him. Usually [Name] would come to some kind of conclusion as to why he was acting so differently, but even after a week of trying to figure him out, she couldn’t figure him out.

“Maybe he’s mad at you.” Chan suggested, eyes still trained on his notes.

“Mad at me for what?” [Name] muttered, mainly to herself. A buzz from her phone brought her back, looking down and sighing as she read her text. “Speak of the devil.”

Chan lifted his head, eyes trained on [Name] as she typed a response to Wonwoo. A grin spread on her face as her phone buzzed again from whatever message it was Wonwoo sent back to her. “Jesus, just date the man already. You’re grinning like an idiot. Also, you said no phones until 7:00PM.”

[Name] rolled her eyes. “It’s 6:54.”

“Yeah. Still not 7:00PM.” Dino responded, holding his hand out, to which [Name] maneuvered herself away from him. “Hey, you can’t break the rules!”

“It was a roommate situation.”

“A roommate situation or a Wonwoo is the one texting situation?”

[Name] offered a glare his way. “Roommate. Apparently something happened with the air conditioning in our apartment and we need to talk to our landlord, like, right now.”

Chan narrowed his eyes, clearly trying to see if she was fibbing. He let out a sigh, waving his hand away. “Yeah, yeah. Go deal with it then. You better be finished with your paper by the time I see you again.”

“Yeah, yeah…” [Name] said dismissively, packing her bag quickly. 

She nearly lost her grip on the bag, however, when Chan added. “And you better turn that Wonwoo texting situation into a Wonwoo kissing situation.”

“Chan—”

“Bye.”

Chan turned his head down, popping an earbud into his ear, visibly turning the volume up on his laptop so he couldn’t hear her anymore. [Name] muttered a quiet groan, face heating up as she stomped out to make her way to her shared apartment with Wonwoo.

From [Name]:

how exactly bad is the a/c situation? Sent 06:58PM

From Wonwoo 😶:

tundra. Sent 06:59PM

From [Name]:

…what? Sent 06:59PM

“Yeah, your A/C is broken.” The landlord commented. [Name] only blinked at him while Wonwoo could only respond with a stiff nod.

“Well… Duh.” [Name] said, motioning to her and Wonwoo, who were both covered head to toe in the fuzziest blankets known to man. By the time [Name] made her way home, Wonwoo had been near the door to drape a blanket over her and offer a warning that it was too cold to not have one on at the moment. “How long do you think it’ll take for the system to be fixed?”

The landlord hummed, not taking his eyes off his phone. An annoyed irk stung through [Name], only fighting off the urge to argue with him when Wonwoo placed a comforting hand on her lower back. Their eyes met briefly, [Name] clearly a bit confused but Wonwoo spoke up, albeit calmer in comparison to [Name].

“We just need to know so we can take precautions.” Wonwoo explained. “It’s starting to become colder outside and we’re at a higher part of the apartment complex…”

“I’d say maybe a week then.” The landlord said.

“A week…” [Name] mumbled to herself, wondering how they could possibly deal with something that long.

“I’d suggest maybe finding a friend to stay with for the time being or maybe even just rent a hotel room for now.” The landlord, making both only stare at him as a response. Clearly, he forgot they were college students living on a budget.

“We’ll manage.” Wonwoo said, proceeding to speak with the landlord while [Name] sat off to the side, doing her best to will the cold away with her blanket. She waited to say something until their front door closed and Wonwoo’s soft footsteps found themselves making their way toward [Name].

[Name] didn’t fight back when Wonwoo sat as close as possible to her, enjoying the heat that radiated off of him. “So… What now?”

Wonwoo only sighed, rubbing at the spot where his glasses sat as he tried to think. “I mean, if you’re really cold I’d say maybe follow the landlord’s suggestions? I can stay here and wait for when the electrician comes next week—”

“I’ll stay.” [Name] responded. “I’d feel bad if I left you alone here in the cold.”

Wonwoo nodded and they both slipped into an awkward silence. [Name] shifted slightly, not sure what to do next. Some part of her wanted to confront him, ready to ask him what was up with him for the past few weeks. Another part of her wanted to do something she���s been holding back on for so long: to confess.

From the corner of her eye, she can feel Wonwoo staring at her, as if anticipating something as well. [Name] bit at her tongue, deciding on neither as she picked herself up. “I’m going to get ready for bed. I’ll make sure to get you more blankets after I’m done.”

She walked off before she could hear Wonwoo talk. As much as she enjoyed his presence, the unaddressed pressure felt like it would have suffocated her if she stayed any longer. Maybe a warm shower might help calm her down? Maybe. [Name] wasn’t sure if something physical like that would help her in any way but it definitely was better than sitting and waiting for one of them to talk.

[Name] wasn’t sure how long she was in shower, but by the time she had been out, Wonwoo was already in his pajamas, pouring hot chocolate into two cups when she trudged into the kitchen. “Here. Drink it before you sleep.” Wonwoo offered, handing the warm cup into her hands.

Wonwoo was mesmerized. Well, for the past few weeks he’s been like that, a little mystified for his liking, but he couldn’t help it. No matter how small of a task she did, [Name] somehow managed to do it in her own kind of quirky way and Wonwoo picked up on every single habit.

Even when she was drinking the hot chocolate, he couldn’t help but notice the way [Name]’s fingers tapping at the ceramic cup every time she tilted the cup to tske a sip. He was sure his mouth dropped a little at the sight, but he was quick to close it when [Name] looked up at him. He averted his eyes to something else as well, not sure how he would react if she found him gaping at her like some lost puppy.

[Name] motioned a quick thank you, breathing in the sweet scent coming from the chocolate as she eyed the stovetop. “Did you try cooking again?”

Wonwoo was quick to hide the pan of eggs he accidentally burned earlier. “...No.”

“Jeon Wonwoo, what is with you and cooking these days?” [Name] chastised, walking around him, eyes widening in shock at the destruction behind his tall frame. She looked up at him, eyes filled with concern. “Are you sick of my cooking or something?”

“Wha—No!” Wonwoo countered. “I was just trying to learn so I could—”

He stopped mid sentence, biting back his next words. So I could impress you.

[Name] raised an eyebrow. “So you could…?”

“...cook for myself while you’re gone?” He said, hoping it sounded convincing enough.

[Name] examined him for a moment, eyebrows knit together as she processed his words.

“Are you sure?”

At this moment in time, Wonwoo wished he could just turn back time and not make up a lie like that again. “Mhm.”

“Okay then…” [Name] said, turning away, cup still in her hands. “Well, I’m going to sleep now. Goodnight.”

“‘Night.” Wonwoo said, keeping a stiff smile one his face until he couldn’t see her anymore. He dropped his head into his hands as he muttered to himself. “Jeon Wonwoo, you big idiot.”

[Name] wasn’t sure what else to do besides sleep. The energy meant for her paper flew out the window once she made it to her home. Most of it went into trying to think of their plan and the rest went into figuring out the mystery that is Jeon Wonwoo. If it hadn’t been so cold in her room, [Name] would have gotten a headache by now.

“Is he mad at me? Maybe he’s upset that I scolded him for the eggs?” She whispered to herself, thinking of Chan’s words. She shook her head. No, definitely not. But then why lie about his reasoning to start cooking?

Again, maybe it was a good thing the A/C wasn’t working for them. She’d rather focus on trying to get as warm as possible instead of what was beyond her door at this moment. She closed her eyes, thinking warm thoughts and warm places until she felt herself succumb to sleep.

At least, she tried to at least for the next two hours. She wasn’t sure how, but the cold managed to find its way under her large pile of blankets. [Name] could feel her own bones shaking at this point. She stayed under there for what felt like hours, feeling as if her body was going to freeze any time soon if she didn’t do anything about it.

A thought crossed her mind; a thought so seeded in desperation and exhaustion that [Name] thought she might be going crazy. She shook her head the minute an image flooded her mind.

If the circumstances weren’t so strange, [Name] wouldn’t even think twice in her decisions. Right now, [Name] was more than happy to stay curled up in a ball instead of whatever idea she just thought of.

[Name] was resolute with her ideas for several minutes, trying to convince herself it was warmer to stay where she was instead of ruining the little cocoon she made for herself. She had only given up when she felt a final cold breeze making its way through her back, causing goosebumps to erupt in her arms. She was quick to kick off her sheets and wrap them around her as she picked herself up and walked out her room and into Wonwoo’s.

He hadn’t been sleeping when she barged in, his glasses still attached to his face and whatever book he was reading was currently hanging off his fingertips as he looked up at [Name].

“What are you—” Wonwoo started, but was greeted with [Name] essentially flinging herself onto him.

“I’m cold and you’re the only other heater left in this place. Now, stay quiet and let me sleep because my bones won’t be as iced over when I wake up tomorrow.” [Name] responded in a rush, body pushed close enough to his body to the point that her cheek was resting against her shoulder.

Wonwoo could only look, not sure what to do next as she pulled her own blankets over his, trying to trap in as much warmth between them as possible. He set his book aside, hands hovering over her body as he tried to figure out what they should be doing next.

He decided to keep them at his sides, body barely moving as a million thoughts rounded off in his head. Why is she suddenly here? Was she that cold? God, what if he needs to use the bathroom? Her hair smells nice—

A slap to Wonwoo’s chest brought him back to reality. [Name] glared up at him. “Stop tapping your arm so much.” She grumbled, grabbing the arm against her’s. He hadn’t known it was moving so much. “Aren’t you uncomfortable laying like that? I know you sleep like you’re strapped to some target.”

“I’m fine like this,” Wonwoo answered. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

[Name] offered him an amused look. “I’m never uncomfortable if it’s you, Woo.” She responded honestly. A warm feeling erupted from his chest at that confession. “Even if you’ve been acting weird lately.”

Wonwoo laughed. “Who said I was being weird?”

He yelped when a painful sting came to his forehead. [Name] sat up onto her elbows, glaring at the tall man as if he said something offensive. “Don’t play dumb. I don’t get why, but you’ve been staring off into space lately and won’t look me in the eye sometimes. It’s a miracle we’re talking right now.”

His playful gaze softened immediately when they met her sharp ones. “Sorry, I didn’t know I was doing that so much lately. It’s just… I’m a coward.”

“A coward?” [Name] asked, raising an eyebrow.

Wonwoo nodded. “A big, fat coward.” He echoed back. “Call me an idiot, but why did it take me twenty-two years to realize I was in love with someone I’ve known my whole life?” [Name]’s eyes widened, but not a sound came from her. Wonwoo took it as his chance to keep going. “We grew up together, now we’ve lived together for almost four years so how come now is it that I realized that I’ve been hopelessly in love with you?”

“I—”

“Even before I realized, I was so annoyed when guys came up to you and I never once felt like I had to put something up whenever you’re around. And it took me this long to realize it wasn’t just because you were my best friend.” Wonwoo continued, not sure when he’ll have another opportunity to say something like this. He was scared, especially since this was so spontaneous—a trait he wasn’t exactly known for.

“Woo—”

“Look, you can reject me tomorrow but can we just stay like this—”

He wasn’t able to finish his sentence. How could he? A pair of lips slotted against his stopped him before he could utter his last words. Wonwoo stared up in shock. Half because he just confessed and half because oh my God, [Name] is kissing him. His mind blanked when she let up, a grin evident on her face.

“We can stay like this however long you want.” She offered, smiling. “Just, at least let me say that I do wonder, too, why it took you so long to figure that out when I’ve been waiting for a while now.”

Wonwoo’s jaw dropped. “You—Like romantically?”

“Would I have kissed you if it wasn’t?” [Name] countered, the pretty smile never leaving her face as she spoke.  “If it makes you feel better, I didn’t really pick up on your actions either; but that’s just because you’re a big oaf with no sense of emotional direction sometimes.”

“How long have you been waiting?” Wonwoo interrogated, turning his body fully towards her,

“Last year of high school. You earned high awards for all of high school and your parents threw you a party for high achievements. You didn’t even hesitate to take out that permanent marker and write my name down next to yours on that congratulations banner.” [Name] revealed, pushing some strands of hair out of his space as she spoke.

Wonwoo groaned. “That long?” He asked, embarrassment running through him. He laid his forehead against her shoulder, which shook from her laugh.

“Better late than never.” [Name] offered, though she wasn’t sure if she should be saying much either. She was more than ready to let her feelings for him die with her if he wasn’t going to say anything. Not to mention, she hadn’t exactly listened to anyone when they were pointing things out about him either (she had a feeling Chan was going to say something snarky when they meet again).

Wonwoo pulled her down to him, pressing himself as close to her as possible as he hugged her tightly. “Well, I guess I’ll have to make up for the four years of leaving you hanging like that.”

“That’s fine with me.” [Name] agreed, humming when she felt his lips press at the top of her head.

“That is, after you finish your essay, I mean.”

“Why do you like ruining nice moments…”

[macbeth-n-cheese]

A Brief Commentary on Ghouls

By (not yet) Professor (almost) Doctor Mac (that's me)

But in all seriousness, the effects of radiation are something I find extremely interesting (as seen by my obsession with all things rad), and while I'm glad this isn't something you deal with everyday in a hospital, it would be a cool field to focus a career on. But I digress.

Ghouls, the radioactive zombies of the wasteland.

For once the vagueness of the lore was a positive thing! It left enough space for hyperfocusing nerds like yours truly to hypothesize about them. After screaming about how absurd wrong mostly everything on the wiki is, of course. Onwards!

Gorgeous Looks

Our friends the ghouls were strongly based on real-life victims of nuclear disasters (don't look it up, it's worse than what we see in the games), on the later stages of radiation sickness.

There are different types of waves emitted by nuclear material, but our focus will be on the ionising radiation, the variety capable of altering or even destroying DNA molecules, and possibly killing the cells. Think of it as a fire: the closer you get to it, the warmer you'll feel, but in this case 'fire' is 'nuclear material' and 'warmth' is 'your superficial cells slowly dying from the outside and in as radiation penetrates the layers of you.'

(I will not get into much detail on the ghoulification process now, because I believe it deserves its own, more elaborate post. But hey, Chernobyl from HBO did a fantastic job in portraying radiation sickness. It's definitely not for the faint of heart, but a must watch if you're interested in this type of stuff.)

As the outer skin (epidermis) dies out, it begins to necrose, and slides away like it would in a severe burn case, with excruciating amounts of pain and enough suffering to drive someone insane (more on it later). Hair, nose, ears, most of the lips, they eventually peel off of the body in the more extreme cases, and the survival rates aren't good if you reach this stage.

This would be a decisive point in a pre-ghoul's life, where he will either die of the many ailments that could afflict someone who's lost their outer layer of skin (infections, dehydration, hypothermia, shock, etc etc), or live to see Courier 6 put a bullet through Benny's head, with the help of his newly developed Mutation™.

If he survives, gets away from the direct source of ionising radiation, and develops the mutation I'll talk about in a while, the skin will slowly begin to regenerate, forming a thick, sturdy and leathery scar tissue over most of his body. Hair and lost cartilage will not grow back, and previous injuries like chronic conditions or bone deformation from fractures will not be fixed as well, but hey, immortality.

So, ghouls aren't walking corpses, they're literally living, breathing people, who "just" suffered severe rad burns and mutations on their DNA. Nothing at all like zombies.

Immortality?!

From the wiki: "The unnaturally long lifespan of a ghoul is also due to a mutation within the autonomic nervous system (...) The mutation in response to gamma radiation that produces ghouls disrupts the normal process of decay in the neurotransmitters along the spinal cord," and while the effort was great on their part, this is still a big genetic nope. Allow me a drop of pedantism (a very small one because human genetics is a seven-headed beast):

The process of ageing in humans is essentially due to the natural degradation of the extremities of our chromosomes (bundles of genetic material inside the cells' nucleus), parts known as telomers, that basically don't express DNA and act as a protective layer for the segments that do. A good analogy for them is when you burn the tip of a nylon rope to keep it from fraying. Every time a cell replicates itself, be it for growth, tissue repair or etc, the chromosomes can get a tiny bit shorter, sacrificing part of the telomer to preserve the rest of the DNA, even though some of it is rebuilt by the enzyme telomerase. However, seeing as the only two infinite things in life are the universe and human stupidity (and cancer, keep tuned), the telomer will eventually get smaller and smaller until the cell's capacity of replication is significantly crippled, and it eventually gets destroyed by the organism (apoptosis). The first obvious sign of this is wrinkles on the skin, because the renewal of its cells is diminished, and what follows is the typical old-personhood.

In most cancer cells, there's a ridiculously high expression of telomerase, rendering the tumor immortal, both for the quick reconstruction of the telomer, and for tricking the body into seeing its cells as brand new ones. Now, what causes cancer? Among other things, exposure to extreme levels of radiation, because ionising radiation (the dangerous kind of radiation) can damage the DNA structure.

There's a lot of deep genetics in between this and the apparent immortality of a ghoul, but I can say for sure that it was a massive lucky strike for them to develop a mutation like this. Most of their cells must've had technically become cancerous to reach results like those, but they don't replicate wildly like a regular malignant tumor. They behave almost normally, and just don't die! So I assume the mutation affected something in the telomer/telomerase activity and/or in the process of apoptosis (natural destruction of cells due to old age/factory damage). It would've had to be a very, very specific kind of mutation, and if we were to throw some realism into fallout, the incidence of ghouls would be drastically smaller.

Summing it up, the mutation they suffered affected the individuals on a cellular level, from the outside in, seeing as the deeper layers are the last to be penetrated by radiation.

Regular Ferals

The behaviour of a feral ghoul is... very strange. They're extremely aggressive and canibalistic, but not to one another. They pay little mind to physical injuries and are incapable of rational thoughts. They growl, drool, and overall behave like rabid animals, which could mean that the "outer" layers of their brains (like the frontal lobe, which is responsible for most of what makes us rational) have suffered significant, irreparable damage. Ground zero ghouls, who survived being subjected to higher doses of radiation, would most definitely become Ferals.

Regarding pain, it's important to mention that the brain itself naturally feels no pain, it only interprets and processes pain signals coming from the rest of the body, and the center of distribution for those signals is the thalamus (but I could be wrong), a very inner part of the encephalus. If something between the thalamus and the spinal chord or the rest of the brain is damaged, the notion of pain would be lost on the individual. Mutations could also have something to do with their perception of pain and tolerance towards it, but I couldn't say.

On our next episode, I'll try to focus on the physiology of a ghoul and the health challenges they may face, and if I have enough sanity left, speculate on glowing ones and other special types of ghoulies. (Also shout-out to Raoul, Kent, Arlen, Edward, John, Billy and Charon for being my fav irradiated babies)

P.S.: If you guys want to hear me babble about something specific, hmu! Those things really help me study lol

[i-am-thedragon]

The other day I had a rather peculiar lucid dream. Not so much because of what happened in it but because of how vivid it was and how long it lasted.

I was flying around over cities and neighbourhoods trying to find my way back home. Not sure why I wanted to get home so bad, considering it was a lucid dream and not even real, but I did. One thing that struck me was how beautiful a lot of the buildings in this dream were. Big, beautiful mansions, town centres that mixed modern and classical, et cetera.

At some point I flew over an area that had towers resembling the Swan Bell Tower, and the longer I looked, the more of them appeared. I was verbally describing everything I saw along the way, just talking to myself, but I was holding a laptop which I would use to communicate to people though text.

I eventually found the coast, which had me excited because I could easily follow it back to my house (which is very close to the beach). I flew for ages, eventually stopping to ask someone where my home was. They responded a bit cryptically but from what I could gather it was back towards where I had started from. Bummer. I willed myself into warping back to the start and continued my search.

Along the way I encountered some sort of family clinic, looking inside to find childlike drawing decals on the walls alongside names of various unpleasant ailments. When I found locations I was familiar with, not from real life but from previous dreams, I would get excited and assume my home was close, but they would eventually just stretch on forever.

One such location was an area filled with building sites, a mixture of sandy lots and plain concrete walls. It was in here that I found my mother, and I was very happy to see her, but quickly realised she wasn't really her but rather some sort of facsimile. She was smoking a cigarette (in real life my mother quite a few years ago) and made some strange comment about killing babies?

I never did find my house, of course, as these dreams tend to go. I don't know why, but there always seems to be an element of frustration to my dreams, where whenever I am trying to find something or complete a task I there is always something preventing me from doing do.

[nicetrynicetry]

165

Saturday and I’m apologising to A for crying on FaceTime once again, this time over my feeling inferior for using backing tracks in my live show. There is, apparently, no blow to the ego too niche. If the previous chapter of my Zoloft withdrawal journey was dizziness and mild nausea, this chapter will forever be the one in which I chose to find anything wrong with anything I do or have done or plan to do and feel immense shame about it, and make A pay for that shame. We spend Friday night talking about a band he works with performing The Daily Show and how, since finding a choir and a sitar player for the show seems far fetched, they will have to resort to using a track. I tell A I use track for all of my songs except one, because of the vocal harmonies. “Yeah actually the last album cycle I did for my ex-girlfriend’s band we didn’t use any track. They’re more of a real rock band, you know?” And I spiral. And spiral and spiral. Don’t ask me why, I just do. I remember an older NPR interviewer once asking a young musician why she uses a click track and pre-recorded sounds in her live show, “surely you lose some of the magic, and it’s not a real performance”, he said, dramatically straining his voice to drive his sadness home. And of course this is a generational difference, and A is of a different generation. Gen X and up want rhythmic purism, everything played by hand. But as the musician fighting off the NPR veteran said, “look, I play every instrument on the recording, and I arrange it myself. So when I get a click, I deserve it”

I go to bed after we hang up and I cry over Love On The Spectrum, when two Australian autists get married and they are both so impatient to spend the rest of their lives together they are stimming at the altar. I sleep like a dead Victorian child. I wake at 9am to the sound of a man attacking a woman just outside my front door, her screaming and him begging her to “make a deal”. I consider calling the police, rubbing my eyes to loosen the crust that built up overnight. I hear another woman, a different woman, yell “CUT”, and I realise they are shooting an independent film on my terrace. After I meditate through the sounds of the same violent scene being performed again and again, I leave the house to find a 20 person crew huddled around a woman lying on my doorstep with makeup applied to her neck to look like bruises. “Hello”, says the director. I remember seeing a letter put through my door the day before telling me there would be a film shoot happening. I just didn’t imagine it blocking my exit to the studio. I scowl at every single member of the cast and crew, and ride away. What’s the point in home ownership if you can’t say “get off my lawn” with your eyes?

I paint as much as I can before C arrives for the catch-up session of the century. The last time we saw each other we were at The Book Of Mormon, walking through central London singing Turn It Off. He was dumped the following day, and spent the 5 weeks we were apart in an introverted depression. But depression for grown ups, which means still going to work and ironing one’s shirts despite the malaise. Different from young person depression, which is moving back home and eating Monster Munch from a bag balanced on one’s chest seeing no way forward. He shows me a video of a white woman with an Indian man talking on Tik Tok about all the crazy sex they had and then the Indian man with his hand on the Quran letting his family know the video was a deepfake and that he’s going to the police. I tell him the things about LA that are too impure for this blog, and my many ailments. “Egg freezing is just cryptocurrency for women”, I say, after a long conversation about having kids and not having kids. A woman at dinner will later tell me she can “see a glint in my eyes” that I am going to “bear children soon”. C went to Marseille and brought back stories about the people we grew up with and their tragic lives. One is living on French unemployment because it’s a better deal than actually working at bars. Another, who went to art school and got chlamydia, has run out of women to pretend he loves enough to live with them rent-free, and thus bought a giant van to call home. He plans to make its windows stained-glass, depicting fire, and with lettering that says “HOUSING CRISIS”. He will break into a lot and park the van there illegally, then weld the gate shut so nobody notices. Everybody else we know is a little better off, but they all still skateboard or rollerblade

I go home, shower, meditate, walk to dinner hosted by P. I am the only attendee not in journalism. We eat Israeli food and the restaurant owner checks on us and I feel momentarily star struck because I own all of his cookbooks and his are the only email blasts I don’t plan to banish from my inbox. Talk turns to the heyday of journalists’ expenses, everybody citing an article in Slate from the 1990s detailing the lavish lifestyles of Condé Nast editors. Apparently journalists kept New York restaurants afloat back then. Journalists are now poor. Very poor, when you take into consideration the important work they do. Some pieces are more important than others, of course, but far lazier and more immoral people in this world get better plane seats and nicer lunches for far less work. I know this is how the world works, but it shouldn’t. The way public libraries close down at weekends now but there is ample funding for police department dance teams. Everybody at the table sighs a long sigh. One guy is chasing a story about the owner of Sotheby’s auction house, says he finds the art world so fascinating. “You sit in these beautiful offices with amazing coffee while you talk to the most duplicitous person you’ve ever met”, he explains. I try to work out how much of my life he is describing. Maybe 30%, but only because I’m spectacularly lucky. If I’m going to be betrayed, I would rather it be in a comfortable chair. But I would also trade in every comfortable chair for a buckling spindly one if it meant I could trust everything everyone in the art world tells me. I am asked about the art market, and Larry, and why I don’t find it distracting to listen to podcasts while I paint. “I just don’t”, I say, and silently plead with my table mates not to ask me what podcasts I listen to. They do, of course, because journalists. I explain my love of Shane Gillis for ten minutes, stopping just short of defending Joe Rogan. I place a whole falafel in my mouth to signal that I’m done talking. I make everybody laugh, then P makes everybody laugh. I still have the hots for him, it turns out, perhaps less than before. I find myself looking at his crotch when he can’t see me doing it. I know I’m not at an art dinner because the bill comes and everybody throws their card at it. I scold myself for thinking this would be paid for, for being spoiled enough to assume it. It’s been a minute since I paid for alcohol I didn’t consume. It is raining when we leave the restaurant, and I walk with P in a small group, splitting off to go home. It rains on my phone as I make a dent in the crossword puzzle. I try A but not answer. I don’t blame him, honestly

[ravennm84]

Doctor’s Note

We all know how Lila fakes having different diseases and medical problems, but what would happen if she actually got sick and her mother went to the school to drop off a doctor’s note and pick up Lila’s assignments? Want the answer? Warm-Fuzzies and please enjoy!

Greta Rossi could admit that she was a bit of a workaholic. Being the secretary to the assistant ambassador of Italy, in a city that was constantly under attack by a magical terrorist, was not the easiest job in the world either. It took a lot of early mornings, late nights, and even some weekends to make sure everything was prepared for her boss. But that didn’t mean that she wouldn’t drop everything for her one and only daughter when she needed her. 

Right now, for example, Lila was trapped in bed with a nasty case of strep throat. The poor girl had a fever, white pustules at the back of her throat, and could hardly stop coughing. It was only due to some very strong medicine that she was able to stop coughing long enough to pass out from exhaustion. 

She had contacted her work to let them know she would be taking the week off, and the ambassador had been very understanding. Stressing that he knew how dedicated she was to her work and that it was good for her to take time off for her family. It was only after Lila was sound asleep that she made the phone call to her school, she wanted to make sure they knew why Lila was staying home and that she would be in later that afternoon to pick up her daughter’s assignments for the next week.

The principal, M. Damocles was his name, seemed very happy to have spoken to her and said that he would have her assignments waiting when she came to pick them up. Also, if she could bring the doctors’ notes with her, that would be very much appreciated.

Checking again that Lila was sound asleep, she left a note on her daughter’s bedside table that she was running some errands, would be home soon, and to text her if she needed anything. 

Arriving at the school, she was surprised to see everything running so smoothly and that the reconstruction after the two month akuma attack had been gone so well. She was impressed that she couldn’t even tell the difference between the old and new parts of the building. But then, she wasn’t overly skilled with architecture or building construction, so that wasn’t a surprise to her. 

A few knocks on the door and she entered M. Damocles office. She had only met the man a couple times, but he had seemed like a decent person. It was a shame that he had been akumatized for so long and she was curious about what had happened to cause him to be akumatized, but she wasn’t sure if it was proper to ask him.

“Mme. Rossi, good to see you. I understand that Lila has fallen ill?” He asked, spinning around to grab a blue folder behind his desk.

“Yes, the poor dear has strep throat and has been coughing nonstop for days.” Greta told him as she pulled the doctor’s note from her purse. “Here’s the note you requested, do you have her homework packet?”

Damocles looked over the note for a moment before nodding and looking at her expectantly. “Thank you, do you have her other doctor’s notes?”

Greta tilted her head in confusion. “Does she need more than one? It’s just strep throat, she should be back to school after next week.”

“No madam, this is all I need for her current leave from school. I was referring to the doctor’s notes for her tinnitus, arthritis, sprained wrist, and her lying disease. That last one especially, and any information you can give me on accommodating that one so we do not have a repeat of the incident last month.”

Nothing in the world could have kept her jaw from dropping. What he had just told her? “M. Damocles, everything you just said is completely false. Lila has no such ailments, and I don’t think there is such a thing as a lying disease, unless you are referring to pathological lying.”

The man blinked back at her a few times before raising one hand to rub his brow. “Oh my, Mme. Rossi, I believe you and I must have a long discussion about the things your daughter has been saying and doing since she started school here.”

Her legs were stiff as she lowered herself into a chair, a sick feeling growing in her stomach as M. Damocles pulled a different folder out from his desk.

~oOo~

Over two hours later, many truths had finally come out. 

1) The school had never closed for months due to akumas. 

2) When M. Damocles had been akumatized, it had been at night and did no damage to the school. 

3) Greta was not the ambassador, but a secretary. 

4) Lila did not suffer from any diseases. 

5) They had been in Paris since Lila had started school, no globetrotting whatsoever. 

6) She and her husband were not estranged, he had simply wanted to stay at his dream  job in Venice and she would never force him to leave it for her temporary assignment here in Paris. 

7) Lila’s grandmother was alive and had never owned or given Lila a foxtail necklace. 

8) The phone number on file was Lila’s number, not Greta’s. And the email was supposed to be ‘.gov’ not ‘.com’.

Damocles had also called one of Lila’s classmates to his office, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. When the principal told Greta about the incident from the previous month, she was shocked. Then Marinette told them her side of the story; all the lies, the threats, and finally setting the poor girl up to be expelled. Greta had never been so angry with her daughter in her life. Sure, she had been a good little story teller and actress when she was little, but she never would have thought she could be so cruel.

By the end of her explanation, Marinette was practically in tears.

When she mentioned that Adrien Agreste also knew of Lila’s lies, he was called to the office as well. He was a little more reluctant to talk about what Lila had been saying, but Greta insisted that she wanted to know what her daughter had been doing since coming to school, so he told her. If she hadn’t been disgusted before, she definitely was now. Getting Adrien’s father’s employees in trouble, lying about being friends with Ladybug all while telling Greta that she was a useless hero, sexually harassing Adrien while the boy didn’t even realize that was what she was doing to him. She had become a Gabriel model without her permission, which meant that Lila had likely forged her signatures on the contracts, so she would need to contact M. Agreste to get that sorted out. One of the things that surprised her was hearing that Lila had been akumatized, not once or twice, but three times! 

Not long after that, M. Damocles dismissed the children so he and Greta could finish speaking. He told her that, due to falsifying contact records and two months of truancy, Lila was likely to be expelled. Greta accepted this, knowing that she would have done the same thing in that man’s position. In fact, she already had a plan forming on how to thoroughly punish her deceitful daughter. And since Lila had basically been quarantined for the next week and a half, she knew exactly what to do.

First, she began the paperwork to have Lila pulled out of Francois Dupont, effective immediately and asked to go speak to Lila’s classmates. After hearing what her daughter had put Marinette through, she wanted to make sure everyone knew the truth. Damocles allowed this, first pulling Mme. Bustier from the class to alert her as to what was happening. The woman was appalled to hear what had happened but insisted that she had been in contact with her for months via email, to which Greta informed her that it was not her email, but one that Lila had likely set up to keep the school from contacting her. This shocked the teacher to the point where she heavily leaned against the wall and M. Damocles had to support her to keep from collapsing.

When Greta was finally permitted to address the class and debunk the lies that her daughter had been spewing, there had been a lot of shock and questions to follow. But when a girl named Alya began furiously typing on her phone to blow up at Lila, Greta stopped her.

“I’m going to ask that none of you contact Lila from now on.” Alya and the other students looked at her in surprise, but she continued before anyone could interrupt. “I have already begun putting her punishment into motion and know for a fact that it will not be something she will forget anytime soon. So I ask that you do not call, text, or email her. If she attempts to contact you, tell her that you are busy and can’t talk. If she attempts to invite you over or make plans for the future, tell her that you are unavailable or that you already have plans. If she makes any threats or rude remarks to anyone, please forward those messages to me, I will leave my number for you to do so. Do this so that I may move forward with her punishment without her suspecting that I have discovered the truth.”

Having finally had the wool lifted from their eyes, the students realized just how much attention Lila seemed to demand on a daily basis. So, by acting like they were too busy for her or not in the mood to talk, that will drive her crazy and be a nice bit of revenge for lying to them. The class agreed.

After that, Greta headed home to find that Lila was still asleep but beginning to wake up, if the coughing was any indicator. While still having the chance, she called up her husband back in Venice.

“Pronto.”

“Mio amor, how are you? How are things at the school?”

“Ah, mia bella, the school is wonderful, though I must admit, my urge to see you and Lila grows by the minute. When will you come to visit me?”

“Very soon, actually. I’m afraid that you and I need to have a talk about our daughter.” About thirty minutes and a lot of cursing later, Ciro Rossi was now completely up to date on the actions of their daughter.

“I wish to say that I cannot believe Lila would do such things, but I can’t help remembering that boy, Roberto, from two years ago.”

Yes, Greta remembered him well. He had been a very popular boy at Lila’s school; handsome, rich, from a very well connected family, and from what she understood, completely dedicated to his boyfriend. She hadn’t paid him much attention until Lila came home crying that Roberto had attempted to sexually assault her. Greta and Ciro had refused to let such a thing go unchecked and went to the police to report him. During the weeks to follow, Roberto was put through hell; bullied at school, he was beaten up a few times, his boyfriend broke up with him, and his name slandered all over Venice. They had believed what happened to the boy to be justified… until proof was provided that he was nowhere near Lila when she claimed to have been assaulted. 

She suddenly recanted her story, saying that she must have been mistaken and someone that looked like Roberto assaulted her, but the damage had already been done. The boy and his family moved somewhere far away, and Greta and Ciro were forced to pay restitution to Roberto for ruining his name and reputation. Through her tears, Lila convinced them that it had been an honest mistake and that she hadn’t meant for any of that to happen. It wasn’t long after that, Greta received an offer to be the secretary for the assistant ambassador in Paris. Lila had begged her mother to go with her, claiming that her classmates were now bullying her for what happened to Roberto. Wanting to protect their daughter, they agreed.

Looking back on it now, and noticing the similarities between Roberto and Adrien, both Greta and Ciro were disappointed in themselves for not seeing the truth. Which likely was that Lila had tried to get close to Roberto for his money and connections, and when he turned her down, she lied about the assault to ruin his life, much like she had done to Marinette. And when it came out that she had lied about Roberto, her classmates had turned on her. So when she got the chance to start somewhere new, with people who didn’t know about her lies, she took it. Not caring if she harmed anyone at her new school while repeating old habits. But they were not about to let Lila do the same thing to Adrien or Marinette. Once Greta told her husband her plan, he was all for it and began preparing things on his end. By the time Lila was done being sick, her entire life would have turned upside down.

~oOo~

It took a lot more effort than Greta had expected to hide her intentions for the nine days it took for Lila to get over her case of strep throat, but she had been making good use of that time. 

She had contacted Gabriel Agreste’s secretary and asked about any contracts that may have been signed. When she told her she hadn’t signed any contract and that her daughter would no longer be modelling, the woman had no choice but to accept this and inform M. Agreste of this development. The woman also informed Greta that such a breach of contract would result in Lila being blacklisted from the fashion industry. She agreed and promised that she would inform her daughter of this once she was better.

Greta then looked into Lila’s savings and trust fund, of which she had control of since Lila was still a minor. She drained the accounts to pay restitutions to Marinette for bullying and slander, Adrien for sexual harassment; and then sent the rest of it to Roberto, along with a message that she was now completely aware of the type of person her daughter was and would be adequately punished very soon.

And to keep too much suspicion off of her, Greta began mentioning to Lila how her father desperately wanted to see her after she got better, so after the doctor gave her a clean bill of health, they would be going to Venice to see him. Now that she was watching, Greta saw the twinge of uncertainty at the mention of Venice, but quickly covered it with false excitement for going back to visit her father.

As the day grew closer that they would be heading to Italy, Greta also noticed Lila glaring at her phone with utter malice. She might not have known what was going on if Lila’s classmate, Alya, wasn’t keeping her up-to-date on what Lila was telling them. Her daughter was attempting to tell the class that she was going to be going on a trip with a famous singer after she was better, but her classmates were doing as Greta asked and treating the lies as if they meant nothing. When she accused Marinette of calling her a liar while she was sick and couldn’t defend herself, the class stopped responding. 

One message that was forwarded to Greta nearly had her abandoning her plan and confronting her daughter at that moment. It was a message that Lila had sent to Marinette, who had shared it with Alya, who then forwarded it to Greta. It read:

You fugly, no talent bitch! You think I don’t know what you’re doing? Those stupid sheep were eating up every single one of my lies before I got sick, and now they won’t even talk to me! Just you wait. When I get back to school, I’m going to ruin you in every way imaginable. No one will want to be your friend. By the time I’m done with you, I hope you kill yourself. Maybe I’ll convince someone that you tried to kill me and they’ll kill you for me. Either way, you’re dead. And even if you show someone these messages, no one will believe you over me. 

Greta forwarded the message to Ciro as well. He called her right away to discuss other accommodations that they would be making for Lila in the coming days. There was something seriously wrong with their daughter, and they refused to turn a blind eye to what was happening.

When the day finally came that Lila was better and they were heading to Venice, Greta instructed Lila not to pack her more expensive clothes as she would not want to lose them if their baggage got lost. What her daughter didn’t know was that Greta was planning on selling all of her designer clothes, jewelry, her electronics, and everything else to continue paying restitutions to Marinette, Adrien, and Roberto. And it wasn’t like she would need them soon, anyway.

The plane ride was a bit nerve racking for Greta, as she worried about giving something away and Lila figuring out her plan; but if she did, it didn’t show. When they landed at Venice Marco Polo Airport, she had to resist her sigh of relief. The plan was almost ready to be put in action. 

When she saw Ciro waiting for them in his dress whites, her heart sped a bit more. The man was, without a doubt, the most handsome man she’d ever met, and was the love of her life. Being away from him for so long was difficult, but what else could they do? Her husband was a Capitano di Vascello of the Italian Navy and had worked very hard to get where he was. Although he was semi-retired now and no longer served on a ship, he had followed his dream and became the Vice Principal for the premier naval academy in Venice, Francesco Morosini Naval Military School. 

He had gone to the school when he was younger and always claimed that it was the best experience he could have ever wished for. That being in that school saved his life. So when he continued into the navy to serve his country, he made it his goal to one day become the Principal of the school that saved him, so that he could do the same for other students. And now, they would be doing the same for Lila.

Greta and Ciro had thought of admitting Lila to Francesco Morosini when she came of age, but quickly realized that she was not the Navy type and did not want to force her into it. That choice was no longer Lila’s and she would be staying at the military school where it was Ciro’s job, not only as a father, but as an administrator of the school, to keep a close eye on any problem children.

Ciro embraced Greta and then Lila before taking their bags and walking them to his car. Lila was talking at length to her father about all her friends at school, all the happenings in Paris, and even mentioned her boyfriend, Adrien Agreste.

“You would like him, Papa. He’s a model, a gentleman, and his father is the designer, Gabriel Agreste. And he treats me like a princess!” Lila gushed as she showed her father a picture of Lila kissing the blonde boy’s cheek. Greta had seen that picture and had even asked Adrien about it while they had spoken in M. Damocles office. Lila had apparently kissed him without permission when she took that picture, and then sent it to every girl in Adrien’s contact list to make it seem like they were dating. 

Ciro played along, asking questions about her classes, Adrien, the akuma situation that he had heard about over the news, and other things to keep Lila from growing suspicious. Sure enough, she prattled on through the entire car and ferry ride to Venice. Only seeming to look around questioning when they arrived at the Naval school, rather than their apartment.

“What are we doing here?” She asked, looking at her father in confusion.

The two parents dropped the act and glared at their daughter in disappointment and anger. “I’m surprised at you, young lady,” Greta started. “Did you really think you could keep lying to us? We. Know. Everything.”

They watched as her olive skin quickly paled. “What do you mean? I didn’t lie, I sw-”

“We know the school never closed,” Ciro interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument or interruption. “We know about you lying to your classmates and teachers about having disabilities and diseases. We know about you changing our contact information on your school records. We know about you bullying and sexually harassing your classmates. We know about the threats you’ve made to that one girl. We know that you’ve been akumatized multiple times. We know the truth about what you really did to Roberto two years ago! WE KNOW EVERYTHING!”

With every word he said, Lila seemed to inch away from her irate parents and shrink into herself. At the same time, they saw the rage and contemplation in her eyes. She was angry at being caught and was already trying to think of a way out of trouble. Not that they would give her a chance to even try.

“But I didn’t li-”

“Lie number one, Ladybug is a useless superhero that let your school get damaged and spent months trying to deakumatize your principal, which is why you were out of school for two months.” Greta interrupted that time, pinning her daughter with a glare that she usually reserved for idiot interns who screwed up important paperwork at the embassy. “I personally spoke to your principal and looked into Ladybug. The school never closed. Ladybug and Chat Noir have always defeated the akumas and restored the damage thanks to their abilities. And you told the school that you and I were off globetrotting to places like Achu.”

Her eyes grew to the size of saucers. She was just beginning to stammer out an excuse when her father spoke over her.

“Lie number two, a girl named Marinette Dupain-Cheng has been bullying you because she is jealous of your relationship with your boyfriend, Adrien Agreste. We have seen the texts that you have sent that girl, the most recent saying,” Ciro pulled out his phone to read off of the text “‘...I’m going to ruin you in every way imaginable. No one will want to be your friend. By the time I’m done with you, I hope you kill yourself…’ Does that sound familiar to you?” 

“I also personally spoke to Adrien after I spoke to Marinette, and found out that not only are you not his girlfriend, but you have been sexually harassing him! You even showed us proof in that picture you took where you kissed him!”

“But that’s not sexual harassment!” Lila shot back at them as her panic grew.

“Any unwelcome sexual advances, requests for sexual favors, and other verbal or physical conduct of a sexual nature constitutes sexual harassment. Your mother and I memorized that when you accused Roberto of assault, which is another thing you lied about! And let me guess, you wanted to use that boy’s popularity and family connections for a leg-up, but he turned down your advances since he was gay. You didn’t take that rejection well, so you told us he assaulted you. Is that what happened?”

“How did you-” Lila interrupted herself that time by slapping her hand over her mouth, quickly realizing that she had confirmed what her father had just said.

“Well, congratulations young lady. You have earned a complete overhaul on your life.” 

“What do you mean?” Lila didn’t want to know, but it seemed like she had no choice but to ask.

“Your modelling contract with Gabriel is done,” Greta told her, noticing her wince since they weren’t supposed to know about that either. “I spoke with his assistant and discovered that you forged my signatures on the contracts to let you model. They were kind enough not to pursue legal action against you, but they have asked that I inform you that you have been blacklisted from the fashion industry, so that career option is completely closed off to you.”

“Your mother educated your friends at school with the truth. They know about all your lies and have kept us apprised of what you have been saying, the rumors you have been attempting to spread about going on a trip with a random music star, and were kind enough to forward that threatening message you sent to that girl, Marinette. They are no longer interested in being your ‘sheep’.”

“Not that you will be returning to that school,” Greta continued. “Your truancy has made that impossible, even if we did want you to stay there to face the consequences of your actions. Which includes paying restitution to the people you’ve hurt.”

“Paying!” Ciro and Greta watched as Lila’s right eye began to twitch as she snapped at them.

“Yes, paying. I’ve already emptied out your savings and trust fund to pay back Marinette, Adrien, and Roberto for what you’ve done to them-”

“You can’t do that! That’s my money!” She screamed, stomping her foot at her mother like a five year old throwing a tantrum.

“Money that you earned illegally modelling after forging my signature. And you are a minor, I am well within my rights to take that money to pay for the damages you have incurred. I will also be selling your laptop, tablet, mobile phone, as well as the clothes and jewelry you left in Paris. Seeing as you won’t be needing them anymore.”

As she said this, Lila clutched her phone and hugged it against her chest. “How am I supposed to talk to anyone without my phone?”

“Pen and paper, and if you need to speak with your mother, there’s my office phone or the payphone in the barracks, where you will be staying.” 

The girl’s eyes grew impossibly wide as she looked at her parents in a panic. They couldn’t mean…

Ciro smiled the smile that he used to greet the families whose children were in need of discipline. “Welcome to Francesco Morosini Naval Military School, where we strive to give children an education that will help them for their future and the world that waits for them.”

~oOo~

There had been a lot of begging, crying, and screaming after that as Lila did everything she could to try and change her parents’ minds. This was a total nightmare for her. Forced to wear a uniform she hated. Surrounded by students, teachers, and her father; all of whom knew that she was a liar. No one gave her the type of attention she craved, but everyone was giving her the overly watchful attention she despised. She couldn’t even enjoy becoming an akuma anymore, as she was far out of Hawkmoth’s reach.

Greta and Ciro had gone out to dinner afterwards in an attempt to de-stress, only to get a call an hour later that Lila had tried to steal a boat and run away from the school. She was put on a 24/7 watch after that, now required to wear a tracking monitor wherever she went and was on bathroom and floor cleaning duty for the foreseeable future.

When Greta returned to Paris, she went about doing exactly as she promised. She sold Lila’s electronics, clothes, and jewelry; only keeping a pair of plastic stud earrings that her grandmother had given her. She met with M. Damocles again to let him know that everything had been taken care of. She contacted the Dupain-Cheng family to let them know that Lila wouldn’t be bothering their daughter again. That was probably the most pleasant thing she did, as they were a lovely family and sent her off with a box of assorted scones, so yummy! When she had them send a box of goodies to her husband in Venice, he called her a few days later and begged her to send more whenever she could.

Lila absolutely hated seeing her father enjoy pastries from the bakery of her rival’s family. That, along with being forced to talk to a psychiatrist three times a week to make her admit that she was a liar and to figure out why she feels the need to lie. All while wearing a horrible uniform and actually having to clean. She was in her own personal hell. How she wished that she had never gotten sick.

Taglist:

@2confused-2doanything @7-sage-7 @aadnrsstar @abrx2002 @awkwardromances @bayball @babylovebug18 @botanicalfoxx @back-cats-and-broken-mirrors @caffeinetheory @cheshire5210 @chocolateherringtacofan @city-of-all-tunas @classycollectorreviewworld  @corabeth11 @chocolatechipcookiesandcamembert @darkened-flame @delightfulcookiesrecipespizza @fandom-trapped-03 @ghostmaster  @iamblinkmarvelarmy @interobanginyourmom @izang @jesussavedevenme @kazedancer @kitten12113 @lady-phoenix-of-tardis @lilypotter2018 @lunataravler @ladylupuscrow @maskedpainter @miraculouslydumb @nerd-nowandforever @naruwitch @ola-is-dead  @pandacatxd @plushbookworm @plz-excuse-my-inner-ravenclaw @pheonix-biach @pandora-fucking-box @raiderofthelostbooks @ramos123 @rowanrouge @rowanyx @ren121 @seesea22 @seraphichana @sashakoi @shypeacekitten  @tazer6787 @that-girl-sakea @thecrazyfantrollshasmoved @the-smallest-kittenz  @tishwinchesterannabethjackson @t1dwarrior-of-earth  @ulmban  @with-forward-motion @wonderbat91939  @zoiechance

[drabbles-mc]

Company and Conversation

Juice Ortiz x F!Reader

Request by Anonymous: What about a Juice x TellerFemReader where Chuck picks up on her feelings for Juice, and helps her to admit her feelings to Juice?

Warnings: language, Juice being an oblivious lil cutie

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: I know the request specified that the reader be a Teller but as I started writing, that bit didn’t really seem super integral to the plot so I just left it as F!Reader. Hope that’s alright! Enjoy some Chucky! xo

SOA Taglist: @garbinge @masterlistforimagines @adela-topaz-caelon @mijop @chibsytelford​ @xladymacbethx​ @i-just-read-stuff​ @kkim120​ @everyhowlmarksthedead​ @toni9​ @unicornucopia-fuckers​ @mayans-sauce​ @shadow-of-wonder​ @punkgoddess-98​ @paintballkid711​ @black-repunzel99​ @jitterbugs927​ @mrsstevenbuchananstark​ (If you want to be added to the list please let me know!)

You knew that sooner or later you were going to run out of bullshit things to ask for help with on your car. About ninety percent of the problems that you brought up to Juice, you knew what was wrong and how to fix it. However, it was one of the only ways that it ever got the two of you any kind of alone time to talk, even if it was just him asking you about what was wrong with the car and walking you through how to fix it. You could listen to him talk about pretty much anything.

“Thanks again, Juice,” you said as he shut the hood of your car, “I owe you one.”

He shook his head, a content little smile on his face, “You don’t owe me anything. But unfortunately, I think I’ve run out of free favors, so you do owe T-M a couple bucks for the part,” he laughed.

You chuckled, “Yea, yea of course.”

He nodded towards the office, “If you wanna go square up with Chucky I can get this all finished up for you.”

You nod, “Sure, thank you.”

You looked back over your shoulder as you walked over to the office to see Juice hopping into the driver’s seat. You hated that the sight of that instantly made a wave of warmth wash over you, your face heating up as you tried not to think about it too much.

“Hey, Chucky,” you smiled at him as you walked through the door.

He looked up at you from the desk, the same genuine smile on his face that he always greeted you with, “How can I help you today, Y/N?”

“Just gotta square up some repair payments?”

He tilted his head slightly, “Something else go wrong with your car?”

You shrugged, getting the gut feeling that Chucky was on the pulse of things around the compound, “Nothing serious. Juice fixed it pretty quick.”

“He must know your car really well by now,” he wasn’t looking at you as he pulled the paperwork together, but you knew the connotation of the comment.

“Well, nice to have someone around here who does,” you chuckled as you fussed with the bottom hem of your shirt.

He motioned for you to sit down across from him so you could go through the paperwork with him. It was a fast interaction, pretty straight-forward like things usually were with Chucky. You were signing the bottom of the paper as he ran your card. You could feel him looking at you but you didn’t comment on it.

“I’m sure he’d let you talk to him without having an excuse,” he said as he handed your card back to you.

“Hm?” you fumbled with your wallet as you heard what he said.

He nodded towards the parking lot, “I think Juan Carlos is just happy for the company and the conversation.”

“Yea,” you nodded slowly as you watched Juice scamper around the T-M lot, “maybe.”

You finished squaring everything up with Chucky and headed back out towards your car. Juice was leaning back against the door, keys dangling from his fingers as he texted on his phone. You walked up slowly, wanting to really take in the sight of him before snapping him out of whatever world he was in inside his head.

He heard your footsteps and looked up, a smile instantly coming across his face, “All set?”

You nodded, “All set.”

He pressed the keys into your hand, “Hopefully you’ll be set for a while,” he paused, smiling, “Not that I don’t love seeing you.”

You felt your face getting hot as you let out a nervous laugh, “Pretty sure you’ve restored almost the whole thing for me at this point.”

He laughed, nodding, “Pretty close.”

You twirled the keys around your finger nervously, “Thank you, Juice,” you fought the urge to step in and hug him.

Your hesitation must’ve been more apparent on your face that you thought because you saw the way that his expression shifted for a moment, “Anytime.”

You gave one last smile and nod before hopping into the driver’s seat. You turned the key in the ignition, taking a deep breath to get your thoughts in order as you did so. As you pulled out of the lot, you glanced into your rearview mirror and saw Juice still standing in the lot, watching you drive off with a smile on his face. You tried to subdue the smile that was fighting its way onto your face. Shaking your head, you focused your thoughts on the road.

“You know,” Chucky popped up, seemingly out of nowhere beside Juice.

He jumped back slightly, not having heard the man walk up, “Jesus Christ, Chucky,” he ran his hand over his mohawk, “Scared the shit out of me.”

“It’s good to stay aware of your surroundings, you know.”

Juice raised his eyebrows a little, chuckling, “Noted. What’s up?”

Chucky’s eyes lit up as he got back towards the reason he had come over to Juice in the first place, “You know, she’s here an awful lot.”

“Yea,” he agreed, blissfully unaware of where Chucky was directing the conversation, “Shit run of luck with that car of hers. Seems like its one thing after another.”

He looked over at Juice, trying to gauge whether or not he was purposely not seeing what Chucky had so clearly been seeing, or if he was really that unobservant, “That’s a considerable amount of bad luck in a short amount of time, isn’t it?”

His brows furrowed in confusion, “I guess so?”

Chucky let out a short sigh as he shook his head, “Awareness, Juan Carlos,” he turned and started walking back towards the office, “Work on your awareness.”

Juice watched him as he walked away, confusion still etched into his features as he whispered to himself, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

A few days later you found yourself sitting in your car in the T-M lot once again. This time, you had no cover story for being there, no mystery ailment for your car. It was just you, and your little drink tray that had a coffee for you, one for Juice, and a tea for Chucky. You nervously drummed your fingers on the steering wheel as you tried to muster up the courage to get out.

Taking one last deep breath, you cut the ignition, tucking your keys in your pocket before hopping out of the car and grabbing your drinks. You glanced over at the garage and saw that there were a couple mechanics around but none of them were from the MC. You scanned over the line of bikes and tried not to get discouraged as you walked over to the office.

You gently knocked on the door as you walked in, causing Chucky to look up from the paperwork spread out across the desk in front of him. When he saw it was you, a smile crossed his features.

“Y/N, you’re back,” he set his pen down, “Something I can help you with?”

You shook your head, “No, no. I just,” you took his cup out of the drink tray, “I brought you this.”

His eyes lit up, enamored by the gesture, “Really?”

You laughed, nodding, “Yea.”

He motioned towards the chair on the other side of the desk and you gladly took a seat. There were a million thoughts and questions resting on the tip of your tongue, but you kept them to yourself as you listened to Chucky talk. A lot of the time you couldn’t help but to think that out of everyone at the compound, no one enjoyed having a bit of company more than he did.

“Can I take a guess at who the third cup is for?” he asked, completely abandoning the previous topic.

It caught you a little off-guard as you sipped on your coffee, but you instantly felt the heat rising in your face, “I feel like you don’t need to call it a guess, Chucky.”

“He’s in the clubhouse if you want me to go get—”

“No!” you cut him off, immediately trying to regain your composure, “Sorry. Sorry. But, no, you don’t have to do that. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal.”

“A kind gesture is a very big deal.”

You chuckled quietly, “Right.”

“Is there a message being passed along with that coffee?” he lifted his cup to his lips, an intrigued look on his face.

You smiled, “Sometimes coffee is just coffee, Chucky. Just like tea,” you gestured towards his cup, “is just tea.”

“But there’s no reason for my tea to be anything more than tea.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could, Juice came bounding into the office, “Hey, Chucky, you ever get those order forms for—” he stopped when he saw you lounged on the other side of the desk, “Oh, hey,” he smiled, “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t,” you shook your head, “I was just—”

“I was just stepping out,” Chucky rose from his seat, making sure to grab his tea as he did, “I can go get those forms for you. Keep Miss Y/N company,” he walked past him, whispering very quietly under his breath, “Awareness, Juan Carlos.”

Juice chuckled, still not sure what Chucky was talking about as he stepped beyond the threshold of the office. He walked over to the desk, leaning back against it. You smiled, trying not to get distracted by the fact that he was only a few inches away from you. Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to speak.

“That’s for you, by the way,” you nodded towards the coffee cup.

“For me?” he looked pleased but confused.

“Yea,” you chuckled, “a little thank you for always fixing up my car.”

He laughed as he took the cup, drumming his fingers on the sides of it, “You really don’t have to thank me. Honestly, I just feel bad that you always have so much stuff going wrong.”

You let out a quiet laugh, “Yea. Um. About that.”

He raised his eyebrows as he sipped on his coffee, expecting you to say that something else had gone wrong. You took a breath to steady your nerves, trying to soak up the last few moments before you said something that you weren’t going to be able to take back.

“Most of the stuff that I brought it here for, I could’ve fixed myself.”

He tilted his head slightly, “What?”

“I just, um,” you hated that it was so difficult to say something so simple, “I just liked having an excuse to see you, to talk to you. I didn’t…I didn’t really know how else to do that.” It was evident on his face that he was trying to process everything that you were saying to him. you fussed with the lid of your cup, “I was told that maybe I should just be a little more direct about it.”

“Oh?” his smile was soft.

You laughed, “Yea. I’ve been made aware of a few things on my last couple of trips here.”

“You know,” he chuckled softly, “funny you should say that. Chucky was just telling me the other day that I’ve gotta be more aware.”

“Aware of what?”

“Everything, I guess?” he shrugged with a laugh, “Never really clarified.”

“I, uh,” your face heated up, “that might’ve had something to do with me. And my, um, car issues,” you threw air-quotes around the words.

“Oh yea?”

“Oh yea,” you laughed, nodding, “I…I really like you, Juice.”

His eyes widened, along with his smile, “Really?”

“Yea, really,” you chuckled, “What did you think this was—” you shook your head, “Never mind. Anyway. I like you. And, if you’re up for it, I’d really like to go grab a drink with you sometime. The coffee doesn’t count,” you smirked.

He laughed, “I’d like that.”

“Yea? Okay, great. Any chance I could get your number, then?” you pulled your phone out of your pocket.

He gladly took it from you and plugged his number in. There was a giddy smile on his face and it was impossible not to mirror his expression. He handed the phone back to you and you smiled as you looked over the number.

“Great,” you nodded as you tucked the phone back into your pocket, “I’ll give you a call soon, then.”

He beamed, “Looking forward to it.”

There was a beat of silence and you looked over at the door, gasping slightly when you saw that Chucky was leaning against the doorframe. Juice whipped his head to look as well, having the same reaction as you. He shook his head, not able to understand how he was still surprised when Chucky popped up places.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked.

He smiled knowingly, “Just the right amount of time.”

[thewhitefluffyhat]

Bernkastel’s Umineko Origins

What is this guide?

<< Previous (Bernkastel)

(Profile continued) “In theory, she holds the strongest power of any witch, but in practice, that is no more realistic than saying a piece of paper can reach the moon if you fold it a hundred times. And fold it a hundred times she did.”

Since “Gou is a Bernkastel origin story” is quite a widespread theory, I figured it might be useful to compile every single piece of information Umineko gives about Bernkastel’s past in one place.

This is meant as more of a comprehensive reference post, so if you’re not interested in that theory, feel free to skip this section! 

Next (Lambdadelta) >>

[Also, spoiler warning for part of one character’s plotline from Umineko Episode 4/Alliance in here.]

From Umineko Episode 2/Turn:

Bern was probably once (a) Rika. Hard to get more definitive than using Rika’s catch phrase in the ??? Tea Party.

Bernkastel: “...Umm, in times like this, what did I used to say again? ……...Umm, uh, ……...Fi-Fight o~n. Mii, nipah~☆ ...It's so embarrassing, doing this. I've done this much for you, so quickly stand back up.”

Bern is a witch born from being trapped in a game against Lambda.

Bernkastel: “You are now just like I was in the past, when I was imprisoned inside Lambda's world. Shut inside a labyrinth of cruel fate, tormented by a witch, in a manner of speaking. I am a witch who was born from there. So maybe I'm like an older sister to you. So I decided that I'd lend you my power.”

The last time Bern and Lambda played against each other, Bern won by using pieces that started in their most powerful state.

Lambdadelta: “…...W-well, last time, I felt just a little pity and said that she could start her pieces anywhere she wants, and then that idiot Bern totally didn’t pick up on compassion and started with aaall of her pawns promoted on the eighth rank!!”

(Source: https://lparchive.org/Umineko-no-Naku-Koro-ni/Update%2062/)

From Umineko Episode 4/Alliance:

According to Lambda, Bern has experienced being denied a happy ending herself due to being a witch’s piece, rather than the one who actually experienced the ending she found.

Lambdadelta: “You aren't Ushiromiya Ange. You're a witch's piece with that name. Strictly speaking, the name ANGE Beatrice belongs to a completely different person. Know what that means?"

Ange: “I’m... starting to think I don’t…… ...Huh? Huh? Who... am I? Huh?”

Lambdadelta: “...And thaaat's why I think Bern's cruel. No, I think she's a meanie. Especially since it's not like she hasn't gone through the same thing herself."

Ange: "...Am I... being tricked... somehow...?"

Lambdadelta: "Yeah, but please don't blame Bern, okay? After all, depending on how you look at it, that kid isn't lying. If Beato is defeated, your family will be returned. Returned to Ushiromiya Ange. But she probably didn't say that this Ushiromiya Ange would be you, right...?"

(Source: https://lparchive.org/Umineko-no-Naku-Koro-ni/Update%20116/)

From Umineko Episode 6/Dawn:

Bern was once a human piece, but after being abandoned by an unnamed Game Master (implied in the manga to be Hanyuu), she became a witch by solving a logic error in place of that Game Master.

Erika: "...My master was also... a witch's piece?"

Lambdadelta: "Yes. That kid's master... was another bad one. Though she created the game herself, partway through, she lost sight of what her goal was. She ended up creating something like a broken game of backgammon, where the start and goal were connected like a donut."

Erika: "What do you mean, she lost her goal...?"

Lambdadelta: “I'm talking about a logic error. In her backgammon game, she was unable to draw up a line of logic describing how to reach the goal she desired. So, the game remained broken, with no goal at all."

“...In that case, she should have quieted down and thought of an answer herself. Instead, she despicably left even the thinking entirely to her piece, Bern.”

[insert long metaphor involving cats, monkeys, and typewriters]

Lambdadelta: “If she wasn't a witch... no, if she hadn't been able to become a witch, she would probably still be a black cat strapped to that typewriter for eternity. That child was blessed by a miracle, succeeded in typing out a 'miracle', became a witch, and returned from that hell alive.”

“That hell was so long and harsh... that her mind was completely broken. That's why she became such a mean and heartless witch.”

(Source: https://lparchive.org/Umineko-no-Naku-Koro-ni-Chiru/Update%2065/)

At some point prior to Umineko, Bern was Featherine’s longest-serving miko, trained by her to tear out the “guts” of stories.

Featherine: "...A cat who has learned to eat meat and choose its own path. It has been a long time..."

Bernkastel: "It's a path I'd never have to have noticed if you hadn't told me. You're the monster who taught me the taste of flesh. So, you've come back to life. Featherine Auaurora..."

Featherine: "...Augustus Aurora... You never learn no matter how often I tell you that…”

“...Very well. Even that brings back fond memories... I have heard the rumors... It seems you have taken the name Bernkastel, Witch of Miracles, and have been playing a far from praiseworthy Fragment game..."

Bernkastel: "I'm just imitating you. Though I could hardly match up to your level. If the rumors you've heard about me are bad, that applies a hundredfold to you."

Bernkastel sat unreservedly in an antique chair, as though she was already familiar with the place.

Featherine: "...What are you afraid of? I am merely celebrating my reunion with my longest-serving miko so far... Did you really find my messenger cat so displeasing?"

(Source: https://lparchive.org/Umineko-no-Naku-Koro-ni-Chiru/Update%2075/)

From Umineko Episode 8/Twilight:

An alternate explanation for Bern’s origins: she was Featherine’s pet cat who revived her master.

“Featherine Augustus Aurora. …...The legendary Great Witch. It is said that she surpassed the level of witches, becoming a Creator, and that, upon reaching this forbidden plane, she was cursed with a deadly ailment. However, in life, she once turned her pet cat into a witch. They say that this second witch wanders the sea of Fragments endlessly, searching for any Fragment that can revive her master from the pits of death called boredom, if even for a moment. And so, the cat revived her master. Revived the sacred witch who had reached heights none should reach…”

(Source: https://lparchive.org/Umineko-no-Naku-Koro-ni-Chiru/Update%20156/)

There’s also this little tidbit from Last Note of the Golden Witch, where Bern outright says she was once in “Higurashi.” That being said, in context she’s referring to the “All Cast Review Sessions” from the Higurashi VN, so… unless you also consider those to be canon, I wouldn’t advise thinking too hard about this. (See the section on Lambdadelta for another good example of this kind of reference.)

(Source: https://youtu.be/ZoIEID02sxI?t=7890)

.

...And that’s it. So, the question is, what was the game that Bern was trapped in?

It’s possible (and before Gou, not uncommon) to interpret all of these scattered bits of information as references to the original Higurashi. In that configuration, perhaps Higurashi was a game where Featherine/Hanyuu was a Game Master playing against Lambda, with Lambda using Takano as her piece. Rika/Bern won that game in Hanyuu’s place by manifesting a miracle, defeating Lambda and ascending as a witch after Saikoroshi (which then denied her Rika’s happy ending).

But now with Gou in the mix, it looks like the fandom’s long-held assumptions may be due for some reexamination...

Next (Lambdadelta) >>

[haikyuu-sickfics]

Vomit warning!

I feel bad about how poorly written my first Suna centric fic was so heres attempt #2

First it was Atsumu who came down with the horrible bug.  Though, thanks to his whiny nature, the abnormality in his condition was noticed quickly by his family. The early detection of the ailment allowed for him to not leave the house and spread his illness throughout the school- or worse his team.

This plan had one weak spot though.

That weak spot had a name, and a position on the volleyball team the Miya's tried so hard to keep healthy.

Though they struck luck, in a way.  Thanks to Osamu's reserved nature, it seemed that no one on the team was at risk of contagion.

No one but the only person closer to Osamu than Atsumu.

Rintarou.

The two were practically joined at the hip, if one of them was having a bad day- they both were.  If one of them sprained their ankle, magically the other did as well.  And, obviously, if one of them got sick, the other would definately catch it.

But they didn't get sick, one of the pros of being an observer and not a engager- like Atsumu.

"If ya got me sick I swear to everything I'm gonna pummel yer head in," Osamu threatened as his dull headache throbbed on the walk to school.

"Okay lemme just," Atsumu pursed his lips and sucked in as though a straw was in his mouth.

"The fuck was that?"

"Oh I'm just sucking all the sickness out of you because appearantly I can control where that shit goes," Atsumu sassed.

His attitude dropped quickly after recieving a knock on the head by his twin.

"The hell was that for?"

"You had immunity while you were sick, I've been holding that in for so damn long."

Atsumu pouted, absentmindedly rubbing the sore spot on his head and distancing himself a bit from his walking partner.

Todays walk to school felt significantly longer and more treacherous today, the suns rays beating down harder than they ever had, enveloping Osamu into a sweaty unwanted hug and injecting grogginess into his every movement.

Atsumu didn't point out Osamu's slow movements, fear of another rutheless attack providing more than enough restraint.

The sight of the schools familiar architechture proved a very welcomed sight to the both of them.  Atsumu waved goodbye before hurrying to join his group of friends, desperate to get away from his twin.

Osamu mumbled some line about his brothers rudeness before beginning the search for Rintarou.

They usually met up outside of their shared class, but Osamu wished to talk with him earlier.  As much as he disliked falling behind in work, there was no way he would be able to make it through a full day of school.  Having the same train of thought as Osamu, Rintarou was pacing to the left of the enterance, slender eyes scanning for the formers familiar presence.

Once the two caught eye contact they quickly walked up to eachother.

"Where did you say your brother has been?" Rintarou question immediately.

"Stomach bug," Osamu replied sullenly, knowing where this conversation was headed.

"Ok and did he sleep on the couch or something?"

"Nope, he stayed in our room because the couch was 'too hot,'" he surrounded the last bit with air quotes.

"So do you think-"

"That I caught it?  Yes," Osamu knew enough about his body to know that the bubbling sensation in his stomach was a sign of some sort of ailment.

"So it's contagious," Rintarou confirmed.

"Mhm."

Rintarou groaned, burying his face in his hands.  The moment he woke up with nausea pummeling down on him, his subconsious knew what had happened.  But it took Osamu strengthening his theory to make him sure

"So... are you going to school today?  Maybe you should stay home, I could walk you and make sure you get there safe," Rintarou hid his own eagerness to skip school by masking it with Osamu's.

"Yea okay."

Smiling inwardly at this small victory, Rintarou began the familiar trek to the Miya house.  The walk was blessfully short, the cool morning air and light traffic cruising by singing a soft lullaby.  By the time the house came into view, the two were practically sleep walking.

"M' moms not home, she missed a lotta work last week," Osamu informed between yawns.

Rintarou nodded, a small part of him hoped that the eldest Miya would be present,  her presence was always comforting and her extense experience in the ways of parenthood allowed for her to always know exactly what to do next.

Honestly, Rintarou really needed her right now, he hated to admit it but she was the closest thing he had to a mother figure, and doesn't everyone want to be nurtured when they're sick?

"When's she coming back," he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Osamu shrugged, slipping his key into the lock on the door and turning it.

"Dunno, she usually gets off at like 5 but she might stay longer to catch up."

Biting his inner cheek to suffocate his dissapointment, Rintarou followed Osamu into his house.

"I'll go make soup," Rintarou offered as Osamu dissapeared down the hall.

"Ugh no!  I've had soup for the past week, just make some sandwhiches or something."

That didn't sound like the best sick-day meal, but hey, it wasn't his house.

Rintarou knew his way around the Miya's kitchen as if it were his own, allowing him to effortlessly find the ingredients for a simple fruit sandwich.

With the two snacks on a plate, Rintarou walked down the hall to the twin's room where Osamu was huddled under the blankets on his bed, back to the door.

"I have food."

"Mneh."

"Yea ok."

Rintarou gently placed the food on a dresser before sitting next to Osamu on his bed.

"How you feeling?"

"Like shit," Osamu groaned, peeking his head out of the safety of his covers, "you?"

"Tired."

Osamu scooched over, pressing himself against the wall and patting the now empty space next to him, "then sleep."

Rintarou nodded thankfully before tucking himself under the blankets and curling into a ball on his side.  The bed was hot, or was that just him?  He didn't know anymore.  All he knew was that these blankets kept every degree of body heat trapped under its fibers, sticking it to the sweat beading on the both of their body's.

"Do you have shorts and a tank I could borrow?" Rintarou asked, tugging at the collar of his uniform.

"Mhm," Osamu lightly pushed Rintarou out of the bed before pulling himself up.

He rocked in place for a moment, eyes shut and jaw clenched and relaxing periodically.

"You good?"

Osamu held a finger up, waiting for the spell to pass.  It didn't pass.  He sat down quickly on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on his knees holding his head in his hands.

"No no no, not now," Rintarou scanned to room for a bag or bucket or anything that would keep Osamu from making a mess.

The only thing he could find was Atsumu's old sport duffle.

Better than nothing.

Rintarou grabbed it, not even checking to see if it was empty before thrusting it onto Osamu's lap.

A smile flashed behind Osamu's eyes as he imagine how pissed his twin would be when he saw this.

His devious joy didn't last for long though as his barely digested breakfast came barreling up his throat.  Lips parting slightly, a light wave of disgustingly sour stomach contents splashed into Atsumu's property.

"He's gonna be," Osamu passed to stifle a burp, "pissed y'know."

Rintarou hummed, purposely staring in the opposite direction.

Before Osamu could ask of his friends wellbeing, vomit took the place of words and a thicker wave of cereal landed on top of the previous with a sickening splat.

Rintarou walked out of the room at this, his head spinning with intense nausea.  He took deep breaths, trying desperately to calm his stomach long enough for him to make it to the toilet without incident.  The smell of fruit lingering on his hands assaulted Rintarou's nose as he covered his mouth.  A quick gag tore its way out, pressing ruthlessly against his stomach as the boys legs threatened to collapse beneath him.

He tried so hard to make it.  The bathroom was right there, he could see the door knob, practically touch it.  So close to turning it and entering into the clean comfort of the cool tiled floor and porceline bowl.  He didn't make it.

Of course he didn't.

Rintarou's inner struggle forced it's way out to paint the restroom door a dark abstract splash.

"The fuck was that?" Osamu called after hearing the splash.

Rintarou groaned, wanting nothing more than to sink into the floor below him and allow dirt to hug every crevice of his body.  Maybe if he sat still enough that would happen.  Or maybe enough dust would accumilate to hide his existance from the rest of the world, just another speck of dirt on the floor.

That was unreasonable thinking.  There was no avoiding the cold hard fact about what had just happened.  Rintarou just repayed the years of hospitality from the Miya's by decorating their interior with whatever the hell he ate the last handful of hours.

A sob forced it's way out before he had a chance to stop it.

It was at this moment he realized he had outstayed his welcome.  Sinking to the floor and giving up on the idea of going to the bathroom, Rintarou curled into a ball- his mind a blur of fever and frantic thoughts.  The floor felt uncomfortably comfortable, maybe it was the knowledge that this may be the last time he would ever know the bliss of touching the floor of this house.  The last time he'll be allowed to make sandwhiches in the kitchen a short walk away.  The last time he'll be allowed to cuddle up with Osamu and stay up late watching videos without headphones, much to the chagrin of Atsumu.

More tears forced their way out, completely distracting Rintarou from the fact that he was sick at all.  The only thing he felt right now was remorse and pure sadness.  His chest heaved as breath refused to come normally.

A goldball edged with burning metal was lodged deep in his throat, attracting his stomach contents with a strong magnetic pull but refusing it to go all the way up.  He coughed desperatly, trying to rid of the horrendous feeling plaguing his upper body or at the very least dislodge the ball.  It worked, not in the way he had hoped for, but relief was provided nontheless as the cough brought up another wave of sick to splash down between his chest and knees.

The door pushed open at this moment.

"Hello?  Is anybody home?  The doors unlocked."

Rintarou's breath caught as the familiar feminine voice reached his cotton stuffed ears.  His body froze with icy terror, trying his best to stay completely still and camoflauge into the wall.

"Ma?" Osamu's voice yelled out, ""M here with Rin, I think we're sick."

Rintarou shook his head as Osamu outed him and delicate footsteps made their way closer.

"No no no no no," he whispered to himself, eyes squeezed shut as if to force himself awake.

"Oh dear," Osamu's mother commented as Rintarou's pityful sight came into view.

"'M sorry, I'll clean it, I tried to make it, I'll leave when it's clean, I can run down to the store for supplies," he began his semi rehereased spiel.

"Sweetheart, no," she made her way closer to him, eyebrows furrowed in concern as tears ebbed the edges of her eyes, "It's alright, it's not your fault you feel like this."

She rubbed his hair away from his forehead before using her soft thumb to wipe his tears away.

"Let's get you cleaned up, hm?" She gently scooped her arms under his shoulder before opening the bathroom door and lowering him onto the toilet seat. "I'll grab some clothes and water, feel free to use the paper towels to wipe yourself down.

Rintarou didn't respond, too ashamed to look her in the eyes even to thank her.  He knew he was only making the situation worse, the absolute least the mother deserved was a heartfelt thanks.

So he just sat there, frown etched deeply on his face and eyes glued to the floor as the Miya went to check on her biological son.

Osamu was much neater looking, his mess had all been contained within Atsumu's sporting bag.  Still, his face was a mess.  A deep flush decorated his sickly pale skin which was glistening with thin beads of sweat and tears of exertion.

"Oh, did ya catch what 'Tsumu had?" She asked, sitting next to him and rubbing between his shoulder blades.

He nodded with a pout, leaning onto his mother's forehead who was working on zipping up the bag and setting it on the floor.

"Do you feel a little better now?"

He nodded.

"Great, would you please help me with a couple things?  I hate to make you do stuff, but I just need to get Rintarou a new set of clothes and I would hate to rummage around your closet.

Osamu nodded once more, standing up to search for suitable clothes as his mother took the soiled bag outside.  Once it was properly disposed of (next to the door to be dealt with later) she grabbed a couple rags, some cleaning solution and a bucket.

When she arrived to the bathroom, Osamu was already there with the clothes, trying to hand them to a refusing Rintarou.

"C'mon it;'s okay, please wear them."

Rintarou refused, fresh tears streaming down his face as his lips frowned deeply.

"I don't," he sniffed, struggling to speak between rapid breaths, "I don't deserve them."

"Don't be silly!" The eldest assured, quickly standing in front of Rintarou- forcing him to look into her caring, concerned eyes, "Please put them on, as long as you're under this roof- you're a Miya and you get the Miya-family-treatment whether you like it or not!"

Rintarou clenched his jaw, appreciation and love flooding through him in a way which only these people had ever been able to make him feel.  He had longed for this all of his childhood, the caring presence of an adult who wanted nothing but the best for you.  Who didn't care about how much of a mess you made, how rude you had been.  Someone who looked past all his faults and cared- truly cared- for the person beneath it all.

"Thank you," Rintarou finally whispered, a sad happiness taking over his expression as he collected the change of clothes, "Thank you so much."

The mother hugged him close, not caring about whatever may stain her shirt at this point.

"Anytime."

[simpforsnape]

Sincerely Yours.

Severus Snape x OC/Reader

wordcount: 1478

warnings: minor errors. and plot. I own nothing but my OC, all credit goes to the creator of Harry Potter. JKR

credit to the creator of this gif.

Previous - Next

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Chapter 9

The birds outside chirped announcing that the next day had come.

Anah was laid out on her stomach with the cover only covering her bottom. There was warmth next to her. Something she was familiar with. Her arm extended out as she felt around still asleep.

There was someone there. Her hand landed on the person's face who was quickly awakened. Severus Snape. How could she have forgotten about last night? He removed the woman's hand as he then turned to see she was still asleep, and naked. He was also naked.

It took him a moment to awake and realize where he was. But it was quite obvious. He leaned over to the woman, planting a kiss on her shoulder while his large nose brushed against her skin.

“Anah. Wake up..” His lips mumbled against her skin. She shrugged him off groaning in the process.

“Hm..”

He smiled at her reaction. He did miss this. Being able to wake up next to someone you love. He will admit, work and loneliness got the best of him.

He tried again this time wrapping both of his arms around her, pulling her close. His lips were aligned with her ear.

“My love.”

Anah was already awake. And she heard him loud and clear. She turned her neck to only see the man looking down at her.

“Good Morning... Love..” She smiled planting a kiss on his lips. He returned the smile.

“Good Morning.”

She turned her entire body towards him as she pressed up against him. Thank Merlin neither of them had classes. Her arms wrapped across his neck. They were staring into the eyes of each other again. Only recalling last night's activities.

A smirk formed on her face as she kissed his bottom lip.

“You know.. We didn't use any type of protection..”

He scoffed bringing his hand up to caress her long brown messy hair.

“I'm well aware.”

He knew Anah had used a charm on herself to prevent getting pregnant. She sat up from him allowing the covers to fall from her body.

He remained there with his eyes stayed on her. She glanced over at the clock seeing that it was past noon. 12:36.

“Lunch is going on.. Do you want to go?” She asked turning over to him. He shook his head now grabbed ahold of her hand to kiss it.

“Not at the present time. But, I do wish to.. discuss somethings..” He added comfortably adjusting his head. Anah cocked a brow turning her body towards him. This must have been important.

“Was it about last night?..” She questioned. What was she afraid of him saying?

“Yes.” He mumbled, pulling himself up to speak clearly. He still had her hands in his. He looked down as he continued to talk.

“Anah. Last night made me recognize something. Of how much I still.. care for you.” He paused still not looking at her. His actions made her smile. He was acting like a child, being shy and all. He continued to fiddle with her hand as his words proceeded.

“I do not wish to wake up another day, alone. I'd rather be with someone.. who I love.. and cherish. And Anah, I'm willing to do this with you..”

With his final words, he looked up. When he saw her face he remained still. She had a tiny smile plastered across her lips. Her hands cupped his face as she looked down at him.

“Severus Snape. Are you asking me to date you?”

He was silent. He shouldn't have asked her, she was going to laugh in his face and call him a fool.

“If so, You should know my answer, my love. I'm willing to start everything over.. Just to be with you." She added while pressing her forehead against his. They shared a moment after her words were exchanged. Finally, they were together at last.

It took the two another hour to get up and dressed. They parted ways once Anah was freshened up and dressed. They agreed on meeting up later tonight for dinner.

How else could Anah spend her day? Well grading, of course, she was a teacher after all. She paced down the bright halls of the school with a smile formed on her face. How better can life get? After almost 13 years of being apart.. she was finally reunited with her  true  love.

While on the way to her class she walked past some students along the way. Some were concerned about why the professor was so happy and cheerful. Someone must have put something in her tea.

As usual, she ran into Harry. He was accompanied by Hermione, Ron, and also the Rat. Which was also.. Peter Pettigrew. How could she forget? She needed to get the rat to Sirius. Well at least help him get him.

On the walk to her class, there was a conversation held, mostly by teenagers.

They mostly talked about the trip to Hogsmeade and everything that happened along with it. Arriving at her classroom everyone entered as she quickly walked over to the pile of papers, which she forgot to grade. Everyone pitched in to help grade of course. The conversation carried on until Harry changed the subject.

"Professor V. May I ask you something?" He questioned which caused her to look up.

"Of course love, ask away." She replied setting down the quill that was in her hand. All attention went to Harry.

"While at Hogsmeade, I overheard something.. about Sirius Black.." He was mumbling by then.

She cocked a brow curious about where the conversation was going.

"What about him Harry?.."

His blue eyes soon met hers. " Well, It was stated that he was.. my Godfather.."

A deep sigh escaped from her. Here goes the conversation she wasn't ready to have with him.

"Yes.. He is.." She replied as Harry kept his eye contact.

Ron and Hermione were only lesioning in, Harry had already told them everything.

"And it was also revealed that I had a Godmother as well.."

Anah gave him a nonchalant look. He knew already that she was it.

She leaned against her desk with her arms tucked.

“And who might she be?” Her words echoed across the empty class.

Harry kept his eye contact. "It's you. You're my Godmother."

Anah's features remained simple as she gave off a sigh. She never did come up with a way to explain to Harry that she was his Godmother. How would she have said it? The boy barely knows anything about her. She brought her hands up to her face eyeing the boy back. He was silent.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He questioned. She shrugged her shoulders as she resumed back to grading. She felt guilty almost.

"It would have been revealed in due time Harry." When she looked up at him, she noticed the look of disappointment written all over his face. It was better if he hadn't known to begin with.

He said nothing more after this. The teens stayed no more than ten minutes until they were gone. She sat in silence for the remainder of the evening. The event repeated in her head. Why didn't she tell Harry?

'I was just protecting him.. that's all..'

Her mind spoke, which eased her nerves a bit.

Hours past and Anah hasn't heard a word from Severus.

She glanced up at the clock that was plastered on the wall across from her desk. It was almost evening. Maybe she should go look for him?

She settled the graded papers on one side of her desk as she got up and went off to search for Severus.

When she checked the dungeons he was nowhere to be found. It was odd almost. Where could he have gone?

She gave off a long sigh before turning her heels to leave out of his cold and empty classroom. Now to think of it she hasn't see Remus all-day and heard no words from Sirius. Maybe.. No. They couldn't have been there. After all these years.

The only other place she could think of was the Shrieking Shack. Remus was always sent there due to his ailment.

They had to have been there. Now out of the dungeons, Anah headed directly to the Shrieking Shack.

It took her no less than five minutes to get to the other side of Hogwarts. Once she arrived in front of the weeping willow she used a curse to freeze it in place. She entered the tree, unharmed making her way down the dark cave. It was almost impossible to see, but the light on the other end made her way clear.

She slowly walked down the cave soon picking up the voices that were echoing around here.

As she got closer, the voices grew louder. Her hand slipped into her cloak quickly retrieving her wand.

“I could do it you know...”

That sounded like Severus? Anah paced slowly up the stairs as the conversation went on. The shack creaked at every given step. Thankfully no one was paying attention.

The hall felt like almost an eternity. Before she could enter the room the commotion in the room changed.

“Harry what did you just do!?” Ron exclaimed as Hermione expressed alongside him.

“You just attacked a teacher!”

Anah rushed into the room as all eyes landed on her. Her wand was still in her hand as she glanced over to see that it was Severus who was attacked.

“Anahstacia..” Remus uttered as she quickly ignored him turning to Harry.

“What. Happened.”

Her tone was almost dark. Remus nor Sirus spoke. The two were more afraid of her than James.

“I- I can explain.” Harry couldn't fix the correct words he wanted to say.

She would deal with him later.

Anah turned her heels now looking over to Sirius. “Where is he, Sirius? Peter Pettigrew.”

“He’s dead isn't he?” Harry questioned as Remus caught his attention.

“He is not, not until you've recently mentioned that you saw him on the map.”

The boy still had his wand pointing over at Sirius who stood in front of the broken bed, which Severus was on.

“The map must have lied-”

A frustrating looked formed on Sirius’s face.

“The map never lies! Pettigrew's alive. And he's sitting right there!” His voice raised while pointing over to the rat that was being held by Ron.

Ron’s face was distraught. “Me!? Are you bloody mental!?”

Sirius groaned in frustration.

“Not you, your rat!”

All eyes landed on the rat that was settled in the boy's lap.

“What! Scabbers is a family pet! He's been in the family for 12-”

“12 years! That an extraordinarily long life for a common rat don't you think?” Sirius added while Harry extended his wand up at the older man.

“Prove it.”

Anah stood in front of the Shacks doors watching everything unfold.

Sirius went over to Ron before snatching the rat out of the boy’s hands.

“Don't hurt him!” He exclaimed as Hermione did her best to calm Ron.

Sirius sat the rat down as soon as he drew his wand. The rat sprinted off making it difficult for Sirius or Remus to transform him.

With one quick move Anah simply pointed over at the Rat as he then transformed into a person.

Peter Pettigrew.

When he came to his senses he soon noticed the people surrounding him.

"Remus? Sirius?" He questioned dumbly as he then noticed Anah standing near Harry.

"Anahstacia! My friends!" He exclaimed still in a rat-like manor. His hands were held up to his chest, teeth chittering. He was about to make a break for it. Before he could run to the room's door he was soon stopped by the other two men who had their wands up aimed at him.

Pettigrew's head flung around until his eye's caught on Harry Potter.

"H-Harry! Look at you! You look so much like your father!-"

"Don't you dare." Anah's voice threw the poor man off with her wand penetrating his neck.

"How could you!" Sirius shouted watching him stagger over to the dust-covered piano.

"You sold James and Lily to Voldemort didn't you!?" Remus questioned with his wand still aimed at him.

Pettigrew began to whin due to his guilt.

"I-I didn't mean to! He was going to kill me! What would you have done!-"

"I WOULD HAVE DIED!" At this point, Sirius couldn't control his anger anymore.

Pettigrew was thrown against the wall with both men standing in front of him, wands at the ready.

They were going to kill him.

"Since Voldemort wouldn't kill you, we will!" Sirius proclaimed.

"Together!-"

"Stop!"

Harry stood from behind his Godmother as he slowly began to walk up to the pair. Remus turned his head fully frustrated.

"Harry.. This man-"

"I know what he is.. but.. We will take him to the castle.."

Pettigrew's sobbing face began to praise Harry. He slowly crawled to him kneeling at his feet."

"Bless you boy!"

"Get off!" He shrugged kicking him off as soon as he stepped away.

"I said we'll take you to the castle, after that, the Dementors can have you."

Pettigrew's eyes nearly popped out of his head. Horror took over his body as he quickly began to beg.

"Please! Anahstacia! Don't let them kill me!"

His eye then went over to Anah who was watching from afar. Her hands were tucked under her chest with her wand still sticking out.

Her mixed eyes glared him down. "I have no control over this Peter. You're choices brought you to this end."

Her words sounded wise to everyone that was settled in the room. It was clear she was angry. Yes, it was Peter's fault for giving Harry's parent's location away. But he didn't kill them.

"Up with you." Remus announced grabbing ahold of Peter with a firm grip around his arm.

“Sirius, take the kids and leave. Remus, Help me escort Mr. Pettigrew to the castle.”

On Anah’s command, everyone did exactly what she said. The only remaining people in the shack was Anah, Remus, Peter and an unconscious Severus.

Anah left Pettigrew with Remus as she walked over to the broken bed to awake Severus.

“Sev.” She called out leaning down to shake him awake.

“He’s out cold Anah. Let him be.” Remus added as she looked back at him.

“I can't just leave him here Remus. Go, I'll be right behind you.”

He sighed quickly grabbing hold of Peter as they left the shack.

Anah pushed away from the broken pieces of the bed that had fallen. She looked down at her asleep love as she quickly smiled whipping the debris off of his face.

"Severus. I know you're not asleep." She mumbled with her hand plastered on his chest.

He shifted slightly slowly raising up to see Anah sitting at the edge of the bed. While raising up, the dust fell off of his clothes. He clearly remembers what happened.

His face was half red. It was noticeable he was angry.

Anah brushed the side of his jaw removing one last piece of debris from his face.

"Are you okay?" She asked with her hand still rested on his face.

His face remained neutral.

"I'm fine. Where's Potter.." It didn't even sound like a question. It was deadlier than anything. Anah cocked a brow as she removed her hand from his face. Well, that didn't do anything.

"Severus, he's a boy-" She implied with him interrupting.

"Who used a spell against me!" By this point, he was up from the bed clearing himself off.

The woman stood up quietly walking over to the shack's door.

"Don't you think you're overreacting?" Her question threw him off a bit.

"I.am.not." he phased throughout his words.

"Well, I think you are. You need to apologize."

He groaned turning away from her. He was acting like a child, and she loved it. Well sorta.

"Apologize? Anahstacia. Really? You know this will never happen. And that's the end of it."

Her eyes rolled at his opinion with her arms tucked under her chest.

"Whatever Severus. Go, I'll be out soon."

He gave Anah a mere look, turning his feet to leave her in the room alone with his cape mounting behind him. The echo of his shoes soon faded of making it know he was gone.

She paced around the gloomy room for a moment. This place had far too many memories for her. A frown formed on her lips as she too turned to leave the room until something caught her eye. There was something crumbled up and crushed in the small dingy sectional that was settled against the wall.

As she grabbed it, she noticed horrible handwriting written on the back.

"June 14th, 1976."

When she flipped the picture over her emotions got the best of her.

It was a picture of the Marauders (James, Peter, Remus, and Sirius.) including Anah, and Lily. Her fingers stroked over the faces that were there. Only four remained alive. Which was soon to be three.

She pocketed the picture for Harry. She should give this to him instead of keeping it, after all.. He never got the chance to thoroughly meet his parent.

"HARRY!"

His name rang in her ears like a bell. Harry must have been in trouble. Anah's body began to move on her own as she sprinted out of the Shrieking Shack off to her Godson's rescue. So many thoughts had gone through her head. Was he hurt? Heaven's, was he dead

Merlin helps us.

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[bonjour-rainycity]

Odin’s Ward ~ Chapter 13

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/638162885025120256/odins-ward-chapter-12

Pairing: Loki x female reader

Word count: 2678

Warnings: Adult themes

True age: Y/n: 1197 // Loki: 1323 // Thor: 1575 // Audunn 2961

Human equivalent age: Y/n: 19 // Loki: 21 // Thor: 25 // Audunn: 47

Loki’s POV

“Your Highness, rebels have attacked one of the outer villages and stolen their food supply.”

Damn. I purse my lips in frustration. This is the third attack by rebels in as many months. “Take six of our warriors and station them in the village with enough grain, wine, fruits, and vegetables to feed everyone for half a year. By then it should be harvest and the people will have enough to feed themselves.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” The advisor bows deeply as he records my decision. Pride gathers within me.

“We need to re-think our security strategy for our borders. These rebels keep finding chinks in our armor. We must—” In my mind’s eye, the old painting in the attic glows purple.

All breath leaves me.

“My Liege?” The advisor looks at me with concern.

“I have to go.” Without another word, I stalk out of the room. Once I’m sure no one can see me, I teleport to the attic in the turret.

The last place I had a nice moment with Y/n.

The painting of the door, the one I told her to use to contact me if she ever needed me, glows her favorite shade of purple.

With shaking hands, I reach into the painting, open the door, and retrieve a letter. Just seeing her elegant script—the first sign of her in over sixty years—nearly brings me to my knees. It reads:

Dearest Loki,

Can I even still call you that? I’m not sure I should, given our circumstances. Nevertheless, it is true. You are dear to me.

Anyways,

I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. I read the words in her voice, I can see the faces she makes as she awkwardly stumbles through writing this letter. It points to her still being the Y/n I once knew.

I read on.

Anyways, I have a favor to ask of you. It’s a pretty big one and could get us both in a lot of trouble if we’re found out. Due to my current situation, I am willing to take that risk. Are you? If so, please agree to meet me so we can discuss the specifics of what I’m asking of you — in person. It is better to keep as much of this as possible out of writing.

I realize that you said we needed to keep out of each other’s lives, and I understand why that is the best way for us both.

Still, I cannot help but be excited at even the possibility of seeing you again.

~ Y/n

P.S. Please burn this letter as soon as you’ve read it. Thanks.

Had the tone of her letter not been so concerning, I would have grinned at her sign-off.

After teleporting to my chambers, I throw the letter into the fire, as instructed, and sit at my desk to craft a response.

My Dearest Y/n,

I hope I have not overstepped in returning your greeting. You raise a valid point in wondering if we can still be that to each other—dear—but I believe our hearts cannot be lied to. There is no point in ignoring the fact when it is just us.

I know you would not contact me unless you absolutely needed my help. Fret not, my dear; I give it freely. If it is to your convenience, I shall meet you tonight in your bedchambers in Alfheim.

To respond, simply write on the bottom of this letter, and it will appear on a copy on my own desk.

I, too, look forward to seeing you again.

~ Loki

I glance over my letter. For all that I want to say, it seems incredibly short. But a voice in my head reminds me that, although seeing Y/n will be fresh air for a drowning man, I cannot lose myself in her completely. She is married. And denial and wishes are no way to live for two people who must spend their lives apart.

After using magic to send the letter to Y/n, I find a book to distract myself while anxiously awaiting her response.

{***}

Y/n’s POV

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a piece of paper appear on my desk in a hazy green glow. My breath hitches.

“Ragna,” I fight to keep my voice steady. “Could you go and find out what the cooks are serving for dinner?”

“Yes, My Lady.” She curtsies and leaves my room. As soon as she’s gone, I snatch the letter from my desk and open it.

Seeing Loki’s handwriting, so familiar after such a long time, makes my heart flutter and ache. After reading the letter, I take a moment to breathe.

I will see him again tonight.

With shaking hands, I write a single word on the bottom of the paper:

Yes.

The letter shimmers once more and disappears. I bite my lip, doing my best to contain my excitement.

There’s a knock on the door and I quickly try to calm my expression. “Yes?”

Ragna enters with a curtsey, as always. “Lamb, My Lady.”

“Hmm?” I find my gaze wandering back to the desk, waiting to see if another letter has appeared.

“For dinner, My Lady.”

“Oh, yes!” I snap my attention to Ragna. Oh, shoot! Ragna. I’ll have to get rid of her for the night. “You know, I’m actually not feeling very well. I think I’ll skip dinner tonight.”

Her brow furrows. “What’s wrong, My Lady? I will have a healer come to check on you.”

She begins to leave. Ugh, I need this room free of other people, not filled with them. “No!” Ragna turns around, a questioning look on her face. I take a breath, trying to calm myself so I can focus on how to make a convincing lie. Channel your inner Loki. After another breath, I put a soft but assured smile on my face. “My ailment does not require healers, but thank you for the offer. It is nothing more than a headache. I would prefer to be alone. Please alert the guards that I am to have no visitors tonight.”

Ragna looks convinced by my explanation. “Yes, My Lady. I hope you feel better. Please call for me if I can be of assistance.”

I smile. “Thank you, Ragna. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, My Lady.” She curtsies and leaves the room.

Now I just have to wait.

{***}

I alternate between pacing and reading as I watch the sun sink deeper into the horizon. Every minute that passes seems ages longer than it actually is. A relaxing candle does nothing to help. I change my outfit twice before going back to the original.

Finally, it’s pitch black outside.

Should be any minute now.

My heart flutters and my hands shake. I find myself nervously tucking and untucking my hair, unable to decide which is best.

“Hello, Y/n.”

The smooth, familiar voice stops me in my tracks. The voice that, for a short time in my life, brought me both great peace and excitement like no other.

I turn around, unable to wrap my mind around the reality of seeing him again.

But there he is, just as tall and handsome and wonderful as I remember him.

“Loki.” The breath escapes me and suddenly I’m running across the room. He pulls me into his arms and hugs me with as much force as I use to cling to him.

“Y/n, I—” I look up to see him beaming a smile of disbelief. “I cannot believe I’m seeing you again.”

“Nor I, you.” I stroke his face, running my hands over the angular lines that were once so familiar to me. He hasn’t changed a bit. “I,” I take a steadying breath in an effort to calm my shaking hands. “I cannot thank you enough for coming to see me. I know there is risk involved for us both.”

He shakes his head and pulls me to the couch, where we sit. “I trust your judgement and I am here to help. What kind of trouble are you in?”

I look down at our hands, still intertwined. “Please, we can talk about that in a moment. How have you been?”

He shrugs, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “Well, Asgard is prospering, minus a few rebel factions that would see us undone. We avoided a trade embargo with Vanaheim and—”

I smile, cutting him off. “I asked how you have been, Loki, not the kingdom.” An uncomfortable, insecure feeling pricks at the back of my mind. Why isn’t he talking about his personal life? Oh, how I did not want to feel this way. I try to mask it with nonchalance. “Tell me about your life.”

He sees through me in an instant. He shifts in his seat, looking slightly uncomfortable. “You’re asking me if there have been other women.”

I huff, annoyed at my own insecurity and at having been found out. “I am not!”

He chuckles lightly, returning to his state of ease. “You are, and that’s fine. The truth is, yes, there have been others.” He looks at the ground, running a thumb absently over my knuckles. “None of them stick. I’m not sure I want them to.”

Now I feel guilty. How utterly unfair of me. “Loki…” At the mention of his name, he looks up. “I am with someone else now. For as long as he and I both shall live, as they said in the ceremony. The union between Audunn and I is,” I swallow, willing myself not to sound full of despair over these words, “forever. I hope that one day you find someone who is good for you.”

He smiles softly, though there is too much sadness in his eyes. I pull a hand free to stroke his cheek, letting it come to a rest on his chest when the tenderness re-enters his eyes. “I did.” Subconsciously, I clutch at his shirt, remembering our fleeting time together. After a heavy pause, he grins. “700 years ago a sniffling child was placed in my clubhouse and I was told to entertain her.” He rolls his eyes playfully, leaning back into the couch. “How was I supposed to know I’d grow up to fall in love with her?”

Breath catches in my throat. It’s been so long since I’ve heard him say that.

Loki can tell this affects me.

He leans in and I can see the deep emerald of his eyes. His voice is soft and sincere when he declares, “I do still love you.”

“And I love you,” I whisper without hesitation.

I’m not sure who reaches for who, but by the next breath, we’re intertwined. The kiss is desperate, hopeful, sad, and passionate all at once. Heat floods through my body. Vaguely, I realize that this is the first time in 63 years that I’ve felt desire. I’ve never once wanted Audunn as I want Loki. And as soon as Loki leaves, he’ll take this desire, this connection, with him.

Because Loki isn’t here for long.

With that realization, I stop holding back. Loki meets me there, and soon we’re undressing each other on the couch.

“Wait,” he pulls back, lips pink and slightly breathless. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this. I had a plan. I was going to be a gentleman. This is not being a gentleman.”

I smirk and quirk an eyebrow at him. “Who said anything about a gentleman?  I called you here, didn’t I? And I think I’ve been quite clear about what I want.”

That mischievous look I adore pops into his eyes. “Well, if the lady so wishes….”

We pick up where we left off.

{***}

“To be completely honest, I’m not convinced he can. Audunn is very old.”

It’s the early hours of the morning, and we’re leaned against my headboard, comfortably naked, me tucked under his arm. Loki throws his head back and laughs, pulling our entwined hands up to his mouth for a kiss. “That’s awfully unfair of you.”

“It’s true!” I join him in his laughter, loving this time we have together. “All he does is grunt and then he’s done! Absolutely no work required on my part.”

He scoffs playfully. “So what, you’ve just suffered through sixty pleasureless years?”

Now it’s my turn to grin. “There are ways in which a woman can pleasure herself, you know.”

“Yes,” a glint comes into his eyes. “But why should she have to when I am here and oh so willing?”

He kisses me deeply then, shifting so we’re buried in the covers once again, him on top of me. We break the kiss, and I sigh sadly, knowing that our time is running out. “I wish you could stay here forever.”

“What I wouldn’t do to stop time,” he responds sincerely, laying his forehead against mine.

I smile softly, the sadness creeping back in. I kiss him lightly on the nose before pushing against him so we’re sitting up.

He looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to explain why I called him here in the first place.

I look at my fingers, contemplating how I want to frame this. If I tell Loki too much of the truth, that Audunn is manipulative and abusive and filled with hatred, there is a real possibility that Loki could do something rash and ruin future relationships between Alfheim and Asgard. Norns, he could start a war! Besides, it’s not like confiding in Loki would change anything. Even if Audunn were to suddenly be removed from the picture, it is likely that I would just be passed onto the next eligible suitor, not returned to Asgard to be with Loki. With all this in mind, I go with a half-truth.

“I don’t love Audunn, and I don’t want to have his children.”

Unexpectedly, tears enter my eyes. It’s so freeing to be able to share this with someone other than Ragna, to not have to pretend to enjoy Audunn’s company, and to be able to be, well, mostly honest with someone I love and trust.

Loki runs a comforting hand through my hair, looking at me with understanding and sadness. “You will be ridiculed. Alfheim views women as being required to provide heirs for their husbands. If you do not…” He trails off, hesitation in his eyes.

“I know,” I assure him, gripping his hands. “I’ve already been subjected to some of it. It has been over sixty years, after all.” I look him straight in the eyes so he can see just how sure I am. “But I can handle it. I can handle anything if it means saving myself from being bound to Audunn in that way.”

Loki nods steadily, and I can see that he’s made up his mind. “I will do as you ask.”

I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Thank you.”

He brings a tender hand to my forehead and murmurs softly. After a moment, my body warms with the barely-tangible weight of his magic. I feel no different, but when he removes his hand, I know it is done.

“It will either take myself or another sorcerer to remove the spell, so if you change your mind…” His voice trails off.

I shake my head, completely resolute in my decision. “I won’t.” And, heavy with exhaustion and the weight of how my life has just been changed, I lean forward into Loki’s chest. His arms encircle me immediately, and I try to memorize exactly how this feels.

Because it’s likely I’ll never see him again.

He runs his hands gently up my back, easing me into rest.

“You’re a good man,” I remind him, because sometimes he forgets.

Before I hear his reply, I drift off to sleep.

{***}

In the morning, my bed is cold, and I know that he is gone.

A/n Happy holidays! Let me know what you thought and if you would like to be added to the tag list!

Also, stop by and check out my masterlist! 

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/639152911075672064/odins-ward-chapter-14

Tag list: @80strashbag @dark-night-sky-99 @what-am-i-doing10 @chxrryycola @ravenclaw5606 @hiddlebatchedloki

[penguiduck]

Writing Fight Scenes

I’ve had a lot of readers mention that they don’t feel comfortable with fight scenes.  Well, that’s understandable. It’s challenging writing about experiences you’ve never had.  But with some perspective and practice, you can most certainly work toward writing those fast-paced, heart-pounding scenes with ease.

To give you some background, I practiced competitive martial arts for six years.  I competed in tournaments and trained hard to perform well in the ring. It was a contact sport, and even if I wasn’t sparring, training often left me with bruises, usually of the physical nature, sometimes of the emotional persuasion.

This experience gave me a lot of perspective when it comes to writing fight scenes.

Whenever I step into the ring, I have a flexible strategy in mind that combines what I know about myself, my opponent, and what I’m going to learn about them in the next two minutes.  I’d like to share some of these thoughts and perspectives with you, and how your character may think before and during a match of their own. Of course, my fighting experience is limited to a contact sport.  Your story may very well be far more violent with higher stakes, but strategies may be of similar foundation. Once you take a fight into deeper consideration, aside from the depiction of two fighters merely exchanging blows, you can begin to enrich your writing experience.

I’m including examples from Yu Yu Hakusho because that’s the fandom I write the most for, and as you know, there’s a lot of fighting involved!  But remember — anime and writing are two completely different mediums. There's no one narrating everything that our beloved characters are doing on screen. You just see it. That is why you, as a writer, must paint those scenes through words for your readers.

Nevertheless, this advice really stands for any sort of writing, so do with this information what you will.

A well-written fight scene is never about just trading blows.  There are other conflicts at play, whether between the fighters or even in the heads of your protagonists.

Allow me to elaborate:

1. Who is your protagonist?

Whenever I am preparing for a sparring match, the first thing I worry about is me. I must be self-aware. 

I think about my own fitness.  How am I doing? Do I have any existing injuries or ailments?  How is my weight? My body type? What are my strengths and weaknesses?  What do I have in my toolbox? What techniques do I know? What techniques am I most versed and confident in?  

I also think about my overall wellness. Have I been eating well?  Drinking water? Sleeping? How is my emotional state of mind? What are the stakes?

Is my uniform clean and pressed?  What about my equipment? Headgear?  Mouth guard? Shin guard? Did I replace that torn lace?

I recommend using these questions to bring your character’s own reflection to the forefront in whatever way makes most sense for them.  How is your character’s fitness? Is she in good fighting condition? Has she been injured previously? What has happened since the last fight that might impact her state of mind? 

It’s possible that she’s recovering from an illness or injury.  Perhaps her mentor died a gruesome death. Maybe she’s frustrated because she lost use of her right hand, temporarily or permanently, and has had to compensate with her non-dominant hand.  Or perhaps she’s lost the will to fight, having experienced something traumatic.

Hiei had to constantly think about his own state of health throughout the Dark Tournament after his fight with Zeru.  His arm had been sacrificed to his Dragon of the Darkness Flame, rendered useless, and he was in terrible pain. He never let it impact him, of course, being the stoic warrior he is.  His personality allows for little inner dialogue to be shared with the audience, but as a fighter, he was most certainly considering what options he had with his handicap. And, as a writer, perhaps you would like to elaborate on his thoughts for your readers.

What has your character been practicing lately?  Is her weapon of choice the same? Has it been upgraded?  Has she been training with a different weapon or technique?  Is she perhaps nervous about using something new?

Maybe she just repaired her sword, and she’s unsure if it’s as strong as it was before.  Perhaps she’s been studying a new technique, and she knows she’ll need to use it in this battle.  

Remember when Kuwabara first introduced his spirit sword in Maze Castle?  He was so proud of himself, and that whole battle was an introduction to his newfound technique, how he manipulated his sword, and how he was able to harness his spirit energy.  It’s far more interesting to see this development and exploration than to just watch him stab at Byakko a dozen times.

My point is that while your character probably should keep her emotions out of the ring, she may not be able to.  There are so many things that could be on her mind, plaguing her thoughts, especially if there’s a lot riding on this battle.  I think it’s really important to not only acknowledge the physical part of fighting but the emotional toll it can take a fighter, too.

Think about the fight between Yusuke and Toguro.  Toguro had just killed Genkai, and Yusuke took that very personally.  This was not a simple battle of strength or wits. This was a battle of emotions, and it wasn’t until Yusuke was able to master his feelings and reach beyond that “six foot wall of crap” as Genkai so affectionately calls it that he was able to finally defeat Toguro.

And the catharsis that came from defeating Toguro? It was made all the more powerful because Yusuke went through that emotional journey. It wasnʼt just a fight — it was a calling, a purpose, and a lesson.  It was painful and potent, and it made him realize just how much these experiences shaped him as a person.

2. Who is the opponent? 

Before I participate in a tournament, I do my research.  Who is likely to be competing? Who is in my weight class?  What do I know about these competitors? If I don’t have answers, I would find them.  I’d chat with my instructor, my fellow martial artists. Has anyone else from my school fought these people before?  What were they like? Are there videos online of their performance?  

I find as much information as possible. I make calls, send texts, take people out to lunch, scour the internet for information.  Even if your character lives in a less technologically dependent world, I would imagine that he might talk with friends, look through old records, listen to gossip and hearsay.  He might watch battles leading up to his own fight in an effort to learn more.

And if this pre-work isn’t possible, that’s okay.  Fights in your story may be entirely unpredictable, but your character can also learn things about his opponent during the match.  

When I step into the ring and ready myself to compete, one of the first things I want to find out is on which side my opponent is dominant.  In other words, are they right-handed? Or left-handed? Right-footed? Or left-footed? Maybe they only focus on one side during training (which is silly, but that’s another conversation).  But there could be an underlying reason why as well. Perhaps they injured themselves in the previous round or maybe they just don’t like exposing one particular side of their body for whatever reason.

This information is critical because this tells me what I need to watch out for, which side of my own body I should be guarding, how I may penetrate my opponent’s defenses.  How can I catch them when they least suspect it? Where can I knock them off balance? My instructor always told me to watch the shoulders — shoulders move before the rest of the body.  You can tell what your opponent is about to do by watching their shoulders.

Your character may wish to discover the same thing.  Maybe his opponent uses a two-handed sword and is very clearly right-handed.  This may give him some information on where his blind spot is — or maybe he just needs to disable his opponent’s right arm.  The possibilities are endless, and understanding his opponent will give him leverage, offering him many options.

Understanding an opponent’s technique is also important.  In martial arts, practitioners often favor a strategy or skill.  This seems obvious, but it’s vital that you understand what it is — only then you can combat it.  

Consider Kurama’s matches with Gama and Toya during the events of the Dark Tournament.  The English dub did a wonderful job voicing Kurama’s inner conflict during these fights, struggling with first his inability to move and then his imprisoned spirit energy — if you were to put these scenes into writing, explaining his thought process would be fascinating.  How does Kurama overcome these obstacles? He seeks to understand his opponents before he defeats them, which, unfortunately, also means he risks injury to himself until then.

Your character’s thoughts about the fight, interpreting for your audience what he feels he might need to do to secure victory, is just as important as detailing the fight itself.

3. What about the writing?

The writing will come once you begin to dissect your characters and their motivations for fighting.  Your characters aren’t one-dimensional, or, at least, they shouldn’t be!  

Your fight scenes shouldn’t be, either.  It’s not about two fighters trading blows. It’s about an artfully curated dance.  Two opponents are engaged in a craft that they both know well, and whether they’re fighting to win a tournament or for their very lives, they have reasons and complex thought processes that should make their fight interesting.  

There are two players here, and unless the fight is grossly one-sided, they’re both thinking and acting independently of one another.  My advice is to thread their actions and consequences together — weave the fight scene as if it’s a stream of conscious thought, separated into paragraphs, each with a shift in perspective, for clarity.  

Instead of writing:

Yusuke charged at Kuwabara and punched him in the face.  Kuwabara punched him in the mouth. Yusuke then kicked him in the stomach.

Try this:

Yusuke had little patience for Kuwabara’s bad jokes, and he rushed toward him, landing a blow square in the side of his head.

Kuwabara flew backward with a grunt, stabilizing himself before launching himself at Yusuke, returning the favor.  His fist collided with Yusuke’s jaw, a blow hard enough to knock the teeth out of any regular human.

Yusuke expected him to retaliate, and although he was nearly knocked off balance, he swung his leg around, making full contact with Kuwabara’s stomach.

You may also find it useful to deviate from the fighting itself.  You can speak to a character’s inner dialogue or thoughts, whether about the fight or something else.  You may choose to have them begin a brief conversation. Or you may describe what other characters are feeling about the fight as onlookers.

There are many ways to make these fight scenes seamless and interesting — take some time to explore your options!

Just a few more general tips that might help:

If you’re going to use a thesaurus, be mindful about it. I use a thesaurus when I write because I suffer all day, every day from tip-the-tongue syndrome.  But words, even if they generally fit the same definition, can have vastly different connotations, so before selecting a word from the thesaurus, do some digging.  Look at the exact definition and perhaps Google some common usage. Punch, slap, and stroke do not mean the same thing, even if a thesaurus might say otherwise.

Read your writing out loud.  If you’re unsure, this is the best way to understand your cadence, the flow of the battle.  Use your best Morgan Freeman or Jorge the Ogre voice.

Consider a beta reader.  Sometimes having a second opinion is immensely helpful.

Remember that there are no strict writing rules.  You write whatever your heart desires in whatever manner your heart desires.  Experiment and explore with different styles and techniques to find whatever works for you.

I hope you find this information useful!  Please feel free to suggestion additional blog posts you would like to see from me in the future.  ^_^  Of course, please reblog this if you found it helpful!

Pictures are, of course, not mine.  They are shots from the anime or other official derivatives.

[starlocked01]

And at Last I See the Light

AO3

Masterpost- Previous- Next

Summary:  This is the story of how I died. I have been told it's a story worth telling, but I fail to see how anyone benefits from my death. Luckily, this story is not about me, but rather the most remarkable man I ever had the distinction of meeting. Content Warning: Major Character Death, Cussing, Kissing, Crying, Panic and Anxiety

Day 21 Analogical- (Combined AUs)  You see the world in black and white until you first touch your soulmate, Everyone is born with a gift or power that is nullified in the immediate presence of your soulmate, You have until midnight of your 26th birthday to find and identify your soulmate or else you both die.

This is the story of how I died. I have been told it's a story worth telling, but I fail to see how anyone benefits from my death. Luckily, this story is not about me, but rather the most remarkable man I ever had the distinction of meeting.

I should explain. This man was my soulmate in life and his gift was one of renewal. Flowers drooping in a vase would spring up at his touch. People nearing death found their ailments eased a while longer so they could say goodbyes. Wounds healed quicker for him and the weary found new strength at his encouragement. It was a gift that brought more beauty to the world; one I failed to appreciate.

Perhaps you will not repeat my mistakes.

Virgil yawned and stretched awake. The bright grey of the morning dawn made him squint in annoyance as he rolled out of bed and thudded to the floor. He could dream in color and frankly preferred dreams to the living world.

Today especially Virgil would have preferred to roll over back asleep. Today marked the beginning of the end as most people saw it.

Virgil had one year left to find his soulmate or they both would die.

That was of course unless his soulmate was older and had less than a year of their own. Frankly, Virgil thought the universe had a rather twisted sense of humor. It withheld color and life from those who most needed a reason to push forward each day. And gave them a freaking time limit to fall in line.

Soulmates were bullshit.

He'd already been touched by every kid at school and from the surrounding districts. Normally, when kids graduated high school and hadn't found their soulmates, they'd go to college to find a wider selection of people their age to try and match with, but Virgil had decided against college. He'd been called crazy but frankly, he didn't much care.

Virgil shrugged on what appeared to him as a black hoodie with drab grey patches and ran his fingers through his hair. His bangs fell right back in his face as he headed down the stairs. He brushed his hand through the vase of flowers his grandmother constantly forgot to water and watched as petals and leaves in various shades of grey perked up, ready for another day of neglect.

For his birthday, the atmosphere in the kitchen sure felt like his funeral.

"Good morning, Nana," Virgil murmured, grabbing the box of cereal from the table and reaching in to grab a handful.

"Get out," she spat at him, "either find your soulmate or die in obscurity so I can pretend you found a lovely woman and settled down in the country."

"Love you too, Nana," Virgil sighed and grabbed his messenger bag.

"Why are you the only one who doesn't want to be happy?" she asked, voice choked with sadness.

"I don't need a soulmate to be a complete person. If I find someone I find someone. If not, oh well. I've had friends and family I was happy with and soulmates tore them away from me. It's a broken system and if I die being myself, I'll come to haunt you until you join me in the afterlife," Virgil smiled softly and kissed her on the cheek.

She laughed dryly, "you don't scare me, little verbena. Please, try to find them. I love you." Virgil saluted as he left the apartment for work.

The great thing about working in the library was the quiet shuffle of people reverently browsing through the shelves piled high with more words than they could possibly read. Virgil enjoyed the calm and helping people find what books they were looking for. Except when the only fact they knew about the book was the color of the cover. When those people asked he would flash his grey eyes at them and smile sweetly before saying they all looked the same to him. Most people would act horrified and apologize profusely. Some would get angry and demand assistance he couldn't provide. Roman usually stepped in at that point, and despite having met Janus a year ago, rarely was able to locate books by color. At the very least he always offered Virgil sympathy when the guest walked away.

"You just have to go where the young people are, Virgil. They come to the city looking for soulmates, you need to spend more time with people your age. I'm sure your soulmate is out there looking for you!" Roman grinned, "Jan and I go to this great bar-"

"Let me stop you there, Princey," Virgil chuckled, "I don't do bars or crowds. Even going with you two sounds like a nightmare. I'm not going to subject myself to that for what? Some strangers to touch me and change the whole world to color? Lame," Virgil rolled his eyes. They had this conversation once a week.

"Um, excuse me. I need assistance logging on to your computer system. If I need to register for a card to do so I would like the forms to start that process," Virgil swiveled in his seat towards the man's voice and lost his own.

He looked like a man out of an old black and white film, (to Virgil every film was black and white, but Nana insisted there was a difference when pictures changed to color) his hair was slicked back and face was punctuated by thin black glasses frames that accentuated the stranger's cheeks and nose. His silhouette was sleekly defined in a black polo and grey jeans, with a slightly more saturated grey tie. Virgil felt as though the man's presence had taken his breath away.

"Can you help me?" the man cleared his throat and Virgil snapped back to present.

"Sorry, of course, sir. Do you have a form of identification to apply for a library card? The card is required to access the computers, unfortunately," Virgil rattled off the spiel from memory while pulling out the form and a new card. The stranger handed him his driver's license.

The first thing he noticed was that it was an out of state ID. The second was the birthdate, just a month before his. The third was the man's name.

"Thank you, Logan. If you would just fill out this form, I just need to make a copy for our records."

"Certainly, thank you- what's your name?"

"His name is Virgil and he's single," Roman slid in with a wink at Logan. Virgil quickly turned and walked to the photocopier, heat rising in his cheeks. He could just hear the man's reply.

"Thanks? I don't really do relationships. Do you have a pen?"

Virgil took several deep breaths. He'd had crushes like this before. It would go away as he learned more about this Logan. He grabbed the copy paper and the ID and returned to the front desk.

"Here's your ID back," he traded Logan the ID for the paperwork and scanned through it quickly, "looks like you forgot to put down a phone number, what was that?" Virgil realized a second too late how that would sound to literally anyone as Roman snickered at him, but there was a blank space on the form.

Logan looked incredibly confused, "no, that's- I couldn't have forgotten. The number is- wait," he pulled a cellphone out of his back and read the number off to Virgil who jotted it down in the correct space.

"You're looking kinda pale there, Logan, do you need to sit down?" Roman looked concerned and even Virgil could see what he was talking about.

Logan shook his head, "I never- ever- forget anything. Ever."

"There's a first time for everything, I guess," Virgil shrugged and slid the library card across the desk.

"You don't understand, my gift is perfect recall. A permanent eidetic memory. I don't forget. I should know my own phone number like I know the digits of pi."

"Nerd!" Roman coughed to hide his laughing and both Logan and Virgil glared at him.

"That is pretty strange.. I hope it gets fixed for you soon? Anyway, you're all set, Logan. Let me know if you need anything else," Virgil smiled.

"Thank you-" Logan snapped his fingers a few times before giving up trying to remember, head hung in defeat.

"Virgil," Virgil supplied softly.

"Thank you, Virgil. It was nice meeting you two," Logan walked away from the desk and straight toward the nearest open monitor.

"You better ask him out or I'm breaking up with Janus for a chance at that," Roman said in a low voice to Virgil.

"No, you won't. He's out of both of our leagues anyway," Virgil smirked at his coworker's offended gasp and returned to checking in returned books.

"His tie was blue, by the way," Roman winked and turned to find another patron who needed help.

Logan came back to the library every day except the holidays for the next few weeks and always made a point of asking Virgil when he had questions or needed help. Roman insisted it was mutual pining but Virgil held fast to the comment that Logan doesn't do relationships. Unless he heard otherwise from Logan himself, Virgil refused to imagine a relationship was possible.

He was completely blindsided when Logan asked if he would like to hang out after his shift.

"I'm sorry, come again?"

"I would like to spend time with you when you are not otherwise preoccupied with your duties. Is that not acceptable?" Logan was always so direct. Virgil felt his heart flutter just a bit, nowhere near as intense as it had the day they met.

"I mean yeah that would be cool," Virgil smirked.

"So do you do bars or-?" Logan looked put off even making the suggestion.

"I know a cafe that has decent decaf; if you'd like we can walk there from here. I'm off at 6," Virgil watched as Logan nodded decisively.

"Excellent, I look forward to it," Logan grinned and Virgil found himself grinning back.

Roman slowly inched closer in his rolling chair, eyes wide with excitement and jaw dropped in disbelief, "Virge, do you have a date after work?"

"No! We're just hanging out," Virgil turned to ignore Roman.

"'Hanging Out' is code for a date. Maybe he's your soulmate! Brush his hand or something and find out!" Roman was bouncing in his chair now.

"No! That's so rude! Did you do that to Janus? Don't answer that- I bet you did," Virgil rolled his eyes, "it's not a date to the extent of my knowledge."

"Oh my god, you're mirroring him. You like him so much! Virgil, this could be it!" Virgil glared at Roman and shushed him in true librarian fashion before standing to grab the cart and collect used books from the tables.

Virgil picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder as he turned to leave but was surprised to see Logan waiting for him by the door. He had been certain Logan would have either forgotten or changed his mind and left by now.

Roman gave Virgil a huge cheesy grin and a thumbs up, "good luck on your date!" his whisper could probably have been heard in Russia.

Virgil felt the heat rising in his cheeks and shrugged his hoodie on tighter over his shoulders, waving off Roman and walking over to join Logan by the door.

"Hey," he said awkwardly.

"Are you ready? If you need more time-" Logan started.

"I'm fine. Let's get out of here before Roman starts taking pictures," Virgil turned to leave, taking purposeful steps to the door and flipping Roman off behind his back. Logan followed briskly. Virgil led him to his favorite coffee shop, quiet on the walk there.

The question was burning in his mind though. Was this supposed to be a romantic date? Or worse a soulmate test. Virgil had gathered that Logan was rather frank, but he really didn't know the man at all.

Both of them reached to grab the door to the shop at the same time. Virgil snapped his hand back.

"Please, allow me," Logan opened the door and ushered Virgil inside. Virgil wanted to shrink until he was invisible. He tried a quick controlled breathing exercise to calm his nerves. They each ordered and Logan excused himself.

"Virgil! Come help me out over here!" the owner, Mr. Dolenz, looked rather put out by a droopy speckled grey potted fern by the front door.

"Oh no, not Tabitha," Virgil walked over, surveying the damage to the plant. Each leaf he fingered grew stronger and healthier until the whole fern was practically an inch taller. Virgil smiled as Mr. Dolenz thanked him profusely, "maybe keep an eye out to make sure people aren't dumping drinks on her. That could really mess with the soil pH."

"You're a miracle worker! You and your boyfriend's drinks are on me," the owner clasped Virgil hard on the back. He couldn't respond before the man was already bustling back towards the kitchen. Virgil turned to see that Logan had apparently returned in time to hear just enough. It was difficult to tell, but Virgil thought Logan might be blushing.

"What was that about?" Logan cleared his throat and straightened his tie.

"Oh, people like to dump drinks they're done with on the plants and it kills them. So I just use my gift to restore the plants before they're dead for Mr. Dolenz. I think he made a few too many assumptions tonight," Virgil scratched the back of his neck.

"Oh, what is your gift?" the look on Logan’s face was fascinated with Virgil’s claim.

The barista called their names and they collected the drinks before selecting a table by the windows in the corner, "I can renew things. Makes sense that I'm a librarian," Virgil laughed dryly at the tired joke, "basically I can bring a little bit of life back before it's gone. Can't really raise the dead though," he took a sip of his decaf mocha.

"That must be at least fairly useful. Is there a reason you didn't go into a medical profession?" Logan sipped his iced black coffee, looking intently at Virgil.

Virgil couldn’t take the internal tension in his mind any longer and blurted out, "is this a date? Are you trying to figure out if I'm your soulmate?" his eye went wide and he bit his tongue.

"No, did I give off that impression? I didn't want to seem too cold but-" Logan looked crestfallen.

Virgil smacked the side of his head and cursed Roman for planting the thought in his mind, "Logan, I'm sorry. You didn't- Roman- I- ah… I'm sorry. I'm just so used to everyone trying to force me into romantic scenarios that I did it to you when I knew that's not what this was- I'm so sorry. I made it awkward and now I'm rambling and you're probably just going to stand and leave-" Virgil felt a tear slip down his cheek as Logan cleared his throat.

"Actually, I understand what you mean. I too haven't found my soulmate, nor am I interested in finding them," Logan took a long sip of coffee, "I've accepted this is my last year alive. I actually moved to the city because my family wouldn't stop trying to force me into relationships as well."

"Really? Wow, that's… it's so messed up!" Virgil was worked up now and Logan was going to get the rant whether he wanted it or not, "why cut short someone's life just because they haven't found one person out of billions on the planet? And yet somehow for 99% of the population, it works! But where does that leave people like us? Discarded by the universe. It's asinine," Virgil huffed and Logan listened calmly until he was done.

"I agree," came Logan’s simple reply.

"You do?"

"I do. It's asinine. But it's how life works. Life is an ass," Virgil tried to hold back a laugh.

They talked about everything until the cafe closed. Logan talked about his research and writing and Virgil listened in wonder. Virgil talked about his interest in flowers and their symbolism while Logan nodded along. Virgil learned about Logan's previous job as an Astronomer and Logan listened to Virgil's rants about library patrons. They were joking and laughing for the whole walk back to the library. They agreed to go out for coffee at least once a week and it quickly became Virgil’s most anticipated evening each week.

Roman teased him to no end, but Virgil was comfortable in his growing friendship with Logan. His initial crush had faded into nonexistence and he simply enjoyed the man's company.

The months flew by and soon it was fall again. Virgil was so busy with the library's Halloween decorations that he almost didn't notice that Logan had not come in all day. He tried to shrug it off but the voice in the back of his head told him he needed to worry about this or he'd probably never hear from Logan again.

When Logan was nowhere to be seen the next day, Virgil texted him, asking if everything was okay. The response was sobering.

L- I apologize. I've been feeling too weak to get out of bed for the past few days. I hope you find your soulmate before your birthday, Virgil. Dying is less peaceful than I had calculated.

Virgil stared at the screen, scanning the words over and over. He could feel panic screaming in his chest, trying to drown out the world. There had to be something- he texted back.

V- can I come over? Maybe my gift will make it easier for you?

The reply was nearly immediate.

L- There is no need. I will rest today and be back to my research tomorrow. This book has a rather final deadline.

L- No pun intended.

Virgil couldn’t focus for the rest of the shift or the rest of the night. Worry for his friend gnawed at his stomach and kept him up late into the night.

True to his word, Logan arrived at the library at his usual time the next day. Virgil felt overwhelmed with relief that was quickly replaced with deep dread. Logan looked terrible. He had dark bags under his eyes and gaunt hollow cheeks. He carried himself as tall as he always had, but there was a new looseness to his movements.

Logan smiled as he approached Virgil’s station at the front desk, "I'm sorry I worried you, Virgil. Are we still on for tonight?"

Virgil nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Great, thank you," Logan turned toward his usual workspace. Virgil kept an eye on him all day. If he was honest with himself, he was scared. It was like seeing his own future, but instead of watching himself dying, he was watching the man he'd come to consider his best friend waste away.

At 6 Virgil signed out and waited for Logan to make his way to the door. He suggested he drive them over to the cafe and Logan readily agreed.

Virgil held open the door and insisted on picking up the tab. Logan wouldn't let him help physically but he would do everything he could for this man.

They sat quietly at their corner table. Virgil’s mouth was dry but he couldn’t bring himself to drink.

"Virgil?" his head snapped up hearing his name, "I have a bit of a surprise confession to make," Logan fiddled with his cup, not making eye contact, "I recently discovered that I am demiromantic. I had assumed I was aromantic but it seems I have developed feelings for you," Logan's laugh sounded hollow, "that must be pretty frightening coming from a walking corpse."

"Logan, when we first met, I had a huge crush on you. And I'm so glad we've gotten to know each other this year. I- don't have those feelings anymore, but I'm flattered, knowing you," Virgil hoped honesty would be the best policy.

Logan nodded, deep in thought, "that's fair. I'm sorry for imposing on you."

"No! No no no. You haven't. I- I understand- one-sided feelings hurt and you look like you're in so much pain. I'm not upset or weirded out. You're my best friend, Logan, and I love you platonically."

"I have less than a month until my birthday," Logan groaned softly, clutching his stomach, "I probably won't be coming in much anymore."

Virgil nodded, understanding, "can I try to use my gift on you?"

"No. I knew this was going to happen. There's no sense hiding from it now," Logan smiled weakly.

"Can I at least visit you after work? I don't want you to be alone," Virgil could sense Logan wanted to make this a goodbye but he wasn't ready to let go yet. He felt desperate to be there for Logan every minute he could afford.

Logan could see the panic in his eyes and nodded. He didn't want to be alone either.

Virgil showed up every night after work. He cooked and cleaned and did anything he could for Logan in the time they had. After Halloween, Virgil started to feel the effects of the deterioration himself, but he pushed the pain down to focus on being there with Logan.

The night before Logan’s birthday was quiet. Logan laid in his bed and Virgil sat in a chair beside him. The clock ticked audibly, much louder than it should have been. Virgil picked up the nearest book and began reading aloud. Logan visibly relaxed. After a while, Virgil turned to face Logan and whispered words of encouragement and strength. Logan wouldn't let him try anything else but it usually helped people who were tired. Nothing changed.

Logan started crying. It was barely noticeable at first (Virgil noticed) but grew in fear and pain.

"Logan, I'm here. You're not going to be alone. I promise," Virgil wanted to grab his hand, to physically comfort him in some way, but when he tried Logan pulled his hand away from Virgil's reach.

"Virgil, I love you. If I had a soulmate I would have wanted him to be you," Logan's voice was a rasp, paper-thin.

"Just, wait for me in the afterlife, I won't be long," Virgil tried to laugh but he sounded hollow.

The clock ticked louder, midnight was minutes away. Virgil wiped the tears from his cheeks and tried to smile for Logan, pulling every fiber of his being into being strong.

"Maybe it was you and I've been running from the truth," Logan reached out his hand and the clock struck midnight just before he touched Virgil’s cheek, "I think it was, but that doesn't matter anymore. I lov-" the light in his eyes extinguished like a candle finishing a wick. Logan’s body fell back to the bed and Virgil shattered.

Logan was gone. And Virgil knew that his dying breath was right. They were soulmates but it was too late.

Virgil collapsed on the bed, sobbing and holding Logan close. He was so light at the end, almost incorporeal to the touch. Virgil cried over all the pain he could have prevented, the sleepless nights dreading this one, for the friend he'd never talk to again. Logan was the only one who had ever understood, who had accepted his choices, who had believed in him when everyone else pitied him. And he was gone.

He was gone.

As if possessed, Virgil kissed his soulmate’s body on the lips and then leaned to whisper in his deaf ear, "I love you too, Logan. I love you too. You were my soulmate. I'm coming," with that he collapsed in a fresh batch of tears, crying until he was exhausted and his face was contorted and purple from the exertion.

Virgil opened his eyes. Blue. Blue eyes stared back at him from the face he'd often dreamed of in color like this. This had to be a dream. A dream of lovely blue confused eyes and disheveled brown hair. The room hadn't changed except it was morning and everything looked just like a dream. Because it had to be a dream if Logan was looking back at him with deep brilliant blue eyes filled with more questions than answers.

"Virgil?" Logan's voice croaked. Why couldn’t he dream of his soulmate how he wanted to remember him? "Virgil, what happened? What day is it?"

"It's a dream, it can be whatever day we want it to be," Virgil replied, his throat raw and voice cracking as if he'd been crying. This was rather on the nose realistic for a dream.

"Check a phone, Virgil, this isn't a dream," Logan pleaded.

"I wish it wasn't a dream. I don't want to wake up and find you cold," Virgil sighed. Kinda a stupid dream if it wasn't going to be a happy one.

Logan reached over and pinched Virgil hard on the arm. With a yelp, he jerked back and fell out of the bed. Most dreams would have ended there but as he stood, Virgil could see those blue eyes focused on him. He sighed and pulled his phone out of his pocket. It was on low battery but he could still read the date.

"It's November 3rd," Virgil read of the screen just before it went black.

"My birthday. I shouldn't be alive… why am I alive?"

"You can't be, that's why this is a dream?" Virgil wasn't so sure of himself anymore. Nothing in the room had changed from the night before but everything was bright and colored like his dreams.

Virgil smacked the side of his head with his palm. It hurt and Logan jumped at the sound. Dream Logan would have expected the sound.

"What was that for? Are you okay?" Logan looked alarmed. He tried to sit up in the bed. Virgil walked over and offered him a hand up. After glancing around the room, Logan accepted his hand and pulled himself up with Virgil’s help.

"So…" Virgil started.

"So," Logan answered.

"This isn't a dream."

"Not likely."

"The world is in color?"

"Yes. Your hoodie is purple and black, nothing like how I dreamed of it."

"Your eyes are blue."

"My dad always said they were. Yours are brown."

"Yeah, Nana always said she loved my eyes and hoped I'd see them someday."

"Why am I alive?"

Virgil shrugged, "miracle?"

After a long back and forth, Virgil and Logan came to the conclusion that Logan had indeed died that night but somehow had been brought back.

Virgil described how he'd tried to use his gift on Logan before midnight, how he'd broken down and cried over his soulmate for most of the night. Virgil vaguely remembered the kiss and whispered confession.

"That's it, your gift worked on me because I was dead. I wasn't spiritually present so you were physically able to bring me back and the soul followed," Logan's eyes were aflame with the complexity of the situation.

"Promise this isn't a dream?" Virgil sat on the edge of the bed and reached for Logan’s hand.

"I promise," Logan took his hand. It felt warm and good and solid and real.

Because it was real. Logan was real. He was here. To stay.

This is the story of how I died. Thank the stars I didn't stay dead.

Tag List: @stoicpanther @ifrickenhatedeverythingaboutthis @idontgiveafuckaboutshit @tsshipmonth2020

[kyberphilosopher]

𝐀𝐤𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚

The both of them were searching for someone whose demons would mirror their own.

Word Count: 5489

a·kra·sia/əˈkrāZH(ē)ə/ noun

“akrasia: the state of mind in which someone acts against their better judgment through weakness of will.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi had always been far too versed in the light side of the force for your taste. It was annoying, to say the least. The way the Jedi walked around like they’re better than everybody else, and then denying it. The narrow minded point of view. The ridiculous robes. It was all very exhausting to deal with. 

The Jedi Order had no recollection of you. There was nothing to suggest you had ever been a part of them, or even ever fallen under the power of the Republic. Therefor, nobody knew where you came from. 

Anakin and Master Kenobi simply encountered you one day as a General for the Separatist forces. You were also a Sith of some kind- they weren’t sure on the details. The very first fight ended with you nearly killing Anakin, Obi-Wan having to bandage his knee, and you receiving a scar from your left collarbone to your shoulder. Another time, you and Kenobi went head to head. You would’ve killed him, had Anakin not intervened. 

So, Anakin didn’t like you very much. Fine with you. 

The real prize was Obi-Wan. 

As stated above, Kenobi was far too attached to the light for your liking. As far as you could tell, the man wasn’t tempted by the darkness in the slightest. This fact baffled you. You had seen what Kenobi’s life would be like if he became a Sith. He would’ve been far powerful than many of his fellow Jedi. You would've even been willing to venture that his skills would come close to your own! But, the man was inexplicably, irrationally, and annoyingly selfless. 

Similarly, Obi-Wan had taken note of your own fatuous traits. 

Obi-Wan, through all his goodness, had never thought you to be selfish. There were times where he saw you make selfish decisions, or act selfishly- but you were not selfish by nature. Obi-Wan knew, somewhere deep down, that you felt guilt at your bad deeds. Unfortunately, that distant guilt was not enough to stop you from being ruthless and cunning in battle. And for that, Obi-Wan felt that he had somehow failed you, even though he didn’t know anything about your previous life. 

So, if Obi-Wan had to describe you, it could be summed up in a few words. Lethal. Intelligent. Devious. Unnerving. Powerful. Dealing with you was something that Obi-Wan never looked forward to, unlike Anakin, who was secretly rooting for it.

 However, despite all your flaws, Kenobi shared something incredibly disturbing with you.

You were the one that had started it. The night of your first encounter, you couldn’t stop thinking about the man. He was just so... good. The way he fought used the third form of lightsaber combat- the one that focused more on defense than offense. So he wasn’t aiming to kill you, and he probably never would be. Baffling. You could sense that he wasn’t excessively good with the use of the force, but well enough. Kenobi was in no way attracted to power or stepping on others. This, in it’s entirety, is what made you decide to try a bit of psychological warfare. 

You appeared to him in the night. Projecting yourself across the galaxy, across the moon and the stars, you let him see you. He couldn’t see where you were or where you were going to be, only you. Dressed in black robes and your hair tied back casually, you wore the little scratch Kenobi had given your cheek with pride. 

While you were proud of this feat, Kenobi was caught off guard. He had just finished a conversation with Anakin about the young man was seriously skirting the line with the council, ending in Anakin walking away with thin lips. Obi-Wan sighed, glancing at the ground and leaning against the wall in deep thought. 

He couldn’t explain what happened next. One blink, and it was the other half of the archive room. The walls glowed blue with technology and magic. The floor was a clean and sterile white. But then, it wasn’t. It wasn’t even really the archive room anymore. In the next blink, Kenobi was looking at the other half of a gray, blockish room. It reminded him very much of a Venator, especially with the giant window that gave a view of the trillions of stars against the ink black heavens. 

And, of course, you were there in the middle. 

Obi-Wan perked up in shock. His blue eyes widened, his shoulder coming off the wall as his lips parted. You stayed still, your hands clasped behind your back as a smirk danced across the corners of your mouth. 

“Hello, my dear Obi-Wan,” you greeted slyly. “What’s the matter? Did you miss me already?”

Obi-Wan took only a second to understand the situation. He wasn’t sure how you were doing this, or a certainty as to why. Still, he was a smart man, and he saw that if this was how the night would go, then so be it. 

“Oh, of course,” he answered with equal tone. His own lips were curling up into a smile, the way they did when Ventress tried to pull dialogue like this with him. The only difference was that he truly preferred you doing this instead of her. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten about me.”

“How could I forget the man with such a clean technique?” you quipped back. Your right hand raised up to gesture at the dark red injury on your face. 

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow smugly. The retort he had thought of was not even a true one, but he knew how this banter would go. “I suppose any technique would appear clean to you, Y/N.”

Yes. There it was. That little twitch in your lips that revealed the Jedi had struck a nerve. “Oh, and here I was believing Ventress when she told me you were a gentleman.”

“Did she? Why don’t you tell me where she’s going to be next so I can talk to her about it myself?”

“Does it matter?” you questioned. Step one of throwing him off was complete. Now it was time for step two- sowing doubts. “You’ve already lost the war. You’re going to lose the battle, too.”

“That’s bold talk from you,” Obi-Wan challenged. 

“I’d call it truthful gossip,” you mused. “And in case you’d forgotten, I almost killed your precious padawan today.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but take a sharp, defensive step forward. “Anakin is more than capable of holding his own.”

“But you care about him,” you ventured. Your grin was becoming more and more poisonous as you began to waltz around the area. You knew exactly what you were doing, and Obi-Wan knew that. “What’s going to happen when you’re forced to kill him? Ah, I can only wonder.”

Kenobi was at a loss for words. His eyes were flitting back and forth between your own, trying to make sense of your statements. Were you lying to him? Was this part of the obvious ploy to upset him? If so, it was working. He cared for Anakin. He couldn’t imagine harming the man he called his brother. 

“Oh, how I wonder,” you smirked finally. Then you turned away from Obi-Wan, and he was left alone in the Archive room again, as if you were never even there. 

                                    ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

The next time you had come to him, things ended differently. 

It was days before your third encounter, and your second fight. The last time you’d seen him, he’d only caught a glimpse of you smirking before disappearing into the depths of the ship and most likely the escape pods. But this time, Kenobi and Cody had hatched a brilliant plan to intercept you outside Christophsis. During the battle to attempt to slow your troops, Anakin and Obi-Wan would infiltrate your ship and attempt to subdue you. There was no way you could reach the escape pods this time- a new confrontation was inevitable. 

While Obi-Wan leaned over the holotable, studying the battle plans and maps, he stroked his beard thoughtfully. His blue eyes glinted in the glow of the room, sparkling like two little planets. Even you had to admit, the General had a beautiful, analytical brain that everyone could take a few lessons from. This only spurred you on more in your endeavor to ruin him, however. 

“What’re you looking at?” you mused. 

Obi-Wan stiffened upright, focusing on your voice. He knew you hadn’t somehow sneaked your way onto the ship at least, which left the second most likely scenario more realistic. 

“I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure that out,” he said. Obi-Wan turned around, careful to leave one hand looming over the button that turned the table back to simple planets. In a swirl, the maps and plans were gone, replaced with artificial stars and systems projected into the air. The ocean light of the room fell over your features faintly, which confused the Jedi for a second. The only colors he had ever seen as shadows with you were the deep red from your lightsabers. Usually, they were so angry and stark that you looked menacing. 

Make no mistake- you were menacing. Obi-Wan would never be foolish enough to think that you weren’t. But in the sapphire light, you reminded him of a Jedi. You looked- dare he say it?- pretty. Softer. Is that what you could’ve been at one point? A Jedi? Soft, and pretty?

“You flatter me,” you purred as you dipped your head. “I almost really believed you weren’t a gentleman.” You gave Obi-Wan the moment to respond, but he did not take the possibility. In fact, you could see that he was clearly raking his eyes over your face in search of some kind of answer. Perhaps you should do the same.

“Tell me,” you continued. “How does the gentleman intend to capture the lady tomorrow?” 

You took note of the faint wrinkles under his eyes. They weren’t from age or ailment, but lack of sleep and too much experience. There were few marks on his face, but still noticeable. No, they didn’t make him appear unattractive or undesirable, but instead gave him a sort of character. Did he have scars along his body? Was there ever a foe who marked him forever? Sure, you had scratched the Jedi with your lightsaber not too long ago, but it was nothing that wouldn’t eventually fade. Even then, it wasn’t like he hadn’t done the same to you. Your cheek was still streaked with a thin, pink gash that had begun to heal as a part of your flesh from what Kenobi had done to you. 

“Perhaps the gentleman would rather avoid conflict all together?” Kenobi mused. Ever the polite one, this man. “Perhaps you could turn yourself in now and save yourself the troops?”

You scoffed audibly. It was close to a laugh, but not quite. Did Sith’s laugh? “You are easily mistaken if you believe I care for the lives of a few clankers.”

“Clankers? Spending some time with the Clones, are we?”

“I’ve had enough of them in my detention cells to know what kind of language they use,” you said with a promise. In truth, you had captured a few Clone troopers, but that wasn’t how you had picked up the term ‘clanker’. You had gathered it after hearing some Clone describe it while listening in on transmissions. Finding it catchy and somewhat clever, you adopted it yourself. 

“Is that something you enjoy?” Obi-Wan quizzed. He took a step forward, his hands coming together with bent arms to hide each other in the length of his sleeves. 

No, actually. It wasn’t. You’d never cared much for torture. Sure, you had used it when you had to, but it had never been your first resort. You had no explanation for this. It just didn’t seem high up on your priorities list. 

“Now, who doesn’t love a good torture chamber?” you quipped. 

Unfortunately for you, it was too late for that kind of response. Obi-Wan had somehow seen the fault in your face. Maybe he saw your brow twitch, or your eyes dull, or your throat catch- you couldn’t say. But he had seen it. 

Obi-Wan nodded once, his lips still upturned at the stimulation from the interaction. “I don’t believe you.”

You weren’t sure where to go now. Your cocky and sarcastic features were beginning to fade away, replaced with a slow and diminishing frown. 

“Give up this fight,” Kenobi ventured. “If you turn yourself in now, you’ll avoid bloodshed. We both know that’s what you want.”

You swallowed dryly. Did you want that? To avoid bloodshed? You hadn’t minded it in the past, but there were times when you found enough of it distasteful. Could tomorrow’s battle be one of those times? 

“A Sith does not negotiate with the weak,” you finally answered. Once more, your face hardened back to it’s original expression. Menacing. 

Obi-Wan wondered if he should’ve said the next words. He played them over in his mind several times in the next second, before finally deciding on giving them a try. “Then perhaps, you are not a Sith.”

Your eyes widened at the statement. It struck a million things inside of you- anger, frustration, wonder, longing, embarrassment, astonishment, fear- everything. Your lungs tightened so much in your chest, they felt sore. From the sheer impact of Kenobi’s words, you took a step back defensively. 

Then you disappeared again. 

Obi-Wan stumbled backwards, hand reaching to clutch his heart. A dull headache had immediately begun forming in his temples, thrumming around like a growing drill. His lungs felt like they had had all the air kicked from them. His right cheek stung in the shape of a straight, thin line. Struggling to catch his breath, the Jedi reached his free hand back to grip onto the edge of the holotable for support. 

Mirroring the man, you jolted back as his form vanished. Your feet slipped from under you, and one of your knees was now angrily demanding your attention. Your bottom hit the floor flatly as your chest heaved up and down, gasping for the breath you had somehow lost. A bead of sweat had singularly formed on the side of your face in something like terror and shock. 

Neither you, nor Obi-Wan could explain this. 

                                   ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

By the third... ‘projection’ between you and Obi-Wan, you had met eachother on the battlefield six times, and Anakin five. The scar Kenobi had given you from your first encounter had softened significantly. Even so, it would remain forever. As much as you hated it, you had spent several nights awake thinking of how it was like a kind of mark he had made on you. Not quite something that ‘claimed’ you, per say, but a type of signature. A permanent autograph or stain that was made by the person who bothered you the most. 

Ventress, who was probably the closest thing you had to a friend, had told you it was awfully seductive in her overly sweet voice. While her hand caressed your cheekbone, the heaviness of your heart only briefly softened before falling back. 

But the third projection was different. You were not the one who initiated it. In fact, after your second meeting, you were perfectly happy to never interact with Kenobi again, unless you were fighting. During those combative moments, you could put your deep thoughts aside in order to accomplish your mission. 

But this time was not a combative moment. And yet, you were having some trouble accomplishing your mission. 

“Go on,” your master commanded in his low voice. “Execute the younglings.” 

Your lightsabers were in your hands, crossed over each other. When you would pull them apart, the sabers would slice out, and heads would roll. That’s what was bothering you. The heads reminded you very much of your young nephew, who had turned six not too long ago. 

You couldn’t remember why you had to do this. All you could remember was that Count Dooku was telling you to do it, and his patience would not last forever. You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to kill younglings. They hadn’t done anything wrong, and they had no place in the war. 

And thus, this was why you were hesitating. Every time you thought you had the surge of energy to do the deed, your heart pounded so hard your arms stayed stiff. 

“Is it really so hard?” Count Dooku said tautly. His eyes narrowed in disappointment at you, frown deepening. 

And then, Kenobi’s voice called out to you. Like an angel, or a kind of conscious, you could see him so clearly in front of you, it was like you were actually speaking to him. 

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows were furrowed together in concern as he looked you up and down. He could see your stance, and the force surrounding you so intensely. He could analyze the sweat forming, your heart rate that matched his own. Your expression was laced with anguish and conflict, and he just knew you were about to do something you didn’t want to do. Obi-Wan understood that you were about to kill.

“Where are you?” he asked. 

You couldn’t answer. You would’ve looked like you were talking to yourself, and how horrible would that have been in front of Master Dooku? Instead, you only open and closed your chapped lips softly. Your eyebrows twitched. 

“What are you waiting for?” Dooku boomed at you. 

Obi-Wan leaned back and widened his eyes at the recognition of the voice. “Y/N, whatever you’re about to do, don’t.”

“If you’re unable to do this, my young apprentice, I will have to find someone more suitable.”

You squeezed your eyes tight. 

“Don’t!” Obi-Wan called. 

You didn’t stop yourself. You so desperately wanted to. But you didn’t. 

Your arms sliced apart. The searing hum buzzed through the air crisply, followed by multiple thumps against the ground. 

“Very good,” your master praised coolly from behind you. Even with your eyes shut tight, you could tell he had a cold smirk of relief resting on his face. “Meet me back at my ship.”

You opened your eyes slowly. Your skin felt sticky with sweat, and every muscle in your body was tightened up. Your shoulders and neck felt sore, and even your eyelashes felt heavy. The familiar weight of guilt sunk into your stomach so much more solid than ever before. Maybe it was because you had just committed something so terrible in front of one of the most noble people in the galaxy. Maybe it was just the sheer and straight anxiety that came with doing something you knew was against your better judgement. 

Obi-Wan looked at you silently. He knew what you had done. He knew the irreversible, evil and disproportionate thing that you had done. 

But now, he also knew that you needed help. You looked at him with pure fear and shame, and he could see how vulnerable and inhumanly human you were. He could tell, for a fact, that you would never be a real Sith. Did you have fear? Anger? Hate? Were you suffering? Yes. But you were not evil. Obi-Wan might’ve even dared to say that you were incapable of being so. 

You tore yourself away when Count Dooku called your name from the ship. Eyes darting between his blue orbs. The first step you took away from him, you evaporated into thin air, and Obi-Wan was alone in his ship once more. 

                                   ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

The fourth time was the one that changed everything. 

You had only faced Obi-Wan and Anakin one time since he saw you kill the younglings, and unfortunately, Obi-Wan had also noticed you had a split second to kill him during the fight. Obviously, you hadn’t taken it. 

Your hands balled and unballed themselves against your knees. Palms sweaty, your whole abdomen had begun feeling like shaky jelly. Ever since the day with the younglings, you had begun to lose weight. You felt weaker, even though the darkness inside of you told you to feel so good. The circles under your eyes had darkened and deepened, and several lines had appeared on your face to make you look far more detached. 

You look unhealthy and unhinged, to be frank. 

Luckily, Ventress was there to tell you you still appeared inherently ‘handsome’. 

Your lungs pierced themselves and screamed with every breath. 

A hand reached out to touch your own, your left. 

You only allowed yourself a few moments to look it over. You observed the veins through it, the strength and width. It was a man’s, and a rather wise man’s at that. You could see little divots and callouses from work with a lightsaber, and clean nails that showed the owner had no time to bite at them anxiously. Despite how much you hated touching, you felt yourself sinking into the simple touch from the hand. It was, to be direct, the most comforting thing that had ever happened to you. 

Still, you gripped a hold of your heart, and shot your hand away. Your head raised to meet the owners eyes. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi, though you hated to admit it, had the eyes that you found yourself looking for often. Whether it was to avoid him, or find a comfort deep down, you did it. They were dapper and blue and deep, and changed in the shades of the sunlight. In contrast to his strawberry blonde hair, they shown and glimmered like an ocean. 

Obi-Wan felt the same about your own. Your eyes were conflicted and obviously conveyed several emotions, but also held a history that captivated him. He felt that they deserved everyone’s captivation. He wanted to study them like he would an ancient story, and memorize every changing detail within them. Even with the tired darkness underneath, he felt that they were uniquely beautiful in their own way. 

“Why are you here?” you seethed lowly. 

Obi-Wan glanced down, and then back up honestly. “I heard you calling out.” Before you could scoff, Obi-Wan quickly added, “I felt it.” 

You shook your head. “I wasn’t calling out. I would never call out for you.”

The man swallowed, determining the best approach. “I know that you are angry, but I’m here to help you.”

Kenobi’s tone was sincere, but you wouldn’t- couldn’t- believe it. “Help me?” you scoff. “I don’t need help.”

The Jedi tilted his head at you, looking deeply into your eyes. His orbs were piercing and infinite, it seemed. “You know that’s not true.”

At that, your anger washed away. A frown came down over you. Your eyebrows knitted themselves together in pain. Your eyes became rimmed with simultaneously hot and cold tears. Cheeks grew pink enough to totally disguise Obi-Wan’s signature. 

The way he was looking at you was just so intimate and understanding. Never, not in your whole life, had somebody done this. It seemed, in fact, that Kenobi could see right through you. He could feel you. He could feel your heart, your ribs, your tendons, and your pain. He could feel the soreness in your muscles, how tired your head felt. He wanted, more than anything, for you to have a rest. The Dark Side had done everything it was ever going to do for you. You didn’t need this weight any longer. Obi-Wan wanted to know how you would look when you laughed. 

Your head hung down as your first sob came out. Your fists balled even tighter together, both returning to your knees. 

Feeling his respect for you, mixed with your sadness, Obi-Wan reached his hand out again. His palm ran over your right fist for the second time, and this time you did not rip away. Instead, your own fingers unraveled and relaxed. The Jedi ran his thumb over your angry knuckles and your cunning fingers, silently keeping you close, even though you were far, far away. 

                                   ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

You did not see Obi-Wan in projections again. 

Some weeks later, you had however, seen him in his entirety. 

Your ship was on fire. Some stupid clanker had miscalculated and allowed your fleet to settle right into General Skywalker’s attack. With every jolt, you stumbled and struggled to maintain balance. Your internal conflict had been continuing to cause you to lose weight in the worst way, and it had recently gotten hard enough to keep yourself upright. 

Finally reaching the hanger, you heaved in exertion. Somewhere, Obi-Wan was outside, either flying around or searching for you aboard. You found, to your nightmare, you had missed him terribly in this exact moment. 

The igniting hum of a lightsaber made you raise your brows. In the middle of the hanger, with sparks falling from above, was that young Togruta girl. The Skywalker padawan. What was her name again? Aheka? Aurora? Ahsoka? Yeah, Ahsoka. 

She glares at you angrily. Her face is scrunched in determination, something that reminds you so much of Anakin himself. Both her sabers were at the ready, and her stance was that of one about to pounce. 

Yes, Ahsoka was trained by someone powerful. This, however, did not mean that she was a match for you. If you fought this one without restraint, you would undoubtedly kill her. You did not want to do that. 

“Hello, General,” she taunted. Definitely Anakin’s padawan. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Despite your exhaustion and the sharp pain in your ribs, you answered her sincerely. “Please,” you called out. “Please, move aside. I don’t want to fight you.”

Ahsoka’s eyes narrow at you. “You’re under custody of the Galactic Republic now. If you won’t fight, you’ll be detained.”

You shook your head, exhausted and defeated. “I can’t go with you. I won’t fight you, but I won’t go with you.”

Darkly, the Togruta replied to you. “Then I will make you.”

She launched forward from the balls of her feet. In a flash, you managed to take out one of your sabers and switch it on. The red clashed against the green in defense, making you lean back before pushing forward. 

No. You would not kill Ahsoka Tano. 

You are very strict about playing offense in the next minute. The only time you ever actually strike the young one is when your blades catch each other.

Not so far away, a voice yells, “Snips!” 

Ahsoka Tano looks at her master. You identify Anakin quickly enough, and seize the opportunity. Your leg snaps up against the Togruta’s stomach. She crumples on herself with a gasp, and you push her to the ground before moving past her. 

As you sprint as fast as you can, you can hear Skywalker scream, “Ahsoka!”

You move down the hallway as fast as you can. You have to get to the escape pods. The hanger is no longer an option. Either that, or find Obi-Wan. 

                                   ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

It doesn’t take you long to find him. You stand at the opposing side of the bridge, your breathing rapid as your headache tortures your temples. There was so much pain inside of you, falling off your robes and your skin like steam. You just wanted this all to end. You wanted to be free. At this point, you didn’t care if it was from the Dark Side, or the Light Side. 

And Obi-Wan knew that. 

As he finished analyzing you to make sure that, no, you wouldn’t hurt him, he took a tentative step forward. 

You looked terrible. Kenobi wanted to fix that. 

“Y/N,” he called calmly. “I am here to help you.”

You nodded your head, suddenly feeling very hot. “I know,” you confess. Your lip quivers under the weight of everything- the pain, the anger, the frustration, the conflict, the admiration for Kenobi. He looked so handsome now, even with the ever growing danger surrounding the both of you. “I need help,” you admit, voice breaking. “P-please help me.”

Obi-Wan walked quickly to you, sensing your weakness. He knew that at any moment, you were going to collapse both outside and in. Your turmoil had bubbled over, your Akrasia breaking whatever spirit you had left. He knew that you were too tired to feel darkness now. You had nothing left to fear, anger, hate, or suffer over. 

“Obi-Wan,” you said shakily. Your hands came up to rub your arms as if you were cold. “I love you.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi knew how selfish it was to replay the words over in his head at the moment. He just couldn’t help it. 

You had always been radiating. You had always been strong and worthy of admiration. When you struggled with your guilt, you struggled with your deeds, and that gave Obi-Wan hope. You had restored his faith all on your own, and he had already known that it was worthy of being expelled from the Order. But this was you. This was the woman he had grown to care for, like a mold to fit into, and had come to understand. The Jedi felt hungry for that. He felt hungry to know you. To analyze you. To help you. 

“I know,” the man said, sincerely and slowly. Against his better judgement, and the rocking of the falling ship, his right hand reached out to cup your face. Your skin was warm. Slightly sticky from the sweat, but Obi-Wan didn’t mind. “I know.”

His other hand opened up. His calloused and strong palm revealed itself to you, drawing your attention, and reminding you of the night that he had held your own inside. “Y/N, I need to know if you will follow me.” Obi-Wan paused, looking into your eyes. This was his confession. His begging, his pleading, his longing, was a confession for the love he felt for you. “I need you to come with me. You must leave this behind.” Then Obi-Wan swallowed. “Come with me. Please.”

The both of you were betraying your Orders. 

Your right hand came to meet his. Palms against palms, skin against skin, you connected. You could feel Obi-Wan’s need and frustration, and he could feel your longing and fear. 

“Yes,” you said, tiredly. “Yes. I’ll go with you.”

And, in that moment, you could see a life with Obi-Wan. 

He would not leave the Jedi. You knew that for sure. But you would go back to Scarif, where you were born. On a shore, near the crystal blue waters, Obi-Wan would build you a house. He could visit when he had the time, holding you in your sleep to protect you from the oncoming nightmares, and you could kiss the scars on his back. Every time he would leave, your heart would break, but he would always bring you something small to apologize. Perhaps you could start to draw again? Obi-Wan would’ve loved to draw with you. He could teach you how to meditate, and clear your thoughts. Somewhere deep in the ground, you’d bury your lightsabers and never touch them again. On top of that ground, Obi-Wan would hold your form tightly as his skin moved against your own. Everything would be like a song, and maybe one day, you could give him a new verse. You could give him a child. You could have peace. Not fake peace, but real peace. The kind of peace that follows the storm, and lingers til the end of your days. 

A choke escapes your throat. 

You feel your lungs quiver in weakness, then refuse to allow any more air in. Obi-Wan watches your face change from sorrowful, to shocked. Your mouth agape, eyes wide, you suddenly go very, very pale. He feels you still yourself upright, and he tells himself the blue blade in your chest isn’t real. 

Anakin pulls the lightsaber out of you. Your pupils dilate as the blood begins to drip from your nose thinly. You can’t think, you can’t even move. You cripple to the ground without choice. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi keeps you close to him as you die. He has nothing to say to either Anakin or yourself, and he knows there is nothing he can do to heal you. He watches you watch him, your vision fading in and out as you try to memorize every detail of Kenobi’s face for the last time. Your vision of a life with him becomes nothing more than a distant memory and a sad dream, and you don’t know when it ended. 

                                   ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

Obi-Wan burned and buried you in secret. 

The Jedi had loved you, and he had known you enough to see that you deserved respect. You were not to be shipped off into the ground like any old Sith. You were to be cared for, and cradled until the end. Even in death, he wanted to help you.

And perhaps, simply that statement alone, was his greatest form of Akrasia. 

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*

Taglist: @omg-we-really-doo @chokemeanakin​ @typicalfanlife​

This is the version that was requested. Please let me know how you feel and if you noticed any errors! I wrote this while I was very tired, and I may want to tweak some things. 

[scapegrace74-blog]

Gratitude

A/N  When we last saw Jamie and Claire, they’d crashed, burned (somewhat literally) and declared their mutual interest in each other in their individual ways.   Whither now, our pair?

All other parts of the Metric Universe are available on my AO3 page.

The song by Big Red Machine (another guest artist!) that inspired the title is here.

June 1, 2018, Costa Coffee, Whitechapel, London, England

“It feels like ye might be avoiding me, Sassenach.”

It occurred to her that Jamie knew her schedule and habits to an uncomfortable degree for him to be at her favourite coffee shop at exactly the point in her shift when she could no longer resist the siren call of caffeine.

Since the fire in their building and Jamie’s subsequent profession of love, they’d been living under separate roofs.  Claire was sleeping on the couch at the home of one of her fellow medical students, and Jamie was bunking down with his uncle.  Their flat had escaped the flames, suffering only smoke damage, but it would be at least eight weeks before the building was declared structurally sound and they could move back in.

Heading to the counter, Claire purchased her usual extra-large oat milk cortado with a fruited teacake, then added a flat black with raw sugar for Jamie.  Settling across from him, she slid his coffee across the tiny table before splitting her teacake and balancing half on his saucer.  He nodded his thanks, but was otherwise silent, waiting her out.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she began, surprising them both with the frankness of her opening salvo.  It helped, she found, to be paying undue attention to stirring her coffee as she spoke.

“That doesna sound like ye, mo nighean donn.   Why don’t ye tell me what part is vexin’ ye, an’ we can see if we canna bash our brains t’gether til we come up wi’ a plan, aye?”

She knew what he was doing.  Cleverly depersonalizing their situation so that she could approach it like any other problem.  Part of her resented his easy manipulation, grounded as it was in how well he knew her.  But there was a secret part of her that thrilled at the emotional intimacy.  To be seen, truly seen, in all her messy complexity, was a novel experience.  Jamie knew the architecture of her heart, all its dark corners and blind hallways.  He must have recognized something worthy, to be willing to so patiently coax her away from her solitude.

Plus, she’d spent the last year training him to leave the toilet seat down.  That wasn’t the sort of work you just walked away from.

“It’s... god, where do I start?  It’s having no idea what it means to be in a healthy adult relationship.  And the crippling fear that if I fuck this up, it’ll ruin our friendship, which is so important to me, Jamie.  I don’t think you have any idea...  Plus our living situation...”

“We arenna livin’ t’gether for the moment, Sassenach,” Jamie interrupted.  He had leaned forward across the table as she stammered through her recitation, and his curls had flopped across his brow in that boyish way they had.  Her chest tightened, torn between affection and blind terror.

“No.  That’s true.”

“With yer permission, I’d like tae make a suggestion.”  At her cautious nod, Jamie continued.  “For the next two months, we willna be roommates.  I’d like tae... court ye...”

“Court me?!” Claire blurted out.  “What, like in a Jane Austen novel?”  She couldn’t help but smile at Jamie as he blushed, but he continued undeterred.

“Aye, like that.  Ye’re used tae havin’ all the answers, Sassenach, but this isna one of yer wee tests tha’ ye can study for.  We’re gonna have tae wing it, and see where it takes us.  But I promise ye, I willna play ye false and I willna walk away.  Will ye at least give this thing between us a chance?  If it doesna work, we can go back tae livin’ t’gether as friends, no questions asked.”

At some point during his speech, their hands had met across the table.  She could feel Jamie’s trembling through his fingertips.  He was scared too, but he was being brave because he felt it was worth the risk.  How could she dare to do otherwise?

“Alright,” she conceded, and his smile warmed her face like sunshine.  “What do you propose, then?  Shall I don my best parlour gown and set out the petit fours, Master Fraser?”

“Och, I dinna mean tae be makin’ me call me master quite yet, Sassenach,” he teased, delighting in her blush.  “I’ll be at yer door t’morrow.  Three sharp.  Wear somethin’ comfortable an’ bring a jumper for after dark.”

Finishing his teacake in three large bites, Jamie hopped up from his seat and brushed the crumbs from his jeans.  With a mischievous grin and a cock-eyed wink, he raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.

“Until tomorrow then, milady.”

Jesus Christ, what had she just done?

***

To her relief, Jamie showed up at Joe’s front door in his usual jeans and Henley, not a frock coat and jodhpurs  He wasn’t even carrying flowers.  Joe tried to buttonhole him with talk of the previous night’s football match, but after a few minutes of polite chitchat Jamie ushered Claire out the door, joking that he’d have her home before curfew.

She wasn’t quite sure what to make of his behaviour.  The Jamie she knew had always been charming, when he wasn’t busy putting his foot in his mouth.  Now she marveled at his apparent ease as they descended the steps into the Tube.

Heading west on the District Line, thoughts continued to assail her.  Was he always this self-confident on a date?  How often did he go out with other women, anyway?  She’d assumed she knew everything there was to know about Jamie, but maybe she was wrong.  Before Frank, her last date had been back in nursing school, and a VHS player and copious cheap beer had been involved.  Despite the over-zealous air conditioning in their train, her palms began to sweat.

“Ye needn’t be afraid of me, Claire,” Jamie’s soft burr interrupted her quiet panic attack.  “I’m no’ going tae suddenly turn into some man ye dinna recognize, just because I’m tryin’ tae romance ye a wee bit.”

Once again, with only a few words Jamie had peeled away her layers of confusion and doubt to strike at the core of what was bothering her.  She forced herself to take a deep breath and immediately recognized Jamie’s scent; a blend of laundry detergent, his vetiver bar soap, and a touch of chlorine left over from the morning’s swim.  It set her at ease.  He hadn’t worn cologne.  His left boot had a frayed lace that had needed changing since March.  His cuticles were as inexplicably perfectly formed as always.  He was her Jamie, and she could trust him to behave in accordance with what she already knew of him, even in this uncharted territory.

“So, where exactly are we going?” she asked after the crackling announcement for St. James Park had died away.

“Would it ease yer mind a wee bit, tae ken?”

“Maybe a wee bit,” she confessed.

“Well, then, how can I refuse?  Have ye e’er been tae the Chelsea Physic Garden, Sassenach?”

***

As it turned out, by some grievous oversight she hadn’t.  Wedged between a high brick wall and the Thames was a three hundred and fifty year old urban oasis, filled with plants that could either treat your ailments or kill you.  Naturally, she was enchanted.  Jamie followed her between the beds and down the shaded lanes of pea gravel, a soft smile held between his lips.

When the garden closed, they walked along the Embankment and over the Thames at Chelsea Bridge, stopping to watch the sun set over the murky water.  A food truck beckoned with its aroma of chips and burgers, which they ate on a nearby bench, going back for extra napkins when their choice in toppings proved especially messy.

It was the least romantic meal she’d ever eaten, and she was soothed and smitten in equal measure.

Washing grease from his hands in a drinking fountain, Jamie turned to her in the half-light.

“Now, I have a verra important question of ye, Sassenach, and how ye answer will determine the future course of our evening t’gether.”

Here it was, she balked.  The hook at the end of the line. The sour amongst so much sweetness.  She shouldn’t have expected...

“Are ye,” Jamie continued, unaware of her inner monologue, “afraid of heights?”

... no different than any other man, with his...

“Am I what?” she blurted, once her brain caught up with her ears.

“Afraid of heights?  An’ a bit of a scamper up some scaffolding?”

Jamie was pointing over her shoulder.  She peered into the night, but all she could make out was the hulking shadow of the derelict Battersea Power Station.

***

It was a convoluted story, but the outline went something like this: the massive coal-fired station, with its four spire-like chimneys, was slated for redevelopment.  Jamie had taken part in an onsite review of the location by the London Fire Service, and had befriended a representative of the developer.  Somehow, this friend had granted Jamie access to the site, which is how Claire now found herself over fifty metres above the ground, climbing a seemingly endless series of metal steps, with her curls trying to escape the confines of a workman’s hard hat.

“You really know how to show a girl a good time, Jamie Fraser,” she grumbled as they came to a landing made out of scaffolding.   Above them, a white chimney ascended into the dome of the sky.

“Ye canna say I dinna take yer breath away, Sassenach,” he teased.

She was about to retort when they stepped around the base of the chimney tower, and all words failed her.

Rolled out far below their feet, the Thames was a black carpet reflecting millions of pinpoint gems skyward, broken by belts of light where it was traversed by a bridge.  Beyond the eastern bend in the river, the City glowed with its eternal hum.  The colossal space taken up by the station was a palpable presence behind their backs.

“It reminds me of yer Uncle Lamb’s saying, about makin’ our present out of the bones of our past.  Twasn’t the original plan, but here she stands, still vital and strong, being remade anew.  An’ a beautiful vision fer all tha’.”

She wasn’t convinced that Jamie was talking about the power station.  

A cool breeze blew off the river, and she shivered.  A jacket still warm with body heat immediately covered her shoulders.   They stood side by side in silence, just taking in the view.

When their hands bumped, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to thread her fingers with his own.

“You’ve set the bar impossibly high for any future dates, you know,” she commented eventually.

“Ye’re only sayin’ that because ye dinna ken what I have planned next.”  His grin was impossibly smug, and she fought the urge to kiss it right off his beautiful mouth.  He must have read the impulse in her eyes, because his face was slowly approaching her own, eyes a volatile mix of hope and trepidation.

Her own eyes fluttered closed in anticipation.  Just as their lips should have been meeting, their was a ductile crunch, and their heads bounced apart with comedic timing.  Their hard helmets had collided.  Jamie swore softly beneath his breath, but Claire couldn’t stop giggling.

“Oh, thank god.  It is you.  I was beginning to wonder.”

***

It was late when they finally exited the Tube, but Jamie insisted on accompanying Claire all the way to the Abernathy’s front door.  She handed him back his leather jacket, feeling suddenly awkward in the brightly lit hall.  The date had been magical, far beyond her wildest expectations, and it felt strange to return to the prosaic reality of their lives.

“Thank you for a wonderful time, Jamie.”

“Twas my pleasure, Sassenach.   I’ve missed ye, these past few weeks.  And I really hope... well, you’ll tell me if you want to do somethin’ like this again, aye?”  His hand went to the back of his neck in a gesture she knew well.  Bless the man, he had no idea the effect he had on her.  It was well past time to let him know.

“I’d love that.  Truly.  I’ve got final exams to study for, but maybe sometime next week?”

"Well then,” he replied, clearly delighted with her response.  “I should let ye get some sleep.  Good luck on yer exams, Sassenach.   And thank ye, fer bein’ willing tae give this a chance.  Twas a day I’ll ne’er forget.”

He began to walk away.

“Jamie!”  He turned around.

“Aye?”

Walking forward to the beat of her pounding heart, she halted when their bellies were practically touching.  Lifting up on tiptoe, she pressed into his mouth.  Time slowed to a syrupy drip as their lips met for the first time.  His rough exhale was the only sound in the cocoon of sensation that enveloped them.  It felt like she was falling through an endless cloud. Too soon, she had to pull away to capture her breath, and the spell was broken.  Judging by his moonstruck expression, Jamie had been equally affected.  She smiled when she realized his arms were still held aloft, like he was trying to hold on to the memory of their kiss.

“Goodnight, James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser,” she purred before she disappeared from his sight.

[hermionemonica]

Watching Her Sleep

AO3 link

“I am so sorry, m’ lady..”   

“No Chaton,” Ladybug argued, “it wasn't your fault. It was I who wasn't looking where I was going.”   

“But none of this would have happened if I hadn't challenged you to race me,” Chat said in a little voice.  

“Hey,” Ladybug reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder. She knew her kitty had a dangerous habit of blaming himself for every small thing that went wrong. “It isn't anything big, I just slightly sprained my ankle, it’s gonna be okay.” She tried to stand up, but stumbled as soon as she tried to put her weight on her injured foot. Fortunately, Chat was there to catch her just in time.   

“Let me take you home,” Chat said, lifting her up in his arms.   

Ladybug knew that it was the best option, given that her foot wasn't exactly in a condition to support her up for too long. “Just one minute,” she said. “Tikki, spots off.”   

Chat Noir did not look away as the pink light of detransformation took over Ladybug, and left Marinette in his arms. Since they had revealed their identities to each other a few months back, he had seen Marinette transform and detransform many times.   

“I just thought,” Marinette offered to explain, “that it will be easier to explain if someone sees Chat Noir dropping Marinette home than if it were Ladybug.”   

Chat smiled. She really did always think of everything.   

“Now, the Knight will drop off his Princess to safety,” Chat bragged, as Marinette giggled and wrapped both her arms around him.   

   “Thanks, Adrien,” Marinette whispered as Chat put her down on her bed.    

“Anytime, m’ lady,” he returned with a smile. “Do you happen to have an ice bag around?”   

“There's no need-"   

“Marinette.” Chat cut her off in a very serious voice. “Do you want to be limping all over the school tomorrow?”    

“I guess that won't be very appealing,” she gave in. “There's one in the second drawer of my vanity.”   

Chat hopped off the bed to get the ice bag. Once he found what he was looking for, he made for the trapdoor.   

“Um,” Marinette leaned over the side of her bed, “where do you think are you going?”   

“To get some ice,” Chat responded, holding up the empty ice bag.   

“Are you saying you are going to move about my house, when you are not even supposed to be here in the first place?” Marinette crossed her arms across her chest, “I hope you have a good explanation for that, in case my dad catches you.”    

“Princess,” Chat offered to explain, “it's 11 in the night, the bakery is closed and your parents are most probably asleep. And just in case they are still up, there are certain advantages of being a cat,” he ended with a wink.   

“You're not a real cat.”   

“You get my point!”   

“Alright fine,” she threw her arms up into the air, “but I won't take any responsibility of whatever happens.”   

Adrien breathed a little laugh as he descended through the trapdoor. If only Marinette knew that he would gladly run into any risk for her.   

   When Chat’s head poked through the door, Marinette's voice came in an urgent whisper. “I was beginning to get worried!”   

“Don't worry,” Chat reassured her, “your Knight is safe and most probably undiscovered.”   

“Most probably?”   

“Yeah,” he scratched the back of his head, “You see, your mom was actually still up. But she didn't give any unusual reaction, so I don't think she saw or heard me. I guess, the black suit and my boots saved my butt tonight. Victory!” He waved the filled ice bag over his head like a bag.    

Marinette let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, which aptly expressed how she was feeling.   

Grabbing a towel from the chaise, Chat climbed back onto the bed. As he was placing the towel on her injured ankle, Marinette spoke up, “I could do that by myself, you know?”   

“Are you suggesting I let go of such an opportunity to serve my Purr-incess? Me-owch, I thought you knew me better than this!”   

Marinette threw back her head and laughed out loud.   

Adrien glanced at her with warmth when she wasn’t looking, but promptly turned his gaze away as soon as she looked at him. He then commenced on his ‘treatment’. At first, he probed around to determine the exact spot where it hurt. Once he had located the site, he set off to apply the ice bag. He was surprisingly tender and careful, and Marinette could not help but be impressed. And maybe, a bit flustered.  

“There you go,” Chat announced a while later, as he carefully wrapped the ice bag in the towel and put it away.   

“You know, you're really good at this. I think my leg already feels like new,” Marinette praised him.   

“This cat has many hidden talents, m’ lady,” Chat bragged. “But I'm not done yet. I still have my own personal elixir to any and all ailments.”   

“What are you talking ab-"   

“Shh,” Chat silenced her by gently pushing her down on the bed. And then he shifted his own position to lie on his side beside her, propping his head up on one elbow.   

Before Marinette could voice her confusion, Chat closed his eyes and began to produce the most soothing of purrs.   

The sound was strangely comforting, and soon Marinette could feel her entire body relaxing.   

“But kitty,” she spoke in a little voice, “don't you have to go home?”   

The purring paused only for a moment. “Not until you’re asleep.”   

Marinette could not find it in herself to protest. Instead, she pulled the covers closer to herself and closed her eyes tightly.   

She was fast asleep within a few minutes. Once Adrien heard her breathing drop to a slow, regular rhythm, he stopped his purrs and opened his eyes.   

She looked so peaceful as she slept. Her lips were slightly parted and a light pink colour dusted her cheeks. Stray moonbeams from her skylight window gleamed off her face. Adrien had always known Marinette was beautiful, but at this moment, he thought she looked angelic.   

Adrien reached out to move a strand of hair that had fallen over her face. At the touch, Marinette shifted slightly and he froze in fear that he might have woken her up. Luckily, she didn't open her eyes, nor did she show any sign of wakefulness. But just when Adrien was beginning to relax, Marinette, still fast asleep, grabbed hold of his hand and hugged it close to herself.    

Adrien paled. He carefully tried tugging his hand away from her grip, but Marinette let out such a grunt of protest that his heart stopped for a moment. He was left with no option but to abandon his efforts. With a sigh, he accepted that he was effectively stuck.   

Eyes widened in anxiety, Adrien looked back and forth between her face and his hand, hardly daring to breathe. He had not accounted for something like this to happen. But now he was stuck in a very compromising position with Marinette. His cheeks flared up when he thought about how embarrassing it would be if Marinette were to wake up now.    

But she was asleep now. All he had to do was wait around, quietly and carefully, till she shifted or turned over in her sleep so that he could pull his hand away. That seemed like a good plan, and Adrien finally closed his eyes and let out a Sigh of relief.  

When he opened his eyes, he found himself looking into Marinette's sleeping face. He stared at her in affectionate wonder for a moment. Something happened inside him. His gaze gradually softened, and he could feel a strong sense of protectiveness rising inside himself. He wanted to wrap his arms around this girl, hold her close, and feel her warmth. He wanted to shield her against all the bad things of the world.    

There is probably something magical about watching someone sleep. It's such a simple thing, and yet it holds so much trust, so much comfort, so much love. His Princess, his Lady, slept by his side, holding on tightly to his hand, and what idiot could remain unaffected by that?   

He wished he could tell her how much he loved her. How much he wanted to spend all his nights like this, looking at her as she slept. How much he wanted her to hold onto his hand like that forever. How much he wanted to call her his, just as he was already hers.   

But he had no idea when a night like this would come again. And that was why he could not break his stare from his face. It was a privilege in itself to be so close to a Princess like her, much less be allowed to drink in her beauty like this.   

And then he yawned. Of course, it was pretty late. And Marinette's bed was warm and inviting. He did not want to think about his lonely, looming room. This was his happy place.   

Will Marinette notice the change in texture from leather to skin? Probably not, he would have to take the risk.   

“Plagg, claws in.”   

Marinette did not move. Adrien heaved a sigh of relief.   

He took out a piece of camembert from his pocket and gave it to Plagg, who swallowed it whole without any hesitation. “Wake me up if I am too late,” he whispered to his kwami, who nodded in affirmation before zooming away to join the other kwami who slept upon the headboard.    

He turned back to look at Marinette. Smiling a little, he settled himself under the covers and wrapped both arms around her.    

“Good night, Marinette,” he whispered before drifting off into a peaceful slumber.   

   Adrien had always been an early riser. Hence it was no wonder that his eyes fluttered open as soon as the first rays of the sun peeked through Marinette’s skylight.   

The first thing that greeted him was a mass of raven blue hair. It took him a while to get oriented with the unfamiliar surroundings, before he remembered what happened the previous night. He leaned his head back to take a look at Marinette's face. Her open hair was splayed out on her pillow, and a line of drool ran down the side of her mouth. Adrien lightly chuckled to himself, she was so adorable. Even asleep, she had a strange hold over him. It was as if she was pulling him towards herself. Unable to resist, he leaned in towards her face. Brushing away her bangs from her forehead, he gently planted a kiss there.    

Marinette’s grip on his hand had loosened. Adrien reached out and nudged his kwami awake. “Plagg, we have to go home.” Plagg, however, was a little reluctant. Only after blackmailing him with three wheels of cheese did Adrien get him to budge.    

He sat up on the bed as quietly as possible and whispered his transformation words. Just before leaving, though, he turned to look at Marinette one last time.    

Chat smiled. She would probably have no idea that he had spent the night holding her in his arms. And he was determined not to shock her with that knowledge, which was why he wanted to get away before she woke up.    

“Bye, Princess,” he whispered. And then he leaped out through the skylight silently. Most of Paris was still sound asleep. As he bounded across the rooftops, he prayed no one back at his house had noticed his absence the previous night.   

It was 7 when Marinette finally woke up to her alarm. As soon as she opened her eyes, she was greeted by a red and black being hugging her cheek. “Good morning Marinette!”   

“Good morning Tikki,” she hugged her kwami in return.   

“How does your foot feel?” Tikki asked.   

“A lot better,” Marinette rotated her foot to check. “That cat sure knows his stuff.” And then an image floated into her mind, and she smiled to herself.   

Tikki didn't miss it, of course. “What are you thinking, Marinette?”   

“Oh, it was just a dream I had last night,” Marinette replied. “I dreamt that Adrien kissed my forehead.” Instinctively, her hand went to her forehead and she closed her eyes. A blush rose to her cheeks as she whispered to herself, “Silly kitty.”   

Tikki looked on with a knowing glint in her eyes. After all, she was well aware it wasn't really just a dream.