#they have kind of similar circumstances but they would so deeply have nothing to talk about

[kyouka-supremacy]

I was asked why I like Beast and why I prefer it over the main universe, so obviously I ended up with a 2k+ words essay on why Beast is great. Now I feel like it diverges too much from what the original ask was actually asking for, so I'm leaving it to its own post. Enjoy.

Why do you like Beast? So, first of all you MUST know that this is a question that could keep me talking for days to no end. I'm not kidding. Here there will be some disorganized rambles but trust me, if I had time to actually do so I'd keep going on forever.

Alternative universes are cool I love Beast. I think it starts off at a point when the bsd author was more experienced from having already worked with the main series for many years, and ultimately ended up making an alternative version of the work that is more mature and refined, while still maintaining bsd's core themes (and conservative worldviews at that lmao). Starting off, the “what if” concept is endlessly fascinating, pretty much the entire fandom culture is based on it. It IS unfailingly cool to see what could have happened if Akutagawa sided with the ada and Atsushi with the pm, it is extremely interesting to see what changes out of their personalities and on the other hand what stays the same, what is intrinsically them. About sskk, I find it really compelling how Beast tackles intimate aspects of their lives, pasts and traumas. The café scene is genuinely brilliant in the way it shows, completely unexpectedly and to the reader's full disbelief, them getting along in normal circumstances. Who could have predicted that! Of all things, Akutagawa and Atsushi getting along. But it happened, and nothing before had ever shown to that extent how similar they are, how much on the same page they are, how much they're meant to be– like yeah obviously I mean romantically, but even if you're not particularly into that, it displayed just how deeply connected they are. I'm forever grateful for that scene.

Beast Akutagawa is great But I think… More in general, I just really like Beast Akutagawa and Beast Atsushi, even better than their canon counterparts 😅 Again I do think at the point when they wrote Beast the author had already gathered a lot of experience from serializing bsd for at least five years, and ended up making characters that are more solid and compelling (although please don't get me wrong, I LOVE canon sskk and I believe canon Akutagawa's character arc in particular is amazing. It's just that at least to me Beast sskk is everything I could ever ask for.). I love Beast Akutagawa! It was so so capturing to see him grow outside of the pm. And especially it was infinitely interesting to see Akutagawa grow outside of Dazai. And don't get me wrong, I love the influence Dazai has on canon Akutagawa, I wouldn't have it any other way: it made Akutagawa who he is, and I love reading about his character. But I also found it wonderful and pleasantly refreshing to see how he would be if he had never undergone Dazai's training; I like this Akutagawa who's possibly even more immature and impulsive, wild and untamed than his canon counterpart. Beast is also the universe where Akutagawa gets his chance at being a good person - which is something he desperately strived for but never got to have in the main universe -, and in the end I am a little attached to Akutagawa, so I'm happy for him! His relationship with Oda and the whole ada are wonderful, I like getting to experience a universe where Akutagawa is loved and supported, unapologetically, for who he is.

Beast Atsushi is great Beast Atsushi is AMAZING. Like. Character molded appositely to my liking ahah. He's so cool! He's so tormented! He's sweet and cruel and utterly unstable! I love him so much. He truly is Atsushi at his full potential. I love this Atsushi who's biggest fear isn't the world, but rather himself. He's beautiful and horrible and deathly and kind. He killed his abuser to stop him from haunting his nightmares, but ended up turning those nightmares into his life. He takes his coffee with three sugars. He loves his little sister and would risk the safety of his organization and the boss he's endlessly loyal to for her. The only person who ever understood him is his most loathed enemy. He's one with death and indistinguishable from darkness. His laughter stops rain. He lives in perpetual physical pain due to a choker constantly piercing around his neck and yet even that is nothing compared to the damage of his psyche. He's so, so fucked up. He deserves the world. I LOVE HIM.

Beast Dazai is great Also, I really like Beast Dazai!!! He's always Dazai, but I think his character works out a lot better in Beast for the role he covers. In canon Dazai is this omniscient, all knowing figure, but he's also a protagonist, and him being so perfectly flawless doesn't go well in the long run. You've seen it in the last season 5 episode, it just gets boring after a while– it would be nice to see him face actual challenges and high stakes for once, but he's so overpowered, that never happens. In Beast, it's pretty much the same deal (author really loves Dazai lmao), but the fact that he isn't the protagonist and instead the main villain? I feel like from a storytelling standpoint, it works so much better!! I mean, his being omniscient works a lot better– he's not the one who the reader expects facing challenges and high stakes, the protagonist is. In addition, in Beast Dazai has almost universal knowledge due to his link to the Book, so that makes his being omniscient and even god-like a lot more feasible and easy to contemplate! I think that plot-wise it just works a lot better, there's an actual reason he's so overpowered, and that reason is explained, it's in the text. Oh and I LOVE his utter devotion to Oda. I know it's the same in canon, but still… There in Beast you can see it concretely, you can see it everywhere. That very universe exists how it is because of Dazai's love for Oda, because there's nothing he wouldn't do for him, because in the whole universe, in the whole multiverse, Oda's happiness is the only thing that matters to him. I think such strong feelings of love being put so explicitly is something simply wonderful to read, and makes Dazai infinitely more sympathetic than what he may be in canon. “But I do have one regret, Odasaku— I won't be able to read the novel you'll complete one day.” LIKE YEAH, SURE, ALRIGHT, JUST SHOOT ME TO THE HEAD ALREADY. That line alone is worth the whole novel, honestly. Oh and the thing about Oda harshly repudiating Dazai, the man who literally did everything for him, who dedicated his whole life for him… Man!!! That REALLY made me sympathize with Dazai in a way canon will never be able to. All those factors only contribute making Dazai's suicide in the end all the more emotional– which I believe works really well in the story, he is an enemy and he is a god and he had to die, but still makes for an extremely emotionally charged scene and a wonderful story climax. Imo Beast Dazai had to die so that canon Dazai could live (and, hopefully, find a reason to live!), and it's as bitter as it is beautiful.

The Beast ada dynamics are great And I love the ada in Beast!!! They feel infinitely more of a family than they do in canon. Kenji, Kunikida, Tanizaki, they all seem to love Akutagawa in a way that's hard to be found towards Atsushi in canon? The way they didn't falter to rescue Akutagawa even as he went, against all their advices and pleas, to a suicidal rampage was wonderful and heartwarming. They make it sound unbelievable that when Atsushi was (mind you, unwillingly) kidnapped their first response would be that it was an hassle and that he should have dealt with it on his own (this time I truly believe it was the author learning from their own mistakes, because seriously, who does that. It makes everyone instantly feel a thousand times less sympathetic). As people have said, the ada alone makes Beast feel like the “right” universe on the basis that in it they actually care about their members. All things considered, the ada treats Akutagawa as this kind of rabid murderous gremlin they just adopted who's going to bite everyone but that they still love no matter what, and it's super cute. Beast ada really is the bsd found family if there ever was one.

A cool plot The Beast storyline is just very compelling in general? The introduction chapter is amazing, I mean, The Heartless Cur is amazing. Again, Beast Akutagawa is such a great character, and the description of his struggle to find his own humanity, although in my opinion does fall weak in some points and has flaws, still treats a concept that's very interesting to ponder over nonetheless. I like how there's a series of more light-hearted chapters in the first half, it helps solidify the characters, and those chapters are really nice to read; not to mention having lighter chapters alternated with the strikingly more gloomy and violent pm Atsushi scenes makes the latter feel all the more frightening and disturbing, it's a great narrative choice. And the big crescendo of Akutagawa storming in the pm headquarters! His fight of physics and morals against Atsushi! Them telling each other they're nothing like the other when the reader knows the exact opposite is true! It's all very good, and again, Dazai's suicide makes for a perfect climax to the story.

Sometimes being a seinen can be good I like how Beast is a seinen way more than the main story is? Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with shounen manga - which bsd seems to lean towards more often than not, with only occasionally tackling more adult concepts -, but at this specific time in my life those darker themes are just something I find more entertaining to read about. I feel like the gritty and often gruesome depictions, although maybe a little overused in the manga, really help emphasize the dark atmosphere of the manga and overall effectively convey the whole “beast” imaginary as wild / violent / unpleasant / animalistic.

It's got sskk in it And in general it's just… Compared to canon, Beast is very very sskk centered. It's significantly shorter than the canon manga, and in a way that helped focus on sskk specifically, because it only had space to narrate one story, which is sskk's. And I don't know what to tell you, I'm here for the sskk. Of course I like Beast best.

Beast Atsushi is great (cont.) Back to Beast Atsushi because he's everything, really. I love how when I went into Beast I was like “I mean, whatever Dazai is making of Atsushi under the pm, if can't possibly be any worse than the constant abuse Akutagawa had to experience 😊” AND I WAS PROVED WRONG. I mean, I think the fact alone that the author could come up with something worse is remarkable. Dazai's emotional manipulation and psychological torment is, I believe, the darkest facet of Dazai we ever witnessed, and it's extremely well executed. Beast Atsushi is so so unstable, so on the brim of mental breakdown and psychosis at every second. Him being made unable to let go of the past makes him live in a perpetual nightmare. And I feel like the way his character story is unwrapped is truly masterful, storytelling wise!!!! On the reader's first encounter with him, it's evident how deeply scarred and disturbed he is, but the reader can't tell why. That adds to the mystery and feeling of unsettling surrounding the character: his story is wrapped up by darkness and it's impossible to predict, just like he is– and it's deliciously unsettling, scary, to be unable to tell anything about what made him like he is except from guessing that it must have been something really bad. And yet even then /nothing/ could have prepared the reader to what his backstory really is? And when the traumatic event is finally unveiled, it's worse then any guess the reader could have made. Atsushi's back to the orphanage flashback passage is terrifying! He didn't undergo any harm, like it would have been easy to guess; on the contrary, his torment stems from having killed his abuser. But he did so at a point when he didn't represent a threat for him anymore, when he was proud of him, when he got close to resemble a father to his eyes; and all of this he realized too late; and now he lives in constant regret, constant terror of himself. It's great, really! And even then, Atsushi carries on with being. super cool lmao. Like yeah he's unstable and everything, he's wild and violent, but he's also still very kind. He's timid and blushes easily. He also feels a lot more mature than he does in canon, and it's nice to see. He's more confident and serious, and that's nice too. He REALLY is my favorite character.

Some pretty cool scenes are in it Moving on, Beast has some truly amazing scenes. The Heartless Cur is amazing and builds up such an awesome character, Atsushi's introduction is petrifying, the Kenji / Akutagawa conversation is as deeply moving as it is cathartic. I won't be talking about the sskk café scene. Akutagawa's whole assault to the pm headquarters is rich of emotional scenes. I already talked about Atsushi's flashback and Dazai's suicide being wonderful passages both from technical and emotional standpoints. And the manga ending is just so good!!!!!!! Like it truly is the perfect ending– the way it ties up with the main story! How it feels like ada Akutagawa's story has just begun, a conclusion but also hope for what's to come. The “out behind our company's building there are some people of low character hanging about”– I can't stress enough how emotional this line, a final and definite tie to the main story, makes me, how meaningful it is in its quality of being both an ending, and a beginning. The last page showing Akutagawa at the center of the ada, it just moves me so deeply to see him being the protagonist, surrounded by a crowd of people who love and support him, getting his own chance at a life in the light 😭😭😭 “I'm going to live as an agency member. I'll solve cases, rescue the weak, and prove that I'm not evil.” Crying my eyes out 😭😭😭😭😭😭 And don't get me started on when Akutagawa and Atsushi's voices mix up to speak as one; I could never hope to be able to express what that makes me feel.

Siblings dynamics are my jam I also love Beast because one of the main aspects that drives the plot is Ryuunosuke and Gin's relationship, and I /love/ siblings relationships, and I //love// Ryuunosuke and Gin's relationship. I don't think Gin's character was written well at all (because the author literally can't write female characters for the life of theirs), but eh, at least it reinforced the concept that Ryuunosuke loves Gin terribly and would be able to do anything for her. Atsushi and Kyouka's relationship, too, is to die for.

The designs and manga art style slay Besides, the character designs are beautiful???? Akutagawa's Beast outfit is my second favorite out of the whole franchise, it's just such a look™. I love in general how rabid and messy Akutagawa looks in Beast, he feels so much more free? And like, good for him. In my head Beast Atsushi is the most handsome man in the entire franchise and I don't think I can take criticism on this. I find cutting off his longer bang such a witty way to represent not only how this Atsushi is different from the one we know (after all, that's the most remarkable and eye-catching feature of his appearance!), but also to symbolize how the cut with his past at the orphanage was harsh and violent. Characters designs aside, Hoshikawa's art style is GORGEUS. It's hard and rough and messy, it's dark and unpolished and violent and beautiful and exactly everything Beast is. It's PERFECT for the story, it's like it was made to portray it.

Sskk is always great And that's just talking about the canon content but like. Beast means a Beast sskk. Which is basically new and improved sskk. And I like sskk. And I like every version of sskk but especially this version where they're even more violent and fucked up and madly in love with each other and evidently meant to be. So yeah.

And this is like, just the very tip of the iceberg of what I love about Beast. Humbling offering you this Beast love letter in hope we can all give this novel the appreciation it deserves (๑˃‌ᴗ˂‌)۶

[zeroducks-2]

Do you think sladick could take a step further in the relationship and actually get married? I personally see them as some sort of toxic relationship so I don't think marriage would 100% work for them but I want to know your thoughts

I myself don't see Sladick as a toxic relationship, or better not necessarily. I have been mentioning this a couple of time in the past but to reiterate, my favorite thing about this ship is that their impeccable chemistry makes them work (in my book) with every kind of scenario. Partially quoting my answer to when I was asked Sladick for the ship ask game:

I love when Slade is abusive, but I also love when he takes better care of Dick than anyone else. I love when Dick does the sweetest most domestic things around Slade because he feels so safe. I love it when he spits blood and resentment in his face, realizing just how bad this man broke him. Slade can be a guardian angel to Dick, or he can be the reason why Dick is losing his sanity. Sometimes they're madly in love, sometimes it's just sex, sometimes Slade is a rapist and sometimes he'd tear to shreds anyone who dares touch his most precious little bird. Basically every Sladick dynamic you can think of works with me.

Going by this, it should be a given that in the right circumstances and if you tweak their personalities enough, they could indeed take the relationship "a step further" and get married, but here I contradict myself because I would really dislike that. Specifically I would dislike a strictly heteronormative, ring-around-the-finger monogamous relationship, especially if we're talking marriage in the old fashioned, traditional sense of the word.

It might be that my queer, polyamorous ass tends to dislike when marriage is used to show that indeed a relationship was "taken a step further"; I don't like the concept of marriage per se, or the history behind it, or how in narrative it tends to be the happily ever after for two people to show that now their relationship is "mature enough". And I ESPECIALLY dislike when marriage is used to sort of "prove" that two people are actually deeply on love - they have to be since they are married - nah fuck that.

So I guess my answer would be that if you want to craft a situation in which Slade and Dick are happily married, you have my blessing. At the end of the day there is nothing that "won't work" for a ship as long as you make it work - we can make everything work in transformative stuff, and if tomorrow I want to write Dick growing a second head there's nothing stopping me. But it's not going to be my cup of tea for sure. Both the marriage and Dick growing a second head.

(To be clear, when I say this I don't mean ALL the scenarios in which Slade and Dick are married, like of course a Royal/medieval AU or an Omegaverse AU would go by different societal standards and rules, giving a different meaning and context to marriage and similar kind of unions. I'm talking about mundane AUs - coffee shop or college or idk truck driver&gas stop clerk AUs - and canon universe situations, in which marriage exists as that specific kind of "symbol of the fact that we truly love each other" romantic trope. That's the hard no for me.)

[sirendeepity]

[ Valkyries one-shot ]

A/N: I recently did an Acosf skim-through and realized many things, but first of all how deeply I really care for these three and just how much they mean to me, so I couldn't let this idea rot in my head, never seeing the light of day. I don't know about you, but in this rather self-gratificating fic Emerie is me and I am Emerie, period, so to all the other Emeries out there, enjoy <3

T/W: -

W/C: 2.7k

Four days has passed since the Blood Rite officially ended, and only a couple more were left before Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony—before she wouldn’t be able to see her best friend and sister for almost two weeks. It should’ve been a month, but given the circumstances and the unpredictability of everything there still was on the table—Nesta’s brand new powers, Koschei and the Human Queens, Beron’s involvement, and the possibility of a new war looming on the horizon—they decided to cut it down and wait for better days to come to properly celebrate. It was Nesta who insisted on having no less than two weeks, and once she set her mind on something there was no changing it.

“I did not forget how the bastard left me high and dry for an entire week after Solstice,” Nesta spat, tossing empty boxes aside with that passive-aggressive way of hers. She’d surprised Emerie by showing up at the shop that afternoon. It was unusual of Nesta, knowing how little she enjoyed coming to the village—even more so now, the memories still fresh in their minds, but they were both too stubborn to show the Illyrians any kind of weakness or fear. They had taken Emerie and her friends from her own house and thrown them to the wolves, quite literally, expecting them to fail, to break and perish, not even taking into consideration the possibility of them—of females—to be capable of more than just cook and clean and give birth to a new life. Jokes on them. The Valkyries had proved everyone wrong, daring to survive and winning the damn thing. Pride sparked inside Emerie’s chest every time she thought about it, turning her knees a little weak.

“The same week when I should’ve had the best sex of my life,” said Nesta, calling back her attention, “I should’ve seen stars with every orgasm.”

Emerie grinned, delighted by how freely Nesta talked about some aspects of her sex life whenever they were alone. They did it with Gwyn too, of course, but given how little vanilla content there was to share, Nesta filtered out some tiny details every now and then, just to be sure. They tasted the waters every single time, always making sure to know how far was too far, lest they unintentionally triggered their friend. She was far from being frail, but she was also far from being indestructible. The Blood Rite marked a solid “one step forward, three steps back” turning point on her journey to normalcy outside the library’s safe walls, unfortunately, but Emerie was confident her sister would overcome anything life threw at her, coming out stronger than ever. She is the rock against which the surf crashes, after all. Nothing can break her.

Nothing can break any of us, the Illyrian thought.

“Seems only fair to me. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve a two-week-long intense sex session,” she said, piling a bunch of folded shirts before setting them next to similar articles. Spring was coming to the Illyrian mountains, too, and that meant taking winter garments off the shelves and replacing them with lighter items. Which she just did, in half the time it would normally take her, thanks to Nesta reaching out her hand.

Emerie blinked, looking at Gwyn through the mirror. Her friend was standing in front of it in all her tall and red-haired beauty.

“How is it?” She asked, spreading her fingers over the rigid corset of the dress. It was entirely made of silk and covered in little diamonds and pearls, the skirt falling to her knees. Only two tiny straps of the same material prevented it from slipping down her body, keeping her chest covered but leaving the scattering of freckles on her shoulders and upper back for everyone to see. Emerie’s fingers tingled, wanting to trace constellations out of them. She’d often wondered who’d be the lucky male allowed to do that. Who would make her laugh and kiss every reddish mole on her cheeks and listen in awe to her many ramblings. Whose face she’d have to punch if they ever dared to break her heart. When she and Nesta first met, she was already in a novel-worthy situation with the General, so there wasn’t very much to wonder about. All Emerie could do was train and be ready to face the centuries-old warrior if it ever came down to it. It did, sadly, but it quickly fell at the bottom of her list of problems and was resolved before she had to break his nose.

Emerie loved her sisters to pieces and found them to be the most beautiful females to ever exist—and she knew plenty about females.

“Would it be enough?” Her friend asked again, turning to face her. The color of the silk matched the teal in her eyes almost perfectly.

“Babe,” Emerie said, “You’re the one wearing the clothes, not the other way around. Meaning that you’re the one who needs to feel comfortable wearing them, and no one has a say in it.”

Gwyn’s eyes widened at the words like they were the dumbest thing she’d ever heard, “It’s still the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. They can have a say in it. They can have a say in everything.”

“Nesta assured it wouldn’t be anything formal.”

“For her, maybe. They share the same blood, of course it’s nothing serious for her. We, on the other hand, are not that lucky, ” the priestess said as she went back to her own reflection, adding with an arched brow, “And it’s not like you’re wearing the first thing your eyes landed on.”

A faint shade of red colored her cheeks. Indeed, she was wearing a fine dress as well—a dark green velvet pencil dress, decorated with gold embroidery from top to bottom. Courtesy of Nesta’s closet and the dozens of brand new clothes the High Lord gifted her—the majority of which she admitted she wouldn’t wear anytime soon, not wanting to venture too much out of her comfort zone for now.

“You’re not wrong.”

“I never am.”

They both laughed at that, the sound covering the soft knock coming from the door before it opened and a blur of red slid in.

“What are we laughing about?” Asked Nesta, coming to a halt between them. Her curious gaze bounced between the two before she stopped to look a moment longer in Gwyn’s direction, drinking in her reflection. “You look lovely.”

Emerie imprinted her friend’s lit-up face in her memory as she stood, following Nesta’s instruction and letting her sister see her own outfit for the night. She blew Nesta a kiss when she showed her how much she appreciated the way she looked.

“Pity we’re staying in tonight, these dresses were meant to be shown off,” Emerie said, and both of them eyed the priestess at the comment, looking for any reaction at hinting a night spent outside the House of Wind.

To her credit, Gwyn gave away nothing. “Pity,” she conceded, at last, nodding once before stepping away from the mirror.

Emerie’s eyes turned on Nesta, giving her a once-over. “Damn, Archeron,” she grinned, “You already have him wrapped around your finger, no need to make him suffer like this.”

“I’ve known you for almost a year and it’s the first time I see you wearing red,” Gwyn added, coming up to her side.

A red so deep it almost looked black, but red nonetheless—there was no questioning for whom she was wearing the color. The velvet hugged her curves in all the right places, with long sleeves falling just an inch off her shoulders and a light V neck exposing her sleek collarbones. It was a good thing Nesta wasn’t a particularly ambitious person, because just a look from her would be enough to make Prythian fall to its knees. And not just the male side of the population, Emerie thought.

“He gave me such a funny parting shot this afternoon,” said Nesta, a smirk curving her dark-tinted lips upward, “I wanted to have a laugh, too.”

If you only knew, Nes…

The three of them shared a mischievous look that meant nothing good before Nesta announced, “Place your bets.”

“He’s going to cut dinner short and kick everyone out before dessert is on the table,” Gwyn proclaimed, quickly adding, “Edible dessert, I mean.”

Emerie couldn’t stifle her snickering. “What are those books of your teaching you?” She joked, placing a hand on her chest, fully aware that she was the one to blame for that.

“The only acceptable treatment for a Carynthian.”

Emerie felt the exact moment Nesta’s emotions switched.

She turned toward her, taking in her set jaw and furrowed brows as she said, “I’m not a Carynthian.”

Gwyn and Nesta stared at each other for a moment longer before the older huffed a laugh. “Of course you are.”

“Gwyn, I didn’t reach the top of Ramiel.”

“I don’t care.”

Emerie’s head whipped toward Gwyn, watching her as she twirled and aimed for the jewelry. It was the first time she heard her friend using such a cold tone, and it went completely at odds with the smile plastered on her face and the lightness of her movements.

Nesta’s eyes narrowed to slits, “Excuse me?”

Uh-oh.

Emerie opened her mouth—to say what, she didn’t know. Something, anything, to prevent things to go south, but Gwyn beat her to the punch.

“You heard me, Nesta.” She picked up a fine string of diamonds, holding it to her throat.

Nesta’s chest expanded to the point of breaking the seams of her dress. “I am not a Carynthian because I did not reach the top of Ramiel, and you know it,” she said slowly as if she was talking to a toddler, dragging every word out of her mouth.

“You reached the top.”

“I did not touch the stone.”

“Neither did I.”

Nesta’s eyes shot to the ceiling, her hands curling into tight fists at her side. “We’re not having this conversation now.”

“Fine,” Gwyn shrugged, going back to the hairpins and earrings and rings. “My opinion is not going to change, anyway.”

“Because it’s not an opinion!”

Emerie stepped between her friends, but Nesta raised a finger at her before she even had the chance to utter a word and calm the waters.

“I didn’t touch that stone—”

“Neither did I, Nesta,” Gwyn said again, her voice rising over Nesta’s.

The cold ricocheting of pearls on marble was the only sound filling the room for a few beats. Gwyn’s smile had fallen, baring the determination in her eyes.

That’s not good, Emerie thought, turning once again and assessing the cool expression on Nesta’s face. Her eyes were silver just like the shield around her heart. That’s not good at all.

“I was unconscious when Emerie carried me all the way up and touched that stone, remember?”

“It was the only way.”

“No, it was not!”

The hurt in Gwyn’s eyes made Emerie flinch.

“Why should I be considered a winner when other people did the work for me?” She went on, voice thickening. “Why do I get to take the praises, and not you, mh?”

“Because those are the rules—”

“Fuck the rules! Not one thing in there was following the rules.”

Emerie’s heart cracked as the first tear rolled down Gwyn’s rosy cheek. She took a step forward, extending her arm to embrace her friend, pleading, “Gwyn, please.”

“I mean it, Em,” she rasped, using the back of her hand to dry her cheek. “You were there, Nesta. If Briallyn didn’t show up you would’ve made it in time.”

“I know.” Nesta’s voice was small, so small compared to the one Emerie was used to, and she had to swallow a couple of times, as if trying to swallow the memory of that night, too. “But Briallyn did show up, Gwyn. And she kept me… Busy, until sunrise. It was already too late.”

Emerie stepped back to better look at her sisters staring each other down, so many unspoken words shining behind unshed tears and melting ice.

For anyone who asked, Nesta didn’t tell them what had really happened once they split up, just as she didn’t tell them what had really happened at her sister’s house. Those were Court secrets. But they were not just anyone, though, and they just happened to know exactly what went down and how it all ended. And what Nesta did… It was so much more than just touching a stupid magic rock.

“It’s not fair,” said Emerie, squaring her shoulders and facing Nesta. She didn’t hide from her gaze—she never felt the urge to do so, as many others did. It had intrigued her from the first moment, that silver fire burning behind those long lashes. “Gwyn is right. Everything was against the rules in the Blood Rite, from the very first day, but no one made a fuss over it when it came down to considering it valid. Why can’t we make one more exception?”

“Because I can’t make that exception.”

It took a moment for the words to properly sink in. So the only reason why Nesta wouldn’t allow that was… Herself. What bitter irony.

“Why not?” Gwyn asked, stepping to her side, and then went on tentatively, “I’m sure both Cassian and Feyre will support it, and you know Rhysand would say yes to anything you ask him.”

Nesta looked at them and just shook her head, as tears pooled in her eyes and threatened to spill. And that was it.

“Oh, babe,” murmured Emerie, reaching for her friend at the same time Gwyn did.

“I wouldn’t be able to look at any of you in the face, knowing I didn’t do what I had to do to deserve it. I can’t live like that—like a fraud.”

On her side, Gwyn shook her coppery head but kept quiet, so Emerie said, “You’re not a fraud.”

“I would feel like one, and that’s enough for me.”

Emerie interlaced their fingers and squeezed, hard, at Nesta’s sniffle.

“Then I don’t want to be a Carynthian, either.”

Nesta’s head whipped so fast it was almost comical, but Gwyn wasn’t in the mood for a laugh. “I was playing sleeping beauty, so technically I didn’t touch the stone and earned the title myself.”

“What—”

“Look, Nesta,” the redhead said in an exhale, “I know what the rules say, but I still don’t care. My climb stopped at Enalius Pass, just as yours did.”

“You don’t mean it,” stated Nesta.

Gwyn just ignored her, “Except I do. I don’t care if you want to call yourself Oristian, Carynthian, or the Mother herself. Whatever you are, I am too.”

“And so am I,” Emerie quickly added.

To anyone else, they were like the states of water. Free like air, shifting like water, firm like ice. But to their very core, they were one and the same. Always have been, always will be.

None of them will be complete and balanced without the others. And by the fullness and surety gleaming in her friends’ eyes, Emerie knew they felt the same way.

Only after she blinked away her tears and cleared her throat, did Nesta say, “Well, I’m not Illyrian, but I am a Valkyrie. And you are, too.”

Gwyn huffed a laugh, “On this, we can all agree.”

“Screw the Blood Rite,” Emerie declared, mirroring her friend’s grins.

“We are Valkyries.”

Emerie wrapped her arms around her sisters’ shoulders and hugged them, pressing their heads together as close as she could. She wished her souls could fuse into one, wished the universe—the Cauldron—let them belong to one another on some kind of astral way, let them be soulmates because the skies wished it so. She had the feeling Cassian wouldn’t be too happy about it, though.

“Emerie?” Nesta’s voice slowly dragged her back to reality and found her already looking her way when she opened her eyes. She just furrowed her brows, waiting for her friend to spit it out, whatever it was. Nesta’s expression hinted at nothing as she said, “Feel free to call yourself Carynthian how many times you want if it’s going to piss some old Illyrian off.”

Gwyn threw her head back and laughed, earning an open smile from Nesta. These two forces combined lit up the whole room, and Emerie was pretty sure her heart would grow wings and take flight at any moment.

[ifidiedinadream]

Hope this request is ok as its a sensitive subject which you may not feel comfortable writing about which i completely understand! and I know you've written one similar before but it was just go good and comforting i'd love if there was another one. you've had a relapse with either an eating disorder/drug addiction/drinking and joel notices somethings not right and comforts you and helps you in recovering.

hello anon! thank you, hope you enjoy 🖤

TW: EATING DISORDER (ANOREXIA OR ANOTHER TYPE OF RESTRICTIVE ED) AND BODY DISMORPHIA.

also on ao3

“There’s something I wanted to… talk to you about.” 

Joel takes a deep breath. He’s trying to keep his eyes locked with you, which he’s doing a better job at than you. Your gaze falls on his hands on the table, fingers toying with his rings. You have a vague suspicion what this is about. 

Joel isn’t very good at facing difficult conversations, and him sitting you down and initiating one means he’s seriously worried. You appreciate that he’s willing to set all his fears and insecurities aside for you, but this once you hoped he wouldn’t. 

Really. There’s no need to. 

You don’t answer, not sure if you want to hear what he has to say. Joel listens to your silence and resumes talking unprompted. 

“We both know these past few months have been hard for you,” Joel’s looking at his hands now, “and… well, I noticed some patterns -” 

“There are no patterns.” 

Joel’s eyes snap up to your face. You kind of expected a stern expression, but his eyes are wide with concern and poorly concealed sadness. It’s suddenly hard to swallow. 

“You barely eat,” Joel says with a trembling voice, “and you’ve lost so much weight.” 

You shrug. “It’s only a couple of kilos. Nothing worth making a fuss about.” 

Joel sighs. He’s not used to this, it’s hard for him. “Why are you lying to me?” 

His voice lacks the accusation the words he chose would suggest; instead he sounds small and helpless. You hate this but he’s really just prying into things that don’t concern him and it’s annoying. 

“You shouldn’t be worried. It’s nothing. I’ve just been too stressed out to be hungry. Now please drop it, you’re exaggerating. As always.” 

You stand up, turn around and go to your room, unwilling to look at his face full of ugly emotions he doesn’t even know how to handle. Like it’s any less pathetic than whatever coping mechanism you choose for yourself. He doesn’t love himself very much either, so what does he want?  

Hypocrite. 

*** 

You resurface from your room before dinner time, only to find Joel cooking in the kitchen. A unique, more than rare, sight. You cross your arms on your chest, one eyebrow raised. 

“What the fuck, Joel?” 

“I’m making dinner.” 

“Why are you, all of a sudden, interested in making dinner? You know it’s something I’d rather do myself.” 

“I just don’t think it’s fair for you to cook every meal. Just wanted to help.” 

Your heartbeat increases and you hear it in your ears. If you freak out now it’d be too obvious. You need to keep control, composure. You breathe in deeply, tightening your fists. 

“Okay. But I’ll cook my own dinner. You can eat whatever you’re making.” 

“But this… this is for you.” 

Joel offers you fried eggs on a plate. The only thing he can make somewhat decently, and you’d find it endearing in other circumstances; but it’s fried eggs, and you can’t really eat fried eggs. 

“Baby… you’re sweet. But no, thank you.” 

Without so much as looking at him, you head to the fridge, grab lettuce and start making a salad. Joel comes to stand behind you, gently trying to make you turn to him. You take his hand off your arm irritatedly, but he doesn’t give up, moving beside you and making you tilt your head towards him with gentle fingers. 

“Baby, please. I just need you to admit that you have a problem. I wanna be here for you but I can’t if you keep shutting me out. And it’s - eating me alive, I’m so scared.” 

You drop the lettuce in the sink, exasperated. “Leave me the fuck alone! What are you scared of, huh? That I’ll starve myself to death? Look at this, look -” you grab the hem of the oversized hoodie you’re wearing and lift it up, revealing your stomach, “do I look dangerously thin to you? Do you think this is the body of someone who’s gonna have to be hospitalized in a clinic again?!” you grab your tummy, squeezing it, showing him how squishy you actually are. It almost makes you cry but it’s the only thing that’ll make him understand, or at least it’s what you hope. “I was actually thin last time and you know that. Now stop, you’re seriously getting on my nerves.” 

His eyes are huge, like he’s just seen something unexpected and terrible. Okay, you haven’t had sex in some time, you’re just not in the mood, so he probably didn’t remember what you look like; but are you really as ugly and fat as his face suggests? 

“That’s…” his voice breaks, “do you really not see that you’ve lost too much weight in just a few weeks?”  

This is where you break down. Making fun of you now, is he?! 

He doesn’t understand, he’ll never understand. You may have lost a few kilos but it’s far from enough. You could do so much better and you will, if he doesn’t come between you and your goal. Between you and the counting calories app in your phone, you and your obsession with food and planning your next meal. You and that elation-inducing sense of control only restriction can give you, the one that makes you feel like a god whenever you see you can indeed resist temptation. 

You won’t let him ruin it for you. You need it too much. 

“Just admit it… please, baby. I need you to admit it.” 

Despite yourself, despite the anger you feel towards him right now, you can’t help but cry in his chest when he hugs you, stroking your head soothingly. His chest hiccups and you hate it that you’re causing him so much pain, but you don’t feel strong enough to fight this. 

You pull away, vision blurred from the tears as you look into his eyes. He’s frowning, hands tentative as he keeps caressing your hair. 

“I’m sorry. So sorry for everything. I relapsed. Now I can’t stop.” 

Joel lets out a shaky breath, half relieved and half terrified. “No, baby, you can. You can. You don’t have to go back to where you were before. You have me now. I can help you, I… I’ll be with you. I’ll do whatever I can to help you. Anything.” 

Joel’s desperate voice is what makes the gravity of the situation sink in. You still hadn’t met Joel when you first dealt with an eating disorder and back then, you were alone and not always found a reason to go on with your recovery. This time, there’s something obvious to fight for. This time, maybe, it can be easier. 

“It’s gonna be tough, you know. It’s gonna be sleepless nights and panic attacks and me snapping at all times. It’s gonna be me thinking I’m ugly and worthless and pushing you away and lying to you. It’s gonna be frustrating; to you it’ll look like I’m trying to kill myself. Are you sure you wanna be beside me now? You don’t have to. You deserve so much better than this.” 

Joel lifts your head with a finger under your chin, giving you a soft kiss that tastes like salt. “I don’t wanna lose you. Please, let me help you.” 

Your shoulders slump as you sigh, closing your eyes. You’re exhausted. Still, you nod, and Joel grabs your hand in his own, squeezing it.

[basimibnishaqs]

Ok I Have to ask: what do you think Rex and Cody's lightsaber colors would be and why? 👀 (absolutely no pressure in answering this if you don't want to hskdhskdjs)

hey I adore you for sending this ask thank you so much for letting me talk about this. oh my gosh okay these ones were pretty difficult because while I adore Cody and Rex so much the breakdowns of their characters and personalities is not one I'm super familiar with (especially canon versus fanon) so I did my best based on what I understand about their characters and what they go through and what I think about lightsaber colors.

Cody: blue. BUT PARKER THATS SO BORING I hear you cry but LISTEN. Those with blue lightsabers are exceedingly loyal and dedicated. They draw their strength from a deep sense of duty. They long for peace, and also are excellent in combat out of a sense of protectiveness. They know grief well but continue to persevere. Their steadfastness, however, can make them susceptible to passiveness. If they are a boulder in the wide endless ocean of the Force, then their dedication to duty might make them miss the fact that they are eroding under the constant onslaught. It can also lead to a kind of coldness that overwhelming circumstances require. As a Commander, Cody feels a deep sense of responsibility to those under his command, as well as a deep grief and love. But he is a Commander with an immense amount of responsibility, so much so that it overwhelms every part of him. The sheer amount of people under his command means Cody has to mentally stop himself from feeling the full weight of his emotions. Cody is a defender, through and through, yet the line becomes blurred the more he goes through, until his duty is all he has left.

Rex: orange. I know I'm biased toward orange lightsabers but hear me out. Orange lightsaber wielders are deeply faithful guardians of peace. They draw their strength from their compassion and connection to others: as a captain, he has a lot of responsibility, but is able to connect more personally with the clones he commands the Cody is because of the difference in their roles. These are people who have gone through a transformation of some kind and their deepest struggles rely on dealing with their personal grief and letting go of the past: despite everything he's gone through, Rex maintains his task in a different kind of way, helping the brothers he can and letting go that which he cannot change. He still grieves, of course he does, but he remains going ever forward. Orange is also the color of caution and warning; both things Rex exemplifies and receives during the war. These people often tend to be the least combative, or use violence as a last resort, and susceptible to not acting quickly enough or wallowing in inaction because they believe there is nothing they can do- which I understand might not feel like Rex, but I feel exemplifies Rex during the Umbara arc.

and, I didn't mean for this to happen, but blue and orange are complementary colors. they are so similar but differ in key areas - both feel grief and persevere, but blue perseveres despite the grief while orange perseveres because of the grief. both desire peace, but differ in their ways of getting it and maintaining it. they exist on opposite sides of the color wheel and thus bring the strongest out of each other when placed side-by-side- just like Rex and Cody.

[felikatze]

the recent chapters r really making me like olivia like damn. at first she's just kinda this pitiful person to be saved from her awful situation, yeah? but the story still says, "her survival is super important, actually" and it doesn't rlly click. cuz after she's free olivia turns into a bit of a stock character.

she's then just always kinda flirty and irresponsible and clingy. and that makes sense to me, cuz her upbringing was super strict and repressive, so she wants to sever all ties with that and is acting in the opposite way than she was raised. priests of her religion aren't allowed to marry so she starts flirting with reinhardt not because she's romantically interested in him but because she enjoys the promiscuity and he's the one who helped her most so he's easiest to talk to like this. this also shows especially in how she reacts to compliments back; she becomes easily flustered because the flirting is just a face she puts on for fun and beneath that she's still deeply inexperienced with such things.

the sponsorship event chapters really hammer home that she's a kind person truly deserving the title of saint. she's been raised to do good and be kind that she doesn't know how to live for herself at all.

add to that the gradual collapse of her religious beliefs. obviously she cuts ties with the knights templar cuz they tried to kill her and her own stepdad lead the charge to do so, resulting in a distrust toward the gods, because what kind god would have followers like this? but she at least still believes the gods exist. But then the tiamata arc happens and she discovers that even the gods themselves are a falsehood. the gods of purity and corruption are the same being in two directions; so if your own faith decides the nature of your god, does said god exist at all? if your will shapes god's will, does god have a will at all? she's basically discovered this setting's version of atheism.

tlde she's just plain lost. And yeah the novel is always blatant abt feeding you character details like this but i still think it's set up well.

all her eccentric behaviours are attempts to find herself but nothing sticks. she has no more dreams, no ambitions, just drifting with the flow. she just doesn't know how to have ambitions not dictated to her, how to do anything besides following orders.

and again like. the story says "her survival is going to change things" and we learn its bcuz olivia is an insane fucking powerhouse who can outclass ellen. and with her being the way she is now, any faction could snap her up. she'd just go with the first one that suited her fancy. as long as its not the knights templar, she'll be fine with anything.

which i think reflects a lot of people with impending graduation on the horizon? i sure know when i finished high school i didnt know what to do. i'm happy with my career path atm but i also feel like i could've been happy doing anything else. i just stumbled into it. olivia reflects that feeling of not knowing who you want to be, with all these external pressures, religion, family, peers, that have all these expectations for her.

also how the story then immediatly contrasts this against reinhardt. he's presented as like, a pretty selfish, self-assured character. he knows who he is and what he wants. but olivia asks him, "do you?" and challenges him to reevalute. cuz is he selfish? he's just acting that way, when he's actually concerned with the well-being of others above all, same as olivia. the only thoughts he'll spare for himself are for his own survival.

and like, again!! olivia was putting on a selfish seeming face when she's fundamentally still just kind beneath it all and both of them don't know how to be any other way!!

hell, even the circumstances are similar! olivia ditched the knights templar to save her own life but doesnt know what to do with the life she saved, and reinhardt escaped the demon king's castle to save his own skin. the main difference here is reinhardt is still working toward averting the crisis he's written into prophecy. he's still essentially trapped in the beginning of olivia's arc. so comparing the two is asking what will he do when the world's saved?

Chapter 244 i am kissing you on the mouth.

[letsbenditlikebennett]

Not Quite Bite || Aavyan & Ari

TIMING: Current-ish PARTIES: @onthcrise and @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Aavyan’s nose leads him to Ari resting in a field of flowers. It takes a minute, but Ari recognizes him as the hiker she attacked on the full moon last years. Looks like he’s a little more awooo than dead.

Staying at the Traveler’s Rest was fine. Aavyan had left himself a good chunk of money to spend on keeping a room rented at the sad, little motel, and it was nice to have a place to leave his car. Plus, until he figured out how to distance himself entirely from human life, it was nice to have the option to shower. But it didn’t feel right. Living in a motel, eating Cheerios, pretending it was all okay–it wasn’t him. It wasn’t as exhilarating as being in the thick of it, communing with nature. Nothing but the forest floor beneath your feet and the sky stretching out above you was what made him feel at home. So he left his things in his room and wandered off into the woods to get away from the humanness of it all. 

 He wasn’t sure how long he’d been walking, just wandering and taking in his surroundings. The scent of flowers wafted to him from upwind and he breathed deeply, closing his eyes. There was something else there that he couldn’t put his finger on. Something about the scent was…familiar. Eyes snapping open, Aavyan cautiously moved forward. He was approaching a clearing full of beautiful flowers. It would be a serene moment, had he discovered the field under any other circumstance. But as he approached, his eyes landed on a figure. Amongst the flowers was a girl. She couldn’t have been older than her early twenties, but Aavyan didn’t trust her. Why would anyone be this far out in the woods? Reflexively crouching, he ducked down to try to hide in the thicket surrounding the clearing. He was close enough now to tell that the familiar scent had to be coming from the girl, but still he couldn’t place it. Remaining crouched, he took a step forward, preparing to strike if the situation called for it. His foot landed on a branch that snapped and echoed loudly in the calm flower field. Shit. He was hiding, but not well hidden. Aavyan braced himself, waiting for the worst. 

The flowers always served as a nice reminder that not everything around her was tinged with death in one way or another. Celeste always used to say wildflowers were resilient in their beauty. Every winter they’d wilt away and dry out in the cold before springing to life again in the spring, all vibrant and colorful. Strong and cyclical. Ari couldn’t quite see the colors the same way, but the whole forest took on a different smell when the floral notes began to fill the air. She thought to that day with Macleod where they made crowns out of the blooms, how she spoke of them and the ones they lost like they weren’t all that different from the flowers. Yet, the wolf didn’t feel like a flower blooming anew. The winter had been cold and dark and somehow it still clung to her, death clung to her, followed her every which way she went to the point that she bitterly thought it was nothing short of a miracle that the flowers weren’t wilting in her presence. 

 There was a heavy feeling in her chest as she watched a couple of bumble bees fly over her. They immediately brought her mind to Silas and she couldn’t help but wish he was here with her. Ari knew he would love the flowers and watching all the bees fly around. He’d probably braid her hair and they would talk about all the little silly things they joked about all while understanding the similar pain they shared that was just under the surface. She wanted to think it had been as comforting for him as it was for her. He was always so kind he’d probably say it was. A snap of a branch pulled her away from those thoughts and she shot up into a sitting position. She chided herself for not paying better attention and letting the grogginess make her less alert. When she found the source of the noise, she looked at the man with confusion. First, she was hit with his scent and how familiar it was. He was a wolf, that much was obvious, but she couldn’t place why his face was so familiar. He carried a certain amount of tension. “Uh, hi,” she greeted with a confused tilt of her head, “You’re here because you smelled another wolf I’m guessing?” 

Uh, hi? That was all? Here, he’d been so convinced she was a threat that he was waiting to attack, and all she had to say was Uh, hi? Heat rushed to Aavyan’s cheeks, and he straightened up quickly. He felt stupid. As he stood, he banged the back of his head on a branch and flinched forward. “Motherf–uh, hi,” he stammered. He took a few steps out into the field of flowers, rubbing at the back of his head. “Another wolf,” he parroted back to her as he eyed her up and down. She wasn’t a threat, and she didn’t think of him as one. She seemed so calm, and Aavyan suddenly got the feeling he’d interrupted her. He opened his mouth to quiet his mind, speaking before he’d thought it through. “So you’re a werewolf, then.” It wasn’t a question. He knew the answer. It clicked together that that’s why she smelled so familiar. He was smelling something similar to his own scent.

 “Do you live here?” he asked, looking around them. There wasn’t a house or structure that he could see. Maybe she was just the person he was looking for. If she lived in the woods, she could surely give him some pointers. At the same time, here she sat before him, human. His brow creased as his eyes came back to meet hers, searching her face for answers. 

There was something there that she couldn’t pinpoint. It was more than the typical familiarity Ari felt when meeting other wolves. She knew there was no way she hadn’t met him before and she had to wrack her brain for when that had been. Her eyes scanned the older wolf and noticed his body language came off as a bit shocked. Maybe he was new at this and hadn’t come across another wolf before, but she was so sure she’d met him. “Yeah,” she answered, her fingers twirling around a stem of one of the flowers, “I’m a werewolf. So you know what you are then. That’s good.” 

 Ari found she couldn’t tear her eyes away as she tried to nail down when they’d met and why even his scent wasn’t all that new to her. She painted his face in her mind and nearly jumped as the memories came flooding back. Deep in the night, deep in the woods. Teeth thrashing into muscle and a considerable fight back. A body she’d been too panicked to find before hitting the road. No, not a body, an injured person who had just unknowingly become a werewolf. The color drained from her face as the dots connected themselves. Fuck. Not only was this guy a werewolf, he was a werewolf because of her.

 It took Ari a moment too long to realize he’d asked her a question. “Do I,” she started before her mind caught up, “Oh no, I don’t live exactly here. Close though, have a that a few miles of a hike from here.” She looked around, remembering that this wasn’t exactly on the beaten path, but then again he hadn’t been on the beaten path that full moon and wolves rarely confined themselves to hiking trails. “You live near here?”

“Pretty easy to figure out. You know, with the whole full moon thing,” Aavyan said, attempting a friendly smile, but only managing to press his lips into a thin line. “Threw me for a loop the first few times. I had no idea that werewolves were a thing or what was going on.” He breathed a mirthless laugh and shook his head. “A lot has changed since then. That’s why I’m here, I guess. I’m, uh, looking for answers.” Aavyan’s eyes came to meet the girl’s again. She looked like she’d seen a ghost. Maybe he’d spooked her with the way he’d come sneaking up like a wannabe serial killer. Maybe he’d said something wrong. But she pressed on and answered his question like nothing was amiss. Still, he had the feeling that he’d overstepped somewhere.

 “Sorry,” the older wolf said, his smile genuine now. “I sort of just rolled up on you and asked you where you live, huh? I swear I’m not some weirdo murderer!” Mentally, he kicked himself. Of course he wasn’t a weirdo murderer, but that’s exactly what a weirdo murderer would say. “I don’t live near here, no,” he added, quickly, in an attempt to make himself seem less threatening. “I actually just recently got to town. I’m staying at a motel right now.” He shrugged and placed his hands in his pockets. “I’m Aavyan, by the way.”

 Looking for answers. The rustling leaves turned into a heavy white noise in her ears as Ari fought the feeling of becoming sick. This was her fault, she hadn’t been careful enough. There was no reason to assume no one else would be roaming around deep into the forest. She ruined this guy’s whole life with her carelessness and it weighed heavy on her shoulders. Was this better or worse than him being dead like she’d thought he was? “Answers,” she finally said slowly, “I can help with that.” Her fingers tugged at the sleeve of her sweater and she bit her lip before finally letting out a sigh. “First answer is you’re like this because of me. I thought you were… dead,” she explained tensely, “I’m sorry, I know that doesn’t change anything, but I can help now.”

 The apology he’d made threw her off and she quickly shook her head. “No,” Ari interjected, “You have nothing to apologize for. I should have been paying better attention.” Both today and nearly a year ago, she thought bitterly. At the mention of a motel, the guilt sank in further. He was looking for answers and staying in that shitty motel in town. “I,” she started uncertainly, “There’s plenty of room on the farm if you’d like to stay there, however long you’d like. Ulf would love to come back to another wolf on the farm. Uh, Ulf is also a wolf.” Her words all collided together and made a concentrated effort to steady her own breathing. “Aavyan, I’m Ari.”

Sick. She definitely looked sick. Aavyan was about to ask if she felt alright, but the younger wolf spoke again before he could open his mouth. Of all the things she could have said, he wasn’t expecting that. “Oh.” With one sentence, his mind was ablaze. How could he possibly explain that his life had been thrown into chaos, but that he loved it? What could he say to explain that this was exactly what he had always needed? He couldn’t have known—wouldn’t have known—that there was a whole other world out there if not for that one night. Aavyan stared at the young wolf, his mouth agape. 

 After a prolonged beat of silence from him, his mouth caught up to his brain. “Thank you,” Aavyan said. “It’s—I’m a little surprised I’m not dead, too, but I’m not—I don’t—It’s not your fault.” He licked his lips, trying to find the words, before pressing on. “I’m still getting the hang of this whole werewolf thing, but I wouldn’t change it.” 

 The offer to stay at her farm caught Aavyan off guard. “You have a werewolf farm?” he asked, raising a brow. Without much hesitation he nodded anyway. “If I’m being honest, it’s not a great motel. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to offer me a place to stay just because you—,” he cut himself off, searching for his words again, a far away look crossing his face. The word that itched at the back of his mind was mauled. But that didn’t feel right. It hadn’t exactly been pleasant, but it hadn’t been an unwelcome experience. Her assumption that he had died was understandable with the state he’d been in. “—changed me,” he added, after a brief moment. “But I won’t say no, if you’re sure.” He offered another stiff smile, hoping to ease some of the palpable tension. “Nice to finally meet you, Ari.”

The silence felt crushing and if she weren’t already sitting on the ground, Ari was pretty sure she would have ended up there anyway. Perhaps even heavier was knowing nothing good could follow the quiet. She had essentially ruined this man’s life and just ran. She didn’t bother to look for him and just assumed he was dead. She could have helped him, she should have helped him. All those first aid supplies could have been put to good use and she could have given Aavyan a heads up about the huge turn his life was about to take. Instead he’d been left in the dark to figure it all out for himself, so when he finally said thank you, her brows furrowed in confusion. 

 “You shouldn’t thank me,” Ari responded hurriedly, “Well, anyone really. Fae thing.” Not that she was fae, but she seemed to have a knack for thanking them. She shook her head when he said it wasn’t her fault, but that was hardly the point. At the very least, she should have checked. She sat up a little straighter, fingers still twirling one of the blooms around. “I should have at least looked for you, but… I’m glad you’re not dead.” 

 The fact he wouldn’t change the whole werewolf thing still left Ari a little perplexed. It wasn’t as if she didn’t like what she was, but it was the only thing she knew. It was nice to think that maybe if he liked exploring that deep into the forest the werewolf life suited him, but she knew that thought was just a way to comfort herself. “Yeah, technically a friend of mine built it, but he’s away a lot,” she explained, “But totally just not offering because of the whole bite thing. That’s literally why Ulf built the place. And it’s just me right now… well, and a lot of animals, but I don’t think that counts.” 

 “I’m sure,” Ari said more confidently this time, “And it’s good to meet you, too. If you want, we can walk back to the farm and I can grab the van so we can get your stuff from the motel?” 

“Don’t know what a fate thing is,” Aavyan started, his brows pulling together, mirroring Ari’s expression. “But I’m genuinely grateful. Everything has…dramatically changed course in my life,” he said through a chuckle. “That isn’t a bad thing. I think it’s a pretty good thing, myself. When you–,” mangled, attacked, “–uh, bit me, it actually did a lot of good for me. I’m pretty glad I’m not dead, too, but I get it. If the roles were reversed, I don’t know that I would’ve looked for you either.” That wasn’t entirely true. He knew that, had he been the one to bite Ari, he wouldn’t have looked for her. She would’ve been some dark secret he left behind in the woods. She would have become an empty promise to right his wrongs, undo his transgressions, be a better person. He couldn’t blame her for never looking for his body; it would be hypocritical. 

 “I’m not in a position where I can turn you down,” Aavyan said. “I’ll take you up on that. It’ll give me the chance to pick your brain a bit, maybe. Maybe you can point me in the right direction, too.” He stepped forward, closing some of the distance between the two wolves, and extended his hand to help Ari up off the ground. “I don’t know anything about farming, but I’m willing to throw myself into it. Just…lead the way.”

“Oh no, not fate,” Ari said with a laugh, “Fae, like fairies? Don’t call them that though. It’s offensive, but like, don’t know how else to explain what they are. They can bind you with their words though and thanks is one of those words. Promise, too. And not a fun time.” Not everyone was Sloane in that regard. Lydia clearly hadn’t been and she had no idea what the hell was up with Regan these days. Maybe they could break that habit before Aavyan really started meeting people in White Crest. She nodded along as he finished the thought, a bit surprised that he was actually grateful for the change. “Huh,” she commented, not really sure she fully understood, “I’m glad it’s at least been a positive change. I know it’s a pretty big one.” 

 “Welcome to the farm then,” Ari said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, “You can definitely pick my brain. Wolf stuff I have a pretty good grip on… life not so much, but working on it.” She laughed a bit, to diffuse any tension. What she hadn’t expected was the extra help on the farm, which would admittedly be nice. At the moment, sleep wasn’t something that whatever demon was attached to her was allowing, but she was sure after Lil did her thing, she’d be catching up on months worth of sleep. Which seemed a bit heavy to drop on someone she literally just met officially. “I can show you the ropes there, it’s really just watering and fertilizing the plants on a schedule. Ulf does the harvesting when he comes back in the fall. Oh, and the chickens, just feed them and collect the eggs.” 

 “I’ve got some soccer balls and a punching bag. Did just get an above ground pool a month or so back, too. Anything you’d like to keep around for fun? Or otherwise I guess.” Ari took that moment to begin leading them back towards the farm. It’d be nice for it to not feel so empty all the time, even if the circumstances weren’t what she’d consider ideal. Macleod would probably say something about Fate so she tried to keep that in mind. “Want you to be comfortable and all,” she added with a much more relaxed grin.

Maybe he’d accepted her offer too quickly. Here Ari was talking about fairies and sitting in a field of flowers. Aavyan didn’t see many other options for himself right now, so he just nodded along. “Right. Fae.” Maybe she was just younger than he’d originally thought. Maybe no one had ever broken the news to her about Santa. If so, he definitely couldn’t turn down the offer to stay with her at the farm. He had to pull himself from that particular train of thought. He couldn’t go getting attached to anyone now. Not after all the work he’d put in undoing all of his prior attachments. “A big change, sure,” he said, breezily. “But a needed change. It gives me a new direction in life.” 

The farm sounded…not his exact cup of tea, but that’s what all of this was about. He was shedding himself to find himself, and where better to do that than a werewolf farm? “Sounds easy enough,” he said with a nod. “Don’t worry about figuring out the life stuff, kid. It’s a long process and a harsh learning curve.” He didn’t look at her while he spoke, just kept his eyes ahead as they began plodding their way through the forest. Part of him was afraid to meet her eye. He didn’t want to see the guilt she held, and he didn’t want to feel connected to her. Whatever obligation she felt towards him, he didn’t want to know. 

 “A punching bag is a good start,” he said, glancing over at her. “I, uh, used to be pretty big into working out.” He resisted saying more. Mentally, he was constantly dancing around saying too much and not saying enough. Where do you draw the line between being cold and off putting, and forthcoming and warm? If he said too much, they might become friends. If he didn’t say enough, she might not give him the answers he sought. Either Ari would be one more person for Aavyan to cut out of his life, or she would be along for the ride to fuck off into the wilderness. Only time could tell.

 What Ari said next caught him off guard, and he chuckled quietly. “Don’t worry about me being comfortable. You’re opening your home to me, and I promise you that that’s enough.” He finally met her eye and returned her smile, though it was still a bit strained. “You’re literally bringing home a stray you found in the woods. But I’m easy, I swear. I’m even housebroken.”

“That’s an optimistic way of looking at it,” Ari said with a genuine smile this time, “I don’t really know anything else since I was born a wolf, but I know a lot of newer wolves sometimes struggle coming to terms with the idea of not being human anymore.” Maybe it made him feel more at one with nature. She knew she felt like the woods were her domain and where she felt most at ease. It was nice to think. She tried to convince herself she wasn’t just trying to make herself feel better and just taking Aavyan’s words for what they were. She nodded with his words about life. Harsh was definitely one way of putting it. “Yeah, that’s true enough. We’re all just fucking around and finding out as we go along and all that jazz.” 

 At the mention of working out, Ari perked up. She was pretty sure staying active was one of the only ways she managed to stay somewhat sane for this long. “Nice,” she exclaimed, “I go running once or twice a day with my dog, too. Usually in the woods. There’s been some weird stuff out here lately, but that’s what werewolf senses are for. You play soccer at all?” If she was being a bit much, she wasn’t aware of it. She’d always been excitable and never really thought too much of it. At least she rarely did anyway. Having someone besides her and the animals at the farm would be a good change of pace. It dawned on her it was probably best to keep the whole possession thing under wraps for the time being. Better not to load on all of the White Crest strange on him at once. 

 “I guess, yeah,” Ari shrugged, “With Ulf gone most of the year, it’ll be nice to have the company. Not that I expect you to like hang out with me all the time or anything.” As they neared the farm, she pointed out the house and barn that were becoming visible in the distance. “There it is,” she said proudly, “I helped with building some of it, but the whole thing was Ulf’s idea. It’s kinda meant for strays and wolves in general. Wolves helping wolves and all.” 

Aavyan clicked his tongue. “Why would I struggle with not being human?” He hesitated a moment, fixing Ari with a stern look. Would she understand his desire to shed his humanity entirely? If she was born a wolf, why would she waste her time playing human? He mentally filed the topic away as a conversation for later. He cast his gaze away again, and continued on. “It’s a non-issue for me,” he clarified. “I’m content to take the waves as they come. All we can do is fuck around and find out, I suppose.”

 Ari’s enthusiasm on the manner of exercise coaxed a genuine smile from Aavyan. “I’ll be honest that I’m rusty at best when it comes to soccer. I’ll learn, though.” It was surprisingly easy to fall into a sense of comfort with Ari. Her passion and energy gave Aavyan this urge to protect her. Maybe she didn’t need it. She certainly looked capable, and the way she talked about the farm, Aavyan had no doubts that she had things under control. Yet here he was, in the middle of pushing everyone away, feeling some sort of brotherly instinct towards a total stranger. Well, not quite a total stranger. He chuckled to himself. How much one year could change. 

 As the farm became visible in the distance, Aavyan was pulled out of his own thoughts. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it was pretty impressive. He nodded with a low whistle. “Wolves helping wolves,” he echoed. “I think that’s exactly what I need right about now.”

“Sometimes people struggle with big changes,” Ari shrugged, “I don’t really know anything else so can’t say I fully get it, but glad it’s not like totally alarming to you.” Maybe Aavyan knew about the supernatural before which lightened the blow. Or maybe being one with nature. Whatever the reason was, she wasn’t going to fault it. Wolf life was generally easier when people accepted that they were in fact wolves. “I like that attitude. Rolling with the punches and shit. Think it makes things easier.”

 Part of Ari couldn’t help but wonder if how okay he was with all of this was a front for her sake, but she was too exhausted to really question it. Somehow it just seemed too simple and that wasn’t something that was usually afforded to the young wolf. Didn’t line up with the guilty conscience that wouldn’t seem to fade away. She tried to remind herself to not read too deeply into things, look for meaning in what wasn’t said. Aavyan was an adult and while he was new to being a wolf, she had to trust he’d speak his mind if he had some sort of problem with what she’d done. “Hm,” she noted, “Well, luckily for you I’m a pretty good teacher. At least that’s what the kids on the team I used to coach would say.” 

 As they walked up the way to the farm, Luna came barreling toward them, excited to greet their new farmmate. “Hey girl,” Ari cooed, giving the dog a pat on the head, “This is our new friend Aavyan. And this is Luna. I know, very creative name for a werewolf’s dog.” She laughed a bit and nodded. “Wolves helping wolves is definitely a good vibe. So you know, here to help with whatever you need. But also any of the bedrooms are open and there’s lots of space to chill out in the barn and on the land too so make yourself comfortable!”

[kitacco]

everybody loves somebody.

pairing: fem!reader, kazutora hanemiya (timeskip!).

genre: angst. 

summary: is there a difference between the love a friendship holds, and the love someone in love feels?

cw: none.

wordcout: 6.8k.

kazutora taps his shoes against the pavement in front of the shop.

it’s cloudy, surprisingly, since it was the middle of summer, and just yesterday the sun had crawled into kazutora’s skin, stinging enough for him to cause a ruckus— which he didn’t, of course, there were a few customers and kids inside the shop for him to curse the nature like that. he had done it once though, and his boss had made sure he not only apologized, but deeply regretted it too.

he wasn’t really a fan of summer, that was true. sunny days weren’t that fun, but cloudy, cold days weren’t any better.

still, the clouds were the least of his worries, only that kazutora didn’t want to admit it out loud.

it was his birthday, and in any other circumstances, that would’ve been fun. although turning twenty seven surely wasn’t something kazutora wanted to be reminded of all day, there was something else that he so tried to push to the back of his head.

chifuyu is moping around the shop - a little accident with the cats, though nothing too tedious. kazutora was gonna take care of it, but chifuyu insisted that it was his special day, so he didn’t have to worry about it. kazutora caught on the act: the constant fidgeting with his watch, the fact chifuyu seemed to be waiting for a call or a text, checking his phone every ten minutes, and the way he could not sit down for a minute. driving kazutora a little bit crazy, he decided to ignore whatever the guy was planning, because he knew he was surely hiding something.

kazutora retreats to the shop. chifuyu is nowhere to be found, and he can hear the loud meowing of a kitten on the back. sighing, kazutora walks over the cat's aisle, just to make sure they’re okay.

as he does, he hears steps behind his back, but he’s not quick to check, and instead, his eyes are covered with two petite hands (or rather fingers that push his eyes a little too hard), cold hands that make him jolt.

“guess who.”

kazutora frowns, recognizing your voice right away. with much more force than what you could gather, kazutora pushes your hands off his face, turning to meet you, confused, and surely surprised.

you’re startled by his reaction, your hands sliding off his broad shoulders, a small, naughty small pulling at the corners of your lips.

“you’re cold,” is the first thing he says, getting a hold of your bare arms.

that’s not what he wants to say upon seeing you, but he’s more worried about the fact you are wearing a summer dress on such a wintry day. it’s not like the sun had hidden in the middle of the day; you had deliberately decided to put on a thin dress despite the very obvious color of the sky that morning.

but this wasn’t anything new for him; the first time he met you, something similar happened.

kind of.

the first time kazutora met you he swore you could’ve come out of the cheesiest, goofiest romantic comedy ever made (kazutora knew many of those).

you weren’t exactly wearing what would one call wedding-friendly attire; more like something you would’ve worn for the club or a really crazy party.

kazutora thought his eyes popped out of its sockets the moment he saw you climb up the stage. surely you had been the talk of the night, not only for your extravagant choice in your attire (a dress too tight and too short for a wedding reception) but also for your silly, a little too revealing speech for whom kazutora found out was your best friend. her spouse didn’t seem too entertained, maybe scared of what you were saying, but kazutora could tell your friend was just like you, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

kazutora wasn’t really the casanova people believed he was. he was too quiet for anyone to approach him, and too naive for anyone to try anything other than casual hookups. he was probably too easy, that’s what he would sometimes call himself after another failed date he would tell chifuyu all about. he was unlucky, and too eager for appreciation, sometimes getting on tight situations he should’ve never found himself in the first place. his last date, he had to gather his clothes and run out of a date’s building to avoid her boyfriend coming in and finding out his girlfriend had been cheating on him, and somehow, on kazutora too.

still, kazutora couldn’t help it; he was a hopeless romantic, sadly.

he didn’t show it much, of course, he wished to keep these fantasies a secret from his friends; it’d be too embarrassing for anyone to find out how much kazutora longed for a loving relationship. it was kind of silly, maybe, after all, he was twenty seven, way past the kind of love he dreamt of, and unless he wanted to get stepped on by twenty year old girls that only wanted to take a ride on his bike and trace his tattoo, kazutora decided it would be better to give up the search for a perfect love. 

until he met you.

he was tipsy, a little, but enough for his confidence to go up. he was wearing nice clothes and nice cologne, he would’ve been a massive idiot for missing out on the opportunity, he kept telling himself as he watched you on the other side of the salon. 

you were drinking champagne by your own, looking down at your phone with your lips pursed. unfortunately, kazutora noticed the scowl on your face too late, as you looked up, waiting for him to speak.

you didn’t seem too happy, and he almost spun over his heel, ready to babler out whatever excuse he could come up with so he could leave, when you asked him if he could drive you home. kazutora, too dazed, nodded his head, and so you followed him out of the place.

your change in mood was drastic, and you and kazutora strolled through the entrance towards the parking lot, kazutora was trying to change the speech he had planned to give you before things went the other way.

you chuckle, suddenly to kazutora’s dismay, watching the motorcycle kazutora jumped over.

“i can call a friend for his car if—”

“no,” you smiled, despite the tears kazutora could clearly see, dried on the apple of your cheeks. you chuckled again, walking next to the vehicle. “i think i need help, though.”

kazutora, with trembling hands and determined focus, placed his hands on each side of your waist, and you mechanically pressed yours over his shoulders, perhaps scared of falling off. but he was gentle, and patient, as with his force, managed to seat you over his motorcycle in one movement.

he jumped back, and a little too shy, grabbed your hands that kept lingering over his figure, wrapping them around his torso. “i won’t go fast, i promise.”

you laughed, shaking your head as kazutora sent a look back, to make sure you were alright. you pushed closer to his figure, as much as you could, your cheek pressed against his back and hands interlocked together over his stomach.

kazutora drove painfully slowly, but he would be lying if he were to say it was because he didn’t want you to get scared; heck, if anything, kazutora would’ve attempted to get your address mixed up a few times in hopes of keeping you close like this. but he didn’t, well aware of the damping of his shirt after he’d given you his jacket.

he parked outside of your apartment, and although the vehicle had halted long ago, you still hadn’t let go of him. kazutora heard it, subtle, barely a whisper, your sobbing. and so he stayed for a few minutes, letting you cry over his blades, with your body impossibly close to his, too flustered to know exactly what to do, or what to say.

kazutora met you just a few months after he’d been dispatched, maybe around ten or eleven months. his hair was still dark, barely reaching his shoulders, and sometimes, a little too clouded with his own emotions to acknowledge those around him. until that night, when kazutora, for the first time comforted you, in silence, and yeah, without saying a single reassuring word, he comforted you (you told him that when you met him again). that’s how everything started, when you finally straightened up, laughing as if nothing was happening, and brushing the tears off your face. you jumped off his motorcycle—although with his help, once again, and waving your hand goodbye to the unknown man that had offered you a shoulder to cry on.

that night kazutora also found out your hands tended to get cold, something he learnt was normal after the many times he met you after that, when you’d swiftly touch his skin with your fingers in a habit you had accustomed kazutora to.

he fell in love with you that night; love at first sight like he’d ever dreamt.

he fell in love again the day he met you again, like the fate kazutora had longed for.

when you entered the same store he was in, with your melodical laugh and light that nobody can ignore even if they were to try. he saw you walking through every hallway of the place, afraid, embarrassed to approach you. because you couldn’t possibly remember him, right? you were drunk, and that night your vision blurred because of the tears you shed. he looked a little different too, he’d changed his look a little, and that day, the tattoo you maybe had noticed was covered by a collared shirt and long strands of hair. but you didn’t recognize him for his tattoo, or his look, or the fact he was wearing the exact same jacket he gave you that night. and when kazutora spun around and you stood there, with the same smile you gifted him this day, on his birthday, kazutora realized just how deep in love he was.

“i can’t believe he didn’t give you the day off,” you scoffed, talking loud enough for his boss, chifuyu, to hear.

kazutora grinned, shaking his head. “he didn’t, i asked him to let me work for the day.”

you tilted your head, blinking slowly as to show your disapproval. he didn’t get to say why, when you quickly grabbed his hand and pulled, kazutora too weak to your touch, following after you.

“we’re leaving!”

chifuyu appears between the shelves, with that teasing smile of his—a smile only kazutora took note of.

it was really hard, and everytime you placed your head on his chest or grabbed his face with both your hands in such loving manners, kazutora’s heart jumped. he tried so hard to push the feelings aside, reminding himself the position he was in, and the place he held in your life. he couldn’t waste it, and if having to watch you go out every few weeks in another date that would end up with you crashing back at his place and complaining about it, he could take it all.

but time was running out, and after three years of a beautiful friendship, kazutora realized he was digging himself a hole too deep for him to get out of his one; so far deep that one day he would have to scream out for help, and you would have to hear him.

maybe that’s why he’s so jittery to see you, in that summer dress and with your hair falling over your back, smiling at him with such love kazutora was stupefied for a second. as if the two of you were more than mere friends.

“w—weren’t you supposed to be on a date?”

“and completely forget my best friend’s birthday? who do you think i am?” you laugh, grabbing his wrist between your fingers. you approach his motorcycle, grabbing the helmet he’d bought for you.

best friend, of course. kazutora couldn’t forget that; he wasn’t a simple friend to you anymore. you held him in a position much higher than anybody in your life. he was your best friend, the one that’d pat your back in the night and let you cry your heart out, or the one that’d fight against the slumber to hear you talk his ears out. kazutora was special for you, and you always reminded him how much. but you were special to him too; only that not in the same manner.

was the love he felt for you stronger? greater, larger? a love one feels for their loved ones is far greater than a simple liking towards someone, but is there a difference between the love a friendship holds, or the love someone in love feels? kazutora wasn’t sure. 

“you look a little distracted,” you mutter as you wait for kazutora to jump into his vehicle.

kazutora looks up, an apologetic smile forming on his lips. “sorry, i was just thinking.”

“about what?”

kazutora falls quiet. he knows he can’t lie to you, but he also knows you won’t give up a question easily. 

luckily for him, his emotions weren’t the only thing weighing on his mind.

“your date,” kazutora says.

you chuckle, looking down. kazutora looks down, and notices the design on your painted nails, small hearts on the tips of your fingernails. those are new, he thinks, and then wonders if you got them done for your special date.

you’d been talking about it for a while; he was perfect!

some guy still studying, but with a car and his own place. you kept going on about how smart he was (kazutora isn’t sure if he was a computer engineer or a software engineer, and he felt bad about it, knowing he probably ignored it), and how attentive he was. he was perfect for you! he was nice, and would call you before sleep, and he would drive you around and would always tell you how pretty you looked that day. despite a few dates, the guy had you wrapped around his finger, and everyday, kazutora thought you were more and more in love with the guy.

so, why were you there, with him?

“told him i had a very important occurrence today,” you simply said. “he understands.”

“are you sure?” kazutora scratches the back of his neck. “does he know that—”

“kazutora, get on the bike, will you? i made reservations and if we lose them i’ll get furious,” you sing, but kazutora knows the threat has a connotation, so he does as told.

kazutora spends the afternoon of his birthday with you. although you try to keep it a secret, kazutora can’t help questioning every once in a while, and with all the patience in the world, you tell him everything you want to do. and so you insist on getting him a new shirt—like those he likes so much although you find it a little ridiculous, and then, the both of you enter a rather fine looking restaurant, where you insist you will pay for.

“i have one last gift for you,” you mutter, after both of you are done with your food.

dessert is coming, and the atmosphere of the place is making kazutora’s spin. he feels strange, sitting across you, with your beautiful hair and makeup and nails node, with a twinkling in your eyes and a smile so big he wonders if your cheeks hurt. and he sits there, watching you, imagining that’s what that other guy must feel like, taking you out any opportunity he gets, and spoiling you and getting to remind you how beautiful you are. 

kazutora watches as you slide a box across the table, and you bite your lip, suddenly feeling shy. kazutora cocks an eyebrow, chuckling.

“you shouldn’t--”

“hurry! i wanna know what you think,” you wave your hand, gesturing for him to hurry.

kazutora breathes, taking a hold of the box. a black box with a white small ribbon on top of it. carefully, he pulls one side of it, and then, he lifts the top of the box.

kazutora huffs out, gasping. the box reveals a beautiful black watch, with a few details in silver. a hand covers his mouth, a little too surprised by the object. it’s beautiful, and big, and probably too expensive, and kazutora doesn’t know what to say.

“you really shouldn’t have--”

“when i saw it i knew it had to be yours,” you say, watching him carefully. 

you can’t help the huge grin on your face as you watch kazutora try on the watch. you help him get it on, and kazutora continues to watch it with admiration. 

“thank you,” kazutora finally manages to say, still shocked.

“you’re welcome,” you laugh, pressing your cheek against the palm of your hand.

the two of you leave the restaurant, and after you pay, and then slide your card back into your bag, kazutora feels an urge to grab your hand and walk you to his motorcycle. but he can’t, as he watches you walk on your own, chattering about something he can’t bring himself to focus on, not anymore.

it’s already dark outside, and it’s cold, but you are heated up, almost excited, as you tell him to hurry up and drive you back to his place. kazutora doesn’t really question it, following your orders as you wrap your arms around his waist and place your cheeks against his back, like you always do.

in a red light before his place, kazutora notices the blue light reflecting against your face, and the noise of your nails tapping against the screen. 

the lights of his apartment seem off, and kazutora wonders for a second where his roommate is; but you don’t leave too much space for him to question the situation, and grabbing his wrist once again, you run upstairs to his place.

“where’s chifuyu?” kazutora asks you, trailing after you upstairs.

“i don’t know, he said something about going out for tonight.”

kazutora heats up.

chifuyu didn’t tell him anything about that, why did he told you? not only that, was that supposed to mean, the two of you were gonna be alone at his place?

kazutora shook his head. it’s not like he needed chifuyu there, the two of you had spent a few nights alone at your place, at least. but his would be the first time, and he felt a little unsure if he’d be able to keep his mouth shut for the night. for some reason, the night felt different, and it’s almost like kazutora heart wanted to jump out of his system and scream at the top of his lungs how in love he was with you. but he couldn’t, and he shouldn’t.

but for some reason, every year, for his birthday, kazutora realized just how deep down he was.

“go on,” you whisper, for some reason. kazutora frowns, but then he realizes you’re waiting for him to open the door.

kazutora approaches the door, and inserts the key inside the lock. careful and slowly, he pushes the door open. the apartment is completely dark, and there’s absolutely no noise coming from outside. kazutora enters his apartment in short and calculated straddles, suddenly feeling off.

he doesn’t get too much peace, as suddenly, the lights turn on and a few of his friends jump from their hiding spots--along chifuyu, and scream loudly his name and happy birthday.

kazutora stares with a hand to his chest, and then he shakes his head smiling as everyone approaches him to congratulate him.

“that was perfect,” chifuyu whispers to you, still by the entrance.

you chuckle, closing the door with your feet. “i told you, i’m the best.”

chifuyu watches you as you cross the room towards the stereo. he shakes his head, grinning.

the party starts in no time, and kazutora is rushed to some shots and a few vodka glasses he surely despises. it’s not that full, but the music surely makes the space feel smaller as people start dancing around chifuyu and his’ shared flat. he searches for you every once in a while, but it’s like you’ve disappeared out of nowhere. he doesn’t get to ask for you though, as more shots come around.

kazutora is not that drunk though, surprisingly, he has a pretty good tolerance to alcohol. that and the fact he’s tried to throw away every cup that’s been sent his way. he’d stopped getting drunk out of his mind after the second time he did it, when he completely blacked out and threw up for at least an entire day. kazutora realized then that drinking wasn’t as fun as he’d imagined.

he’s seated by the couch, a little dizzy. he believes he’s reached his limit, and feels a little eager for a cigarette.

that’s how he notices you across the room.

you were drunk, out of your mind, kazutora notices as he watches you dance around, stumbling left and right and babbling about everything and anything. 

it’s like you had lost him too, because when you notice him sitting on the couch, you run over him.

you slid by his side, a little too close to him. but it doesn’t seem to be enough for you, as you place your legs over his knee.

“you look really handsome tonight,” you whisper, but only for him to hear. your lips brush against his ears, and kazutora shivers.

“having fun?” he asks.

“all in your name,” you say, and laugh. “did you notice the cocktails? i called this guy especially for you, he makes amazing cocktails, did you try some? i did, they were good!”

kazutora could tell you had tried, a lot, actually.

you weren’t really good with alcohol, but cocktails were surely your guilty pleasure, and since the alcohol was barely there, you could drink and drink without noticing you were getting drunk. he was always careful with that, but that night, you had disappeared from his sight, and he didn’t think it was polite to ignore his friends to babysit you around.

kazutora clears his throat, trying to shift on the couch, but you are faster, and little by little, you position yourself over his lap. kazutora bites his tongue, raising his hands to avoid touching you. you placed your legs on each side of his waist, and your hands fell over his chest, playing with the necklace you had given him that day for his last birthday, a simple gold chain that slipped through your fingers as you drunkenly laughed. you tilted your head, and suddenly, your focus was not on his necklace anymore.

“you look really, really handsome tonight,” you repeat, serious out of a sudden.

kazutora watches you, unsure of what you’re thinking or what you’re planning to do.

“are you tired?” he asks, brushing your sides with his hands, still debating whether to get you off him or wait for you to do it yourself.

you don’t move, and your hands snake past his neck, resting on the back of the couch behind him. you grab onto the couch, shifting over his body, your hair falling over one side of your shoulders. kazutora looks down, pulling on the hem of your dress that has risen over your thighs. 

“i want to kiss you,” you mumble; clear enough for kazutora to understand.

kazutora barely gets to register the honesty in your words, and you don’t wait for an answer, placing your weight over your knees, you grab kazutora’s neck and press your lips over his, in such a hungry kiss kazutora wasn’t sure if his greed was overtaking him.

it wasn’t; it was all you. you were kissing him, like your life depended on it. as if you’d wanted to do so for so long you couldn’t contain yourself anymore. and kazutora could taste the lemon on your tongue, and the whiskey in the corners of your lips. you moan against his mouth as your body falls back over his lip, your hands sliding off his neck towards his waist. kazutora jumps and tries to push your mouth away, but your hands grab his neck again, keeping him in place. kazutora opens an eye, to make sure no one can see the two of you.

you pull away, a string of saliva still connecting the two of you. you laugh, shaking your head.

“you’re surprisingly a good kisser,” you whisper, and you attempt to press your lips against him again. kazutora is faster this time, moving his face slightly.

you pout pressing your mouth against his cheek. his hands no longer phantom over your figure, instead, they press steadily over your hips, and kazutora wraps your legs around his waist, jumping off the couch with you in his arms.

his heart is thumping against his ribcage, so loud and so hard he’s in pain. he’s managed to get you in his bed and secure you under the sheets, but he’s still shaken.

the moment your head hits the pillow, you’re out, luckily, but kazutora can’t seem to forget, as he sits on the edge of the bed, still shaking.

he kissed you--or you did. but he did; after all that time dreaming, only fantasizing over how it’d feel, he finally got to experience it; he kissed you. 

kazutora slides off the bed, leaning against the mattress of his bed. his mind is fuzzy and his heart doesn’t seem to stop its rapid beating anytime soon; he’s still shaken up.

he can’t stop thinking about it, the way you held him so tightly, as if you didn’t want him to let you go, ever. and your taste, how could he even try to forget something as addictive as your taste? 

kazutora’s mind went through every possibility. was he supposed to tell you? was he supposed to act like nothing happened? was he supposed to wait for you to bring it up? was he supposed to bury this in the back of his mind, and never mention it?

but, how could he? when that kiss was everything kazutora had ever dreamt about. you had gave him a kiss kazutora could never forget even if he tried; despite the alcohol and the rather sloppy movement of your lips, or the gripping of his neck and the fact anyone could’ve watched the two of you--that didn’t matter to kazutora.

it was like in movies he’d heard. the world surely had stopped the moment you connected the two of you with your lips impatiently. the moment you held him in your arms, and acted as if he’d was the only person there. just like the movies, kazutora thought.

he sighs, turning his head to watch you sleep--wondering if you’ll confess your feelings for him tomorrow, like in the movies. because drunk words were sober truths, right? which meant, you surely kissed him because you’d wanted for a while, right?

only that, kazutora forgets his life is not a movie.

because when he wakes up the following morning, you’re nowhere to be found.

kazutora runs out his bedroom, searching every room in his apartment.

“something happened?”

chifuyu is standing by the kitchen counter, a mug on his hand and his hair a little too messy.

surprisingly, the place doesn’t look as trashed as he’d imagined. but his friend surely does.

“did you see her go?”

chifuyu frowns, at first not understanding the question. “who?”

kazutora runs back to his room, grabbing his phone.

he tries, again and again, and everytime, the line goes off. was your phone out of battery? impossible. he clearly remembers charging your phone the night before. were you in classes? impossible, he surely doesn’t remember you having early morning classes. plus, you never turned your phone off.

kazutora decides to brush it off, unsure if he should tell his friend about the previous incident of last night. and so he goes off to work.

he tries again. he leaves text after text, and call after call. there’s no way you’re ignoring him, right?

were you busy, perhaps? kazutora wanted to believe so. there was no way you were trying to ignore him, he hadn’t done anything to you, right?

unless you could clearly recall the kiss.

kazutora watches as you walk out of your university. he wasn’t able to take the silence, deciding to pick you up at school, and hopefully, find out what was happening. he didn’t try to entertain the thoughts, knowing he was probably overthinking. nothing happened after all, just a kiss, plus, you kissed him. you’d wanted to, right?

kazutora waves his hand, hoping you’d notice him. and you do, but instead of approaching him, you run towards a black car parked not far ago.

your date’s car.

kazutora decides not to think much about it. maybe you didn’t actually notice him, you had pretty bad vision. you were probably looking for him, it was fine. 

only that it wasn’t.

did you not remember the kiss? you probably didn’t, and kazutora shouldn’t bring it up, right? 

did that mean you were serious with this guy? why didn’t you tell him then?

like that days, and weeks pass by. you barely answer his texts, and not a single call is responded by you. kazutora doesn’t know what to say, and he’s not sure if he can ask chifuyu about it. he decides not to, unsure if you do remember the kiss, or if it was something he’d have to keep a secret for the rest of his life.

still, he wasn’t sure how long he could keep up without you and your unusual silence.

kazutora is standing outside the shop, a cigarette dangling between his fingers.

he’d quit smoking a few months before, promising you he’d stop. he didn’t like it much either anymore; you didn’t like the smell of cigarettes and he didn’t like to bother you with them. 

that day was different; kazutora didn’t know how long he could go without at least one. only that after the first, a few minutes later he had to come out for the second, and then, he found himself on the last hours of his shift with the sixth cigarette on his lips.

it was turning dark, and there were no stars shining on the sky. it was cold, and kazutora was almost sure it’d start raining anytime. he only wished he’d get home before that, or else he’d get there all wet, and he surely didn’t want that.

kazutora was holding his phone in his free hand. he hadn’t texted you in two days, nor called you. deciding to give you a little time, kazutora decided to let you come back yourself. he would only text once a day to ask if you were okay. but after the constant ‘read’ marks under each of his texts, kazutora grew a little frustrated. he didn’t know what was going on, and he wanted to believe you were busy, probably with exams, probably with the guy you were hanging out with.

but that afternoon kazutora was eager to hear your voice, to hear an explanation, a reason why, something. he was growing tired of waiting, and your indifference, as if he’d done something wrong.

he had no doubt; you remembered the kiss. yeah, you kissed him but that was it, why were you making such a big fuss about it?

why were you ignoring him, when he hadn’t done anything wrong?

with those sentiments, kazutora pressed the phone against his ear, tapping his foot against the pavement rapidly.

“hello?”

kazutora froze. you had answered, finally. 

“hey,” kazutora speaks, frowning. “you answered.”

there’s a silence, a painfully long silence.

“i’m sorry,” you say, and kazutora sighs, as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders. “who’s this?”

as he’d predicted, rain starts to pour, loudly. he can hear it, despite the furious beating of his heart against his ear. he can hear the raindrops, heavily falling over the concrete under his feet. and your breathing too, on the other line.

“it’s me.”

he doesn’t have to tell you; you pick up on it quickly.

you had deleted his number in a spur. after those two days he hadn’t texted you, you had deleted his phone, deciding to move on.

but kazutora hadn’t moven on yet, and it was his turn now.

“kazutora--”

“are we gonna talk about it?”

kazutora closes his eyes; he didn’t mean to sound like that. as if he were angry with you, but he wished he was. he wished he was furious, upset with you. you deserved to feel his anger somehow, sentiments of despair he’s felt, and that now exacerbated after finding out you had deleted his phone number, as if he wasn’t someone special to you once.

“we have nothing to talk about.”

kazutora’s hand brushes over his face, rapidly. you hear his breathing, heavy, on the other line.

“about the night of my birthday, you’ve ignored me since then.”

“we have nothing to talk about,” you repeat. “i’m sorry kazutora, i’m busy.”

“don’t do this to me,” kazutora whispers.

you fall silent, and kazutora shuts his eyes, he sees stars under his eyelids. he doesn’t want to react the wrong way, he doesn’t want to spur out against you, but he’s not sure what you’re expecting from him. he’s not sure what you’re thinking, for the first time, and he’s not sure what exactly you’re trying to do.

“i’m hanging up.”

“let’s talk, please,” kazutora pleads.

kazutora parks his motorcycle outside your apartment. he texts you he’s there, and waits for you to go meet him in the parking lot. you told him he couldn’t come up to your place, and kazutora, hoping to meet you again, accepted.

he was cold, and it was still raining. he’d forgotten to bring an umbrella once you agreed to meet him, running out of the shop in hopes to see you again. kazutora hadn’t noticed how dependant he’d become to you until he saw you walking through the gate, in a big sweatshirt and a scowl in your face.

you were holding an umbrella, but instead of approaching him, you stood on the sidewalk, holding the umbrella over your own head.

“what is it?” you ask.

kazutora realizes you do not want to be there. but he doesn’t understand why. what did he do for you to push him away like this?

kazutora clears his throat, attempting to walk over you, but you were quick to take a step back. you didn’t want him to approach you, kazutora noted.

“you left,” kazutora starts. “that morning, you didn’t say anything.”

“i had classes.”

“and you didn’t call or text, to tell me if you were alright.”

you take a look back, as if you were waiting for someone to appear behind you. 

“i forgot.”

“you forgot to text me for a month?”

“i was busy, kazutora, you know how busy these months turn.”

kazutora wants to bite his tongue, he really does, but how is he supposed to watch you lie to him in front of his face?

“you didn’t seem busy that day he went to pick you up.”

you frowned, clearly angered. “what?”

“i saw him picking you up after your classes, you didn’t seem busy.”

“you were stalking me?” you pressed.

“no,” kazutora frowned. “i was hoping to talk to you, i don’t know what happened and i want to know what i did to make push you away.”

“you know what you did.”

kazutora frowns, and this time, he strolls over you. the top of the umbrella covers your eyes, and kazutora pushes it off just a little for you to see him.

“what did i do?”

you look down, your knuckles turning white of the force you were gripping the stick of the umbrella with.

“you kissed me.”

“i did?”

you bite your lip. he knows you’re aware of your lie, such a blatant lie. you could never lie to him, or anyone for that matter. you were too honest for your own good. but that night, you were trying to lie to his face, knowing you couldn’t.

“i was drunk.”

“and i stopped you, or do you not remember that?”

suddenly, the streets in front of your apartment building are not empty anymore. the traffic is loud, like it always is at some point of the night. you’d complain the first time you had moved in there, sometimes trying to stay at kazutora’s place to avoid it. until you grew accustomed to it, and then, you weren’t able to sleep without the sound of rapid cars and growling motors.

kazutora remembers sleeping a few times at your place, hating the noise. but you loved it, and he started to love it too, knowing it somehow calmed you.

kazutora takes a step back. he’s still hurt, but the anger that had brought him there no longer moves inside him. he sighs, and his tensed shoulders drop.

“was i wrong to do so?” kazutora speaks.

you frown, confused. “what?”

“stopping you, was i wrong for stopping you?”

that’s now what kazutora is trying to say, but he can’t bring himself to say it outloud.

were you perhaps scared of your own feelings? of the possibility of him not feeling the same way? was that it? was that why you were trying to avoid him all along? 

that wasn’t like you; you were straightforward, and your honesty got you in trouble most of the time. and with kazutora, you never held any secrets, you were nothing but an open book. what did he do?

“we can’t, kazutora,” you whispered.

kazutora frowns, and he tries to touch your hand, but you push his hand away. hedoesn’t notice the tears in your eyes until he’s barely a step away from you. your face is filled with tears, and your body shakes with every sob that leaves your mouth. kazutora freezes, unsure of what to do, as he watches you suffer.

“what do you mean?”

“we can’t do this, kazutora, i’m sorry--”

“why not?” kazutora asks, and finally, he gets a hold of your hand. he holds it up to his chest, and his heart beats against it, rapidly. “i like you too, y/n, i love you.”

your shakes with the sob that leaves your mouth, and kazutora shakes with you, because why does it seem like your eyes are blinded by the pain you’re feelings, unknown to him? why are you gripping your own chest as if he was trying to steal it from you?

“we’re friends, kazutora, just friends!”

kazutora frowns, shaking his head as he tries to hold you in his arms, to comfort you, but you push away.

“then why did you kiss me?” kazutora says.

the umbrella falls next to your body, your trembling body that shakes with the cold, with your pain. kazutora doesn’t like it, and he doesn’t understand it. because if you love him like he does, why are you suffering?

“it was a mistake.”

“a mistake?” kazutora’s voice falters. “it wasn’t a mistake.”

“it was for me, and i’m sorry i gave you the wrong impression,” you inhaled, wiping the tears off your face rather harshly, leaving a red mark on your face.

you no longer shake, and you softly shake his hand off your shoulders, hands that were gripping you tightly as if you were to run away, kazutora searches for you eyes, confused, and lost. 

a dog starts barking not far away, and the two of you jump.

“what do you mean?”

 “i don’t think of you that way kazutora.”

“i love you too, i do--”

you kneel to grab your umbrella again.

kazutora doesn’t move, neither does he react when you place the umbrella above his head, grabbing his hand to wrap his fingers around it.

he tries to speak up.

“kazutora,” you interrupt, your voice no longer holding that melody of yours, that friendly, loving tone that you always used with him. your voice is firm, and your eyes traverse his. kazutora is left mouth closed, unable to move. “i think it’s better if we leave it here.”

“i love you,” he whispers again, hoping you’ll hear him, his silent plea.

kazutora tries to take a step closer to you, to hold you one last time, to try and get to you one last time.

but he can’t.

“we can’t be friends anymore.”

you disappear again, like that morning. you walk faster than ever, running inside your building, despite his attempt to run after you, to beg for an answer, for another word, for another way, to beg for your company, for your understanding, for an explanation, for anything you could give him, anything.

but you’re long gone, kazutora notes as his throat dries and his lungs barely hold him up. kazutora blinks, hoping it’s a nightmare he’s found himself in.

because kazutora loves you, even if you don’t.

[forever-rogue]

Crimelord Boba Fett proposing to female reader and promises to protect her with his life. :)

Did someone say King of the Underworld Boba Fett? Don’t mind if we do. Goodbye Bib Fortuna, long live the King.

Boba Fett x Fem!Reader; warnings: egregious use of little one

Part 2

Star Wars Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

The air is acrid and thick, feeling like it was suffocating you rather than helping to you live. Raising a hand to your face, you looked around the desolate Dune Sea, wondering why on earth you were being summoned to Maker forsaken Tatooine. And who the kriff was summoning you?

All you knew was that you had been summoned from your home on Corsucant - rather forcefully, and dragged back to this hell hole. Under any other circumstances you would have fought back or questioned what was actually going on, but something about the small but imposing woman that dragged you with her caused you to keep your mouth shut. She hadn’t given you so much as a name - hers or your mysterious summoner, and you hadn’t asked.

She’d watched you closely on the hours long ride to Tatooine, seeming to study and observe you with curiosity. At one point you had wanted to snap back at her but the weapons holstered to her side and stowed around the ship made you bite your tongue and bide your time. The woman didn’t say a single word; neither did you.

If you were being taken to your death, then that was that. You’d made that much up in your mind as soon as you’d stepped foot onto the ship. Harsh and cruel as it was too say, there wasn’t much you would be losing, nor would many people miss you. It was a quiet life you led these days, keeping to yourself and your humble abode in a small, but safe corner of Coruscant.

You’d been there, waiting, hoping, wishing ever since - no.

No, no, no. You weren’t going to let your mind back to that dark, haunted place. It was something that still managed to seep into the front of your mind, no matter how many years you tried to suppress them. It was when a man with dark hair would come into your little shop and you’d only catch a glimpse. When you heard deep, rough laughter that was all consuming. When you’d see a hint of green armor. When you’d hear a voice even remotely similar to his...

Boba Fett might have died many years ago, but he had never left your heart. He was still in everything you did, so many little things reminding you of what was and what could have been.

You hadn’t been back to this living hell since the day he’d died, lost to the sarlacc and left only to become memories that would fade away over generations. You’d wanted to stay there, to wait and see if somehow he would come back to you, but you couldn’t.

You’d left the next day and never looked back. You hated yourself for it, but you also...your heart had been broken into hundreds of millions of tiny shards of transparisteel. Ever since, you’d hoped that maybe one you’d come across your lover.

But the day never came. And while you went along with life, you still held onto the slight hope that maybe one day...maybe, maybe, maybe.

A soft sigh escaped your parched lips as you felt immediately all consumed by the sand, like it was becoming a part of you or you were destined to become a part of it. Either way, it was enough to frustrate you as you shielded your eyes from the harsh heat and blazing light of the twin suns.

“Keep up,” it was the first time she had spoken to you since she’d first called your name and instructed you to come with her. She was commanding for a figure so slight, but you had a feeling she was much deadlier than she looked - and she was already a sight. Biting back a groan you picked up the pace and trailed after her, confusion clouding your features as you began to realize where you were headed.

This was Jabba’s Palace...well no - Bib Fortuna’s. Just like Boba, Jabba, the disgusting, foul, loathsome leader of the galaxy’s biggest syndicate had been dead for some time.

What the kriff would Bib Fortuna want with you?

You’d cut off any ties you’d had with any of them long ago, before Boba was even dead. There was no way you could ever provide anything useful to him...

Autopilot had completely taken over and you were barely aware of the fact that you’d reached the palace and were headed towards its inner sanctum. Your stomach lurched as you walked through the walls you hoped would forever be a memory as you realized just how clearly you remember it all. Sure, the place had seen better days, wearing down from the harsh sandy winds and the hands of time, but it was ever the same.

Except this time - few people were milling about, no workers to be seen and it felt surprisingly...tame. Not something you thought would ever be possible for his place. Something had to have happened... something was off-

“Down,” the woman pointed at the stone staircase, her hand on the small of your back as she gently nudged you towards the top step. You were half surprised that she didn’t just completely shove you down to the bottom, but the energy you were getting from her wasn’t mean or negative...just curious.

“W-what?” you managed to stammer, your throat dry and scratchy the heat and lack of water. She quirked a dark brow and pointed at the stairs again.

“Down,” she repeated, “it’s best not to keep him waiting.”

Kriff. You were going to die at the hands of Fortuna. He was a weak man, bolstered by those he keep around him, ego inflated beyond measure. On his own he was a pathetic little thing, but when surrounded by his goons, he was cruel and merciless at worst.

Accepting your fate, you started your slow descend down the stairs, your heartbeat screaming in your ears with each foot fall. Your chest was thumping so wildly you were sure that it would burst through your chest at any point.

But nothing met your ears, there were no sounds, no talking, no music, nothing. It was almost deafeningly silent.

When your feet hit the soft sand floor, you did a quick survey of the almost empty room. A few torches lined the wall, but that was about all. The throne was in the center of the room as it always was and -

Maker. The Throne.

As you looked at it, you swallowed the lump in your throat as you looked upon the singular figure in the room besides yourself.

The man was in armor from head to toe. Green armor. With red accents. You knew those colors, those colors you once considered your own, those were his colors.

But no - it couldn’t have been. No, no, no, this was an impostor, this was -

“Hello little one,” that voice. You knew it more intimately than anything else, you know that voice inside and out. That voice that had laughed at you a million times, that voice that been in your ear during the heat of passion, the one that teased you, the one that scolded you when you did something dangerous. That voice.

It was his. Boba’s.

“No,” you shook your head as you refused to move closer to the man that was surely a pretender - a great one, but still not your Boba, “y-y-you aren’t...no.”

He remained silent for a long moment, the dark T of his visor trained on your as he refused to look away. You stared right back, as if you were seeing a ghost - in some ways you were.

Slowly, he rose to his full height, stepping down from his throne, imposing as ever as he slowly walked over to you. You stilled in your actions, wondering if you should run away or fight or something. Instead you watched as he came closer and closer and closer - right until he stopped dead in front of you.

“You’re just as pretty as then,” his voice was soft as he reached a gloved hand up touch your cheek. He hesitated before making contact with your skin, stripping the worn leather gloves off and tossing them mindlessly onto the sandy floor. He watched you closely before finally touching your cheek to his see if you would stop him or flinch out of his touch.

But you didn’t; despite believing he was gone all of these years, a small bit of you still had hope.

“Boba?” it was a weak, pathetic little whimper as you keened into his touch. He stalled for just a moment, his heart almost stopping at the sound of his name from your lips. It was even sweeter than he remembered, “is it really you?”

“I told you I’d never leave you, little one,” he rasped as you worked to blink back tears that had started to well up in your eyes. You looked at him with wide doe eyes as he made a small sound in the back of his throat. As a single tear pearled up and ran down your cheek, he tenderly wiped it away, “it just took me a little longer than planned to get back to you.”

And then you laughed; despite the situation and the overwhelming onslaught of emotions, you just laughed. Before you knew it, he was laughing as well, a warm, rich sound that you remembered like it had been yesterday.

“Boba,” you couldn’t believe it. This whole time, all these years, your hope wasn’t wasted after all, “you’re alive. You’re here - I’m here. I-I...I dreamed of this day so many times.”

“As have I,” he promised, “I’m just...I’m afraid that I might be a little different than you last remembered - the sarlacc was not a kind friend to me.”

“I don’t care,” you promised him, “I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care. You’re alive and that’s all...I...please, let me look at your face. I need to see you, Boba.”

He gave a curt nod before dropping his hand from your cheek and exhaling deeply. Slowly, he put his hands on either of the helmet - newly painted, you noted - and tugged it up and off. You swallowed nervously, anxious to see the eyes of your lover once again.

Boba let the helmet fall to the ground, the thud dulled by the pillowy sand, nervous for you to say something, anything. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting, but this? This was nothing; scarred and more weathered than when he had been a younger man, he was still the same as always. Boba - your Boba.

“At least one of us is - “

Before he could say anything in the negative, your put your hands on either side of his face before crashing your lips onto his. He was taken aback for a moment at your sudden action, but it didn’t take more than a beat for him to wrap his arms around you and hold you tightly against his chest. It was like no time had passed at all, and you still knew each other just as you always had.

Only when you needed a breath of air did you pull apart, staring back into his soft brown eyes.

“Boba,” it was soft - reverent - and worked to thaw the icy harshness that had settled over his heart, “I love you. I’ve always loved you so much. I never stopped. I always hoped that somehow you would make your way back to me.”

“Always, my little one,” he promised with a gentle kiss to your forehead, “I will always protect you. No harm shall ever come to you so long as I live and breathe.”

“I can’t believe you’re alive,” you wrapped your arms his neck and held him, just held him, as the two of your synced your breathing and become reacquainted with each other’s bodies.

“Will you stay?” he asked quietly as you pulled back and nodded. For Boba, you would have done anything and gone anywhere in the galaxy, “w-with me?”

“Yes,” you promised him softly as you traced over his features delicately with the tip of your finger, “always. There’s nothing that would make me happier.”

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered as you nodded, “I promise we’ll never be apart again.”

“I’ll hold you to that Boba Fett,” you sighed contentedly, “I love you, Boba.”

“I love you too, little one,” he kissed the top of your head, “come on, we have much to talk about.”

“And now have all the time in the galaxy.”

[hood-ex]

This is a fic written for @stxleslyds! The prompt was: a fic with Dick, Roy and Lian spending time together in the Outsiders era. Thanks for the donation, Tati 💙.

Important: This fic takes place a week after the events of Outsiders (2003) #19.

“We could use you here,” Roy says. Even with his voice coming directly through the comm, Dick almost doesn’t hear him say, “I need you here.”

A soft wind blows through Blüdhaven, ruffling through Dick’s sweat-matted hair. What a filthy night it is for a Friday. Thunder rumbling in the distance with hot, humid air filling Dick’s lungs. It’s the kind of air that isn’t natural for a place like the ‘Haven. It’s here for whatever reason, and it’s no better now that the sun has been replaced by pink and purple neon lights flashing across the strip. It’s nights like these that Dick can admit to missing his red tunic and green shorts. It was shit to wear them in the winter but an absolute godsend in the summer.

Dick sighs deeply, moving away from the ledge of the building and away from his view of the herds of drunk people whose laughter echoes between the bars and casinos. There’s a tall HVAC unit in the middle of the building that he walks over to and sits against. The fabric of his suit rubs against it, and he squirms a little at the uncomfortable position. He bears it because this is a conversation that requires a little support.

“Dick.”

“I know,” Dick mutters.

He should be under the streets of Brooklyn the same as all the other Outsiders should be. Considering the circumstances, it’s no surprise that some of them have deserted the ship for the time being. Licking their wounds in private so to speak. Dick’s not proud of it. He tacks it onto his mental bulletin board of shame where it sits up there all torn and ugly like the rest of his deplorable moments.

“I’d feel better if you were here to watch Lian when I step out of the room,” Roy says in Japanese. Dick’s brow furrows. Either Lian is in the same room as Roy and he doesn’t want her to know they’re talking about her or there’s an Outsider nearby that he doesn’t want listening in on his personal issues. “She hasn’t started therapy yet and her separation anxiety is still high.”

“High for both of you,” Dick points out. He thinks back to a few days ago when Roy had called him in a panic because he’d left all of his groceries in the middle of the store after his paranoia got the best of him and had him running back to the base to check on Lian.

“Tell me about it,” Roy laughs dryly. “I feel like I’m going fuckin’ nuts, dude.” The strain in his voice sends a full body shiver down Dick’s spine. “All I can think about is whether she’s okay and if the base is protected enough, and if I can really trust everyone here. You and Kory are the only ones I feel okay leaving her with.”

You shouldn’t trust me like that, Dick thinks bitterly. Lilith and Donna trusted me with their lives and look where they are now.

“Everyone else is… I trust them as teammates. I trust them with my life. But I can’t—"

“Trust them with Lian’s,” Dick says, knowing how much this whole situation has fucked with Roy's ability to trust anyone and everyone. Except him and Kory, apparently. Probably Ollie and the rest of Roy's family too.

He thunks his head against the HVAC unit and stares up at the dark sky. Not a single star up there, he thinks, and something like guilt burns in his chest. You took them all with you, didn’t you, Donna? Put them in your pockets and faded away. “She might not be comfortable with me there,” he says after a moment.

It pains him to think that Lian could be scared of him. Scared of him because he looks similar to one of the blue-eyed, dark-haired kidnappers who murdered her babysitter and then branded her like cattle. That type of trauma association doesn’t go away after a week.

“Kory told Lian you might stop by, and you know what Lian asked her?”

Terrible things flash through Dick’s head. Things like words born of fear or disgust. He hugs his arms around his knees and squeezes them tight.

“No, what did she say?”

“She asked, ‘Is Uncle Nightwing gonna bring Blue’s Clues with him?’”

A smile tugs at the corner of Dick’s lips and his eyes start to sting. He can’t believe that’s the first thing she thought of. It only seems like yesterday that he was watching Blue’s Clues with her in Titans Tower. Sometimes he would pause the show and ask Lian questions about each of the clues just to hear what kind of outlandish answers her kid brain could come up with. Other times the detective in him couldn’t help but steer her towards a logical answer. Roy used to always roll his eyes and tell him to stop trying to turn her into a mini Nightwing.

“That doesn’t mean she’ll be okay seeing me in person and you know it,” Dick reminds him.

Roy’s sigh is soft and muffled in his ear. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Dick’s not one to wait around.

“Let’s cross it now.”

“You’re coming over?” Roy asks, and even though he mostly sounds neutral, Dick can hear the disbelief hidden under it all.

If there was an award for the world's most shitty friend, Dick would probably be in the lead to receive it. Here Roy is dealing with the fact that his daughter was abducted and almost trafficked, and what’s Dick been doing for the last few days instead of sticking by his side? Working himself to the bone in Blüdhaven, that’s what. Hiding away from the fact that he almost lost another important person to him. Trying to avoid the crushing weight of failure that clings to him like a second skin.

Pathetic. Some safety net he is.

“Yeah, give me an hour,” Dick says.

The commute from Blüdhaven to Brooklyn isn’t bad at this time of night. Most of the traffic is packed downtown where all the bars are lined up. Dick takes the highway to avoid the worst of it.

The roar of the city dies off once he goes underground. Down here the HQ looms over him in all its steel glory. Dick’s always thought of it like one giant elevator. It’s all hard angles and sleek, silver walls. Hardly a place one would describe as homey, but it was home to a few people nevertheless.

Dick goes inside after getting his eye and hand scanned by the computer. He heads down the hallway, keeping his footsteps light and quiet out of habit. So far there’s no sign of Jade, Indigo, or Rex in any of the rooms he passes. They’re the most likely to be here around this time. From what Kory told him the other day, Grace has been spending most of her time clubbing, and Anissa has been staying with her dad. He hates to admit it but it’s almost a relief that he doesn’t have to worry about running into either of them.

He ends up finding Roy and Lian in the rec room. Lian is sitting on the leather couch in the middle of the room. She must have had a shower not too long ago because her hair is a little damp and she’s wearing a pair of purple pajamas with unicorns on them. A Cinderella blanket is strewn across her lap and a stuffed rabbit sits discarded on the floor by her feet.

Roy looks small squatting in front of her. His pants are the only sign of his Arsenal gear, and it makes Dick feel slightly out of place since he’s still decked out in full mask and suit. It’s the first time Dick’s seen Roy in person since they brought down Tanner’s operations a week ago. He looks how Dick would expect any parent to look after being targeted by a major sex trafficker: stressed and exhausted.

Those tired eyes of his shift to the doorway where Dick stands, and Dick can see the way Roy looks him over from head to toe, assessing Dick’s condition. He can look as hard as he wants, but he won’t find anything. Dick keeps his face blank and unreadable.

“It still hurts,” Lian whimpers, and both Dick and Roy's attention immediately snaps back to her.

She wraps her arms around her stomach and bends over her lap like she’s going to throw up all over the floor. Roy doesn’t move to try and avoid any possible bouts of vomit. Nothing happens as the seconds tick by. No retching or anything. There’s only the sound of Roy’s hand rubbing up and down Lian’s arm.

“Me and your Uncle Nightwing are gonna get you feeling better soon,” Roy assures her in a gentle voice. “And guess what?”

Lian makes a questioning sound in the back of her throat.

The look Roy shoots Dick is somewhere between caution and amusement. “He’s been playing quiet mouse behind you this whole time.”

Dick braces himself as Lian shoots back up like a rocket. “He’s behind me?” she asks, twisting around in her seat. Dick’s heart starts jackrabbiting because what if she’s scared of him? What if he accidentally triggers her PTSD? What if— “Uncle Nightwing!” Lian shrieks.

Relief shudders through him because she sounds happy to see him. Not scared or angry or disgusted like he feared. She’s looking at him like he just told her he brought her a bag of candy, and that revelation is enough to make him take a breath and finally enter the room.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dick says, hurrying over to the couch so that she doesn’t have to get up. “I missed you.”

Lian reaches for his hand and holds on to it. It’s not like the hug Dick usually gets from her and maybe that’s because she doesn’t want anyone touching her back after the incident. Dick will take anything he can get. His much larger hand closes over her own and he swings them back and forth lightly.

“Me too,” Lian says. She squeezes his hand three times. “Why do you still have your gloves on?”

“My hands are cold,” Dick lies. “Why were you bent over like an accordion just a minute ago?”

“Her tummy’s been hurting,” Roy says with a frown.

“It’s because tigers used to try and eat people,” Lian tells him matter-of-factly. Roy looks like he’s about to correct her but she quickly hurries on. “My brain says there’s danger and it makes my tummy stop working.”

A lightbulb goes off in Dick’s head as he realizes that she’s describing anxiety. A simplified explanation of how the digestive system shuts down and sends blood to other parts of the body when there’s danger.

“My tummy does that too,” Dick says after a pause. “I get a lot of anxiety sometimes. Do you want me to show you how I try to make it go away?”

Lian scrunches her nose. “Do we have to take medicine?”

“Nope. All we need to do is sit up straight and breathe. Breathing really deep helps our brains calm down and makes our tummies feel more relaxed,” Dick explains. He sinks down on the plush couch and demonstrates how she should be sitting. “Now move back until you’re sitting like me.”

Lian does as she’s told and scoots back until she’s resting against the back of the couch. Dick only remembers how short she is when he notices how her feet stick out straight in front of her instead of dangling over the edge of the couch.

“Now tell your daddy to get in position.”

“Daddy,” Lian slaps the free cushion beside her, “sit next to me.”

“Magic word?” Roy prompts.

“Please,” Lian pouts.

“That’s better.” Roy’s knees pop when he shifts out of his crouched position. The whole couch rocks when he falls back against it. “What’s the strat here, Wing? We need to close our eyes or what?”

Dick wants to ask him why he’s acting like he’s never done this before but the playful words stick in his mouth like glue.

“We’ll close our eyes in a second. Lian, I want you to watch how your daddy and I take really deep breaths, okay? Then we’re all going to do it together.”

“I can take really big breaths!” Lian insists. She scrambles out of her pose and gets on her knees. Her little fingers wrap around Dick’s bicep as she leans in close to him. “I can take one million breaths as big as an elephant!”

The tired and apathetic part of him tells him to ignore her kid logic and to get back on track. The uncle part of him is another story. It wants him to be fun and helpful. To distract Lian from the worries and fears she has.

In the end, he does what he always does best: puts on a performance.

“Oh yeah?” Dick challenges with a grin that hopefully doesn’t look as strained as it feels. “I can take five billion breaths as big as a planet.”

“Elephants are bigger than planets,” she says.

“I think maybe the elephants are only bigger in your dreams.”

“Yeah, they are,” Lian agrees because she’s a typical kid who will support anything that proves she’s right in some capacity.

Roy looks amused when he puts his hands on Lian’s shoulders and steers her to sit back on her bottom. “Alright little missy, no more talking. We’re gonna do what Uncle Nightwing says now, okay?”

“Okay,” Lian agrees, looking over at Dick expectantly.

Coaching Lian through the exercise is easy. The most important part is making sure she’s taking breaths that are deep enough to make her stomach expand like a balloon. Dick has her place her hands on top of her stomach so he can see them rise when she inhales.

Roy follows along and Dick can tell that he’s taking advantage of the exercises for his own benefit. His face looks peaceful and relaxed as he follows along with Dick’s instructions to suck in a breath on the count of one and exhale up until the count of ten.

“Keep focusing on counting,” Dick tells them while they exhale. “We don’t want any other thoughts in our heads. No bad thoughts or funny thoughts. Only think about counting to ten.”

They run through a few more cycles. Dick’s pleased when he hears both Lian and Roy’s stomachs grumbling as they exhale. It’s a good sign that the deep breaths are massaging their organs and decreasing any kind of stomach pain.

“That’s it,” Dick says. “We’re all done.” He opens his eyes and sees Lian slumped against the back of the couch. Her hands are still resting on her stomach, but she looks languid instead of tense like she was when he first saw her.

“I’m tired now,” Roy says. His movements are slow as molasses when he slides forward to the edge of the couch and bends over to rest his arms on his thighs. He looks at Lian. “How about you, princess? You feeling any better?”

“Mhmm. My tummy doesn’t feel really uh…”

“Tight?” Dick offers.

“Yeah, it’s not so tight anymore.”

Roy pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “Good. Mine feels a little better too.”

“Can we do Uncle Nightwing’s breathing thing again tomorrow?” she asks through a yawn.

“Sure thing,” Roy nods. His attention shifts to Dick. “Are you gonna still be here to lead us through it?”

This isn’t some kind of test but it feels like one. It feels like if he says no then he’s only proving that he’s a bad friend. That he can’t be relied on. He doesn’t want to give Roy that impression because it’s not true. Roy can rely on him the same way Dick relies on Roy. He hopes showing up here tonight is proof of that.

“That’s the plan,” he says, voice soft.

Roy leans over the couch and squeezes Dick’s knee gently. “You sure?” he asks, and his eyes roam over Dick’s face like he’s trying to find evidence that Dick is lying.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” He pats Roy’s hand reassuringly in the same way Alfred's done for him and Bruce a hundred times. It's only now that he realizes it's a habit he's picked up.

Lian suddenly leans into Dick’s side and presses her weight against his arm. She pats both his and Roy’s hands.

“I’m sure too,” she says, and this time Dick can’t help but smile.

[trulyhumblenarcissist]

Abourt Rei Himura and BNHA Chapter 301

Now that I've read the official release of chapter 301 I can finally try to gather my thoughts. I think this time the particular rendition of dialogues and inflections provided by Caleb Cook is more crisp and clear than usual, especially in throwing "shade" upon Endeavor as a father figure. But let's do things in order...

Title: THE WRONG WAY TO PUT OUT A FIRE - a simple, but stark message that doesn't leave space for ambiguity. There was a fire, an imminent tragedy that could and should have been avoided, but whoever tried to fix it, did it all wrong and now we have to deal with a huge arson.

CARLESS HANDLING OF FIRE, on the other hand, doesn't quite cut it for me, because it seems like everything was caused by a foolish mistake. "I was carless and now I'm in a pinch"- type of situation, while it's perfectly clear that Endeavor and Rei decided purposefully which "strategy" to use with Touya. A BAD one to say it lightly. Rei's contribution and complicity is debatable, of course, and I'll touch on this later.

Let me get this clear though: I'm not trying in any way to critique the hard work of unofficial translators. I can't say anything relevant because I'm not a translator in the first place (I can barely understand English and my native language on a good day) and also because I am so grateful for everything they do in order to give us really good material FREE OF CHARGE basically a second after the release in Japan. I'm just interested about the different shades of subtext we can catch if we read the story through multiple filters. Every translation is unique because it carries the personal spin of the author even if the bias should be inexistent or ideally undetectable...

However, back to the chapter

REI'S CAGE

The first scene opens on a luxurious classic Japanese villa, with Enji, Rei and her parents discussing the motivation behind Enji's proposal. Or at least we initially think that's what's going on... Because in reality Rei's family couldn't care less about the motivation. Everything these people see is a wealthy, famous guy the next number one hero ready to take their daughter in marriage. I guess the Himuras are pretty broke, thight on cash, their old prestige is definitely gone and all they can do to save themselves from shame and poverty is "to sell" their only remaining asset.

During the whole ordeal, Rei is standing still, silent, cold as ice. She knows she doesn't really have a choice. How mortifying and sad is this? An adult, capable woman has no agency whatsoever, she is used again and again and she stoically accepts this treatment from every single dominant figure in her life until she can't be stoic anymore. I really hope Horikoshi's going to give her a much more proactive role in saving her family and it seems the narrative wants us to expect this type of character development.

I'd like to point out 2 panels in particular:

First one

In this scene the Todorokis are back from their trip to the doc, who clearly said they shouldn't try to conceive a child with a perfect quirk mix because it is dangerous (and morally questionable too). Rei understands this fact and tries to dissuade Enji, but he doesn't listen, because he's projecting all his pent-up resentment and frustration onto Touya. He knows how it feels to crush against an unbreakable wall, since he can't surpass All might and his son can't too. He had to learn this truth the hard way, so Touya needs to do the same. Enji is purposefully throwing upon his son years of failures, self consciousness and despair, just because the boy has to get it into his thick skull that he is a dud, just like his father. This is not a hopeless dad making a mistake bona fide, this is a broken man trying to destroy his self reflection by proxy, annihilating everything Touya is, swiping the kid's identity under the rug. He describes his son's dreams and sadness as something birthed from stubbornness. He is auto-convincing himself however (because Endeavor is not stupid). A little bit later he's basically saying: "Touya let's play make believe! We can go on like everything I had engulfed in your psyche never existed, you're a failed attempt so you don't exist. Your needs and wants are silly and useless, nothing worth dealing with now that I can't make you my prodigy. Why don't you go play with the other failures so that I don't have to look at myself while taking actually care of you. I don't want to see you, because it's too painful, because you're a remainder of my own inadequacy."

Note: If you want to read an incredibly well done analysis about Endeavor's motives and psyche, you can get it on @thyandrawrites , she's dwelt on everything extensively and way better than me.

I really want to talk about Rei though. In the panel I showed above, her expression is a bit tricky to analyse. At first she is very vocal about her position. She doesn't want to put Touya through useless suffering, especially since they have a scientific reason not to. They have no guarantee of success with other children, besides, they could possibly have to deal with other health related issues. However, all it takes to convince her in the end is Enji's half assed attempt at the "It's for Touya's sake" shtick. Is it really? Why doesn't she question her husband anymore?

Well... I think before Natsuo, she was probably hoping Touya would let go "naturally", with time and growth, maybe by taking interest in his other siblings. Rei said she wanted to have more children because in her mind they would have supported and loved each other. Maybe she was naive enough to think that a big family full of kids few years apart from each other was all Touya needed to distract himself from his purposes... BUT and here is the point I want to get across: She was deluding herself too, much like Enji. The ugly truth, in my opinion, is that Rei is a person prone to protect herself by going with everything other people want, especially if said people are capable of hurting her. Yes, she was hurt time and time again, but what would have happened if she really tried to stop Enji?

What I am trying to say is that Rei is the kind of person who endures to survive. She holds a "captive" mentality in which, by indulging her captor's desires, she can continue living with less possibile damage. If I stay still and silent, if I don't make a scene, I can go on, I can hold onto the few things I have that actually make me happy.

Let's think about it... Enji was so obsessed with his psychotic, power-hungry quest that he would have probably disown Rei. She would have been thrown away for a more compliant woman with an ice quirk, or something similar, this resulting in her probably losing everything, the respect and love of her family (the Himuras) and also her own children. Because we know Endeavor can definitely hold a grudge and is vendicative.

So, clarifying, Rei doesn't put up a fight because she is scared for herself in a way... She is scared to be hurt in the worst possible way (by losing her little bit of serenity), so her strategy is to endure and to keep up a facade of control and purpose.

Rei, ironically just like Touya and other characters in mha, doesn't really get what unconditional love is. Her family loves her until she can be useful to the Himura name and status, her husband loves her for her quirk. Her children, however, love her for who she is and she wants to stay with them... Only to be forced to leave them later anyway.

The few times Rei actually smiles are when she is with her babies. She is a deeply loving mother in her core, but her declining mental health makes her a very lacking caregiver.

This panel, in my opinion, shows the point of no return for Rei. She can't keep the glacial facade forever...

After Natsuo's turn to be deemed a failure, Endeavor is crazier than ever, because All Might is as popular and loved as ever and he hasn't make any progress into his eugenetic games. The last two images of Rei are very telling. She is exhausted, but she knows what her husband wants from her this time too. She looks like a lifeless doll and honestly I can easily see Shouto's conception as... Non consensual and I will stop here.

Then Shouto is born, the last, perfect specimen... And Rei isn't doing much for Touya, we can see she's apparently blind towards her eldest son's distress already after Natsuo's birth... But why?

Because she is actively avoiding to face the Touya's problems too.

If Touya is still suffering, is still feeling stressed and worthless, then everything Rei has endured, everything she pretended not to feel for the sake of her family has been completely useless. What Rei cannot look at is her own parental failure, is the concrete proof that while protecting herself and her peace she did not protect her children too, because the two interests were never really aligned, even if she really believed so. She never had a functional family to preserve in the first place and everything she accepted to do was all for the sake of a false sense of belonging.

However is too easy to say she should've rebelled against Enji and dumped his sorry ass. Abuse traps you and your abuser too in a cage tricky to escape.

What I imagine will happen next chapter is one of two things:

Enji stops Touya by using brute force, probably also saying something really scarring to reinforce the notion that Shouto is the only child he cares about.

Rei stops Touya by using her quirk. This act could be considered by Touya another confirmation that even his mother actually does something by her own accord only when Shouto's safety is at risk

Necessary conclusions

I don't blame Rei for her actions too much. She is a victim turned abuser by circumstances, but more importantly she's actually taken mesures to prevent herself from hurting her children again. She's trying to heal for her family's sake, really this time. Ten years spent dealing with guilt and having actual therapy seem a good plan to me. And now she's the one ready to snap Enji back to reality.

Enji, on the other hand, is trying too. It's too little too late, but if he stops avoiding reality and hardly works on understanding his family's point of view I don't think he is completely unredeemable. I don't see him surviving his last confrontation with Touya, thought... But I could be totally wrong.

Obviously everything I've said it's my personal analysis on Rei's character, as I interpret her actions and words, so feel free to contradict me and/or to add anything you might see fit.

[existential-angstt]

I’m here for the cult stuff? // Shane “Dio” Morrissey x Reader

Warnings: SMUT (kinda light smut if I’m honest :/ ), fucking outside / in public, cult stuff? not sure what else I need to say xD

After the church incident, you started hanging around Dio a whole lot more and of course the two of you started dating. He introduced you to his friends, many of whom scoffed a little at you but after a sharp look from their dark overlord softened up and tried to be as welcoming as they could. Once they got to know you a little better of course, you all found things in common and they started treating you like one of their own, some of them even saying hello to you on campus or first bumping you and earning you stares from the normies. 

Your friends heard all about it of course and immediately acted disgusted but once it became apparent you weren’t dropping this, they did their best to adjust and try to find things to like about Dio. Of course it wasn’t important to you if they didn’t like him- they didn’t have to. What mattered was you liked him. 

He’d escort you to classes with an arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders or waist, acting like he couldn’t function without a hand on you in some way. You liked to hook your hand in his belt loop under his coat, the two of you walking in step and talking about deeper meanings in Edgar Allen Poe’s stories or how you’d get away with murder, those sorts of things. You started dressing in darker colors at his urging, started to look more like the kind of person who would date someone like Dio. But even after all the steps you took to incorporate him into your life, you still had yet to infiltrate his so-called “cult”. 

Whenever you came to see him in the basement of Miller, any and all cult talk ceased and everyone acted friendly and light, but you knew as soon as you headed out for your next class the business would resume without you. You hadn’t directly told Dio that you wanted to be involved… you had said, however, that whatever was important to him was important to you, hoping he’d get the message and invite you into the “inner circle”, but alas, there were still a few nights every week he’d kiss you after dinner and disappear until the wee hours of the morning, when he’d come home reeking of incense and other things. 

You hoped to- well, you hoped to something he wasn’t sacrificing animals in the woods, but you were pretty sure that was a little off the wall-- after all, you’d seen how he got around kittens. For all his pomp and circumstance, you seriously doubted that man could hurt a small animal of any kind for any reason. 

So one night when he climbed into bed around 2 in the morning, as you stirred and snuggled into his chest you brought it up. “D?” you mumbled sleepily.

“Hmm? Didn’t realize you were awake, pet,” he said, pulling you close and sighing deeply. “What is it?” 

“Can I come to a cult thingie? A meeting?” you said into his chest, running your hand up his back, tracing the indentions of his spine under his skin. He paused, silent, as though considering. 

“I don’t know if you’d like it much,” he said finally, dodging. 

“Dio-” you groaned.

“I know, little one, I know, what’s important to me is important to you,” he rumbled, pausing again. “I suppose… if you really wanted to…. The best time to come is tomorrow night. It’s a blood moon, and we’re having a special ritual for it,” he replied, stroking your hair. He let out a short chuckle and added, “You wouldn’t wanna be the sacrifice, would you?” You opened one eye against his chest, watching the faint moonlight slipping into the room and tracing the edges of your boyfriend’s form on the bed beside you. 

“What would that entail?” you said, suddenly much more awake, your heartbeat thrumming away. He did that rumble laugh again, the vibration rocking through you as he held you and stroked your hair, tugging on it softly. 

“Nothing too serious… just laying on an altar, letting us pray over you.... Some ritualistic blood spilling… nothing you’re not used to already…,” he said, his hand sliding down to grip your hip to trace one of the faint scars from your adventures in knifeplay. You shivered, feeling yourself get turned on despite still being half asleep. You wriggled under his hand, not wanting to wake yourself up too much. 

“Yeah, I’ll do it, D. I wanna be part of it. For you…,” you mumbled, trailing soft kisses up his chest. 

“Oh, sweet girl. That means a lot,” he murmured, sinking his face into the crook of your neck, breathing deeply and kissing the soft flesh there, licking and softly sucking a hickey into your throat. 

“‘Kay, horndog, go to sleep. Need sleep if ‘m gonna be a sacrifice for you,” you said, tugging softly on the hair at the base of his neck. He chuckled again and stopped his games, simply holding you close until you both passed out.

__________________

Dio didn’t elaborate at all on what you’d agreed to, simply telling you to meet him outside Miller at 10 pm. He wasn’t going to be around all evening-- he said he needed to “take care of some things” and “prepare”, whatever that meant. You texted him and asked him what to wear around dinner time and his only reply was “black dress”. There was only one dress he could be referring to of course- a floor length lace and tulle number you’d bought recently that you had absolutely nowhere to wear it to. Fitting, for a sacrifice, you figured. 

You slithered into the dress and did your makeup, going bold with lots of dark red eyeshadow that made your eyes pop and black eyeliner. Waiting was the worst part-- sitting on the couch, all dressed up for some fun cult activity, all alone without him…

Finally you could wait no longer and you shrugged on his long leather coat, which he’d left in your apartment (weird, but handy at this moment) and descended the steps down to your car. 

The closest place you could park to Miller Hall was still a bit of a walk, and you were dressed for a party, so your heart was racing the entire time you were walking from the car to the building. You gripped his coat around you as though it would protect you as well as he could himself. The campus was empty, haunting-- everything was well lit, of course. After all, it was a college campus-- but that didn’t stop the feeling of foreboding creeping through your veins. 

You walked fast, a fistful of your dress in one hand to keep you from tripping and your other hand holding Dio’s jacket closed over your chest. You rounded a corner of the building next to Miller Hall and ran squarely into a stranger. 

“Woah- hey there, pretty lady, where you going so late?” said a voice. You looked up, eyes wide as you stumbled backwards. You couldn’t see his face-- he was directly under one of the lamps lighting the walkway so his face was cast in shadow, but he was big and you didn’t like the way he was looking at you. You could see his teeth glinting in the dimness his face was cast in. He took a few steps towards you as you tracked backwards, the urge to run getting stronger. “Hey, wait, don’t go anywhere- you’re dressed for a party,” he said, stalking towards you now. You realized with a start the jacket had fallen open, revealing your dress. You started reaching desperately for the low pocket of Dio’s jacket, where you knew he kept a knife at all times, but you were shaking and still thinking about running. 

Just as the stranger got to the edge of the building, a figure slid out of the shadows and stepped between the two of you, squaring up with the stranger. Whoever it was was just as tall as the opposing figure, and the stranger was clearly startled at the person’s appearance. 

“You wanna rethink that, asshole?” 

That was Dio’s voice- you stared at the two of them, still frozen in place. The stranger’s posture changed immediately. He went from opposing and overshadowing to something similar to what you were doing- pulling back, preparing to bolt. “Y-you’re-” 

“Mmmhmm. Now, scurry, rat,” Dio growled, traces of satisfaction in his voice. The stranger needed no further urging; he spun around and continued on his way, grumbling but speedwalking down the lit walkway between buildings. Dio turned around, still cloaked in shadow and ran over to you. “Hey, hey- are you okay? Did he touch you?” he said softly, all trace of aggression gone as he patted you down looking for injuries and wrongdoings. 

“D- Dio, I’m fine, I’m okay- I’m good,” you said, waving him off of you but taking his hand in yours tightly. 

“Baby, you need to check your phone. I told you to stay at the car until I came to get you,” he said, his eyes flashing concernedly in the dimness. 

“Dio, I’m fine, I’m fine. Now let’s go-” you said, picking up the skirt of your dress and still holding his hand. 

“Okay, okay,” he said, looking back towards where the stranger had been and then at you. He paused, his eyes lingering on you. You couldn’t read his face in the darkness. 

“What?” 

“You… you look really pretty,” he said softly, still unmoving. 

Taken aback, you blinked at him and then a soft smile came across your face. 

“You like it?” you said, swishing your skirt around and doing a little twirl for him. 

“You look perfect, little dove. Now come on,” he said, nodding up at the red full moon, “we’re gonna miss it.” He led you back down the walkway, his hand still in yours, the two of you hurrying around the corner and into Miller Hall with the covertness of teenagers breaking into a movie theater. 

The usually well-lit hall was mostly dark with only some of the hazy yellow lights on, and the basement was even more so. Dio led you back down the stairs to where you’d first met him, back through the double doors and into the huge room that used to be the university pools. Everything was pitch black and it took your eyes a moment to adjust; only then did you realize there was a source of light. Down inside the indention in the floor where the pool used to be were about 20 of Dio’s followers, hooded and cloaked; you could recognize the main six of them in the center, all your friends. 

You looked up at your boyfriend as he started gently pulling his own leather jacket from your shoulders. You shrugged out of it and he set it on the edge of the pool, taking you by the hand and leading you over to the stone steps that led into the concrete pit. You followed him down carefully, sure not to step on your skirt as you went down the steps. 

Dio led you over to the group of darkly dressed individuals who all watched you expectantly. Once you got over there, you could see they’d set up a makeshift altar on a desk someone had brought down and candles flickered on the tabletop. There were symbols carved into the wood and flower petals were scattered everywhere, incense making the room heavy with aroma. 

Dio motioned for you to kneel in front of the altar so you were eye level with it, and as you did, so did everyone else. Dio was the only one who stayed standing, still holding your hand and walking around the altar carefully. He glanced down at you, an unfamiliar glint in his eye, and then he looked around at everyone else. “Let’s begin.”

______________________________

Being a sacrifice was exactly what Dio had described. Basically, he began chanting in Latin and the others repeated what he said back to him, their voices echoing around the large chamber. After fifteen minutes of what was utter gibberish to you, Dio picked up a silvered dagger from the altar and dragged it across your palm, the red of your blood stark against your skin in the candlelight. 

You gasped lightly and looked up at him, his deep brown irises glowing amber in orangey glow. He was smirking softly but his eyes were soft-- he was playing it up, keeping on that cult leader facade but still speaking to you silently with his eyes, saying things to you that only you could hear. You knew that even though he was still their god, that he was playing king to his little cult that he was all too human when he was looking at you now, silently searching every micro expression for any sign you wanted to stop. 

You looked back at him calmly as he raised your open palm to the altar and turned it over, pressing it to the carved surface of the desk, right in the center of the arcane symbols. You didn’t make a sound when your hand touched the desk, didn’t even wince. His smirk grew slightly and you could feel the profound pride rolling off of him; still, it was perhaps something only you could see, could read in him. 

Dio said one more phrase in Latin and the congregation repeated it, the sound echoing harshly in the concrete pit and meaning absolutely nothing to you. The illusion seemed to fall then; the stiffness of everyone’s forms dropped and the grouping of people thinned out as everyone started to leave. Many headed for the stairs at the far end of the pool, but some boosted themselves up on the concrete ledge. Whatever the case, they cleared out quickly, sweeping off in their cloaks to Hell knows where. 

In moments it was just you and Dio and he was lifting your wounded hand gently off the altar, clutching it close as though it were his own injured hand. He produced a black silk cloth from one of his pockets and wrapped it around your hand, weaving it in between your fingers, meeting your eyes every so often as he did so. He tied a pretty knot in it, tightening the fabric against the cut and you finally let yourself show a sign of pain, your mouth twitching downwards, just for a second. 

“Oh, little dove, you did so well,” he said, drawing you into his arms and holding you tightly, spinning you around. “So, so well…,” he hummed, pulling back to look at you in the dimness. 

“Did… did I do all right?” you said, a little shaken by his change in demeanor. 

“Of course you did, love, of course. You were-” he shook his head, “-perfect.” You blushed a little and smiled up at him as he stared down at you. At this angle his face was cast in darkness again and you couldn’t see it. “Come on, let’s go,” he said, taking your hands and guiding you towards the stairs quickly. 

“W- where are we going, D?” you said, eyes widening. He hadn’t said- 

“Gotta finish the ritual, dove,” he said darkly, still pulling you up the stairs and towards the double doors. 

“But D, your coat-”

“We’ll come back before we go home, dove, now come on,” he hissed, tugging at you urgently. You shut your mouth finally, trusting him and hiking your skirt up in one hand to try to keep up with his hurried steps. He led you up the steps in the dark, so sure of his motions, so used to finding his way in and out of this building in the absence of light. 

He didn’t move fast enough to trip you up-- he slowed when he could sense you having trouble, and he held the door open as the two of you burst out into the cool night air, the crickets singing and your panting breaths the only other sounds. 

“What-” you started but he grabbed you and kissed you deeply, surprising you. You leaned into it, grabbing his hips to steady yourself and kissed him softly, basking in him. 

“Come on,” he whispered, keeping his face close to yours as though he were fighting himself to keep his mouth off yours. He took your hand in his again and led you around the shadowy side of the building, meaning you had to rely on him to guide you down the stone path. 

The two of you hurried through the night, weaving in and out of buildings, using the light of the orangey moon to find your way. It wasn’t long for you to figure out where he was taking you-- there was only one place he could be going. “Dio-” 

“Hush, dove.” 

You found yourselves in the campus gardens, full of hedges and delicate blooms and sweet scents that could be accessed via stone pathways that circled ponds and a small white gazebo. Once you were in the gardens, Dio seemed to relax a little, to slow down as he looked up at the swollen moon. 

“D, what are we doing here?” you said softly, following him over to the entrance of the gazebo. Your boyfriend turned back to look at you, taking both of your hands in his and backing up into the gazebo, pulling you after him. 

“Gonna finish the ritual, dove. Gotta… consummate it,” Dio said, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips. 

“Dio-” you gasped a little.

“Shh, little dove. You’re safe. Why don’t we… invoke something?” he said and then his mouth was on yours. You moaned into him a little bit and his grip on you tightened, your dress riding up a few inches. Dio slipped his tongue into your mouth, hot and wanting, as he backed you up against the rail of the gazebo, the wood digging into your lower back. You brought a hand up to grab his hair at the base of his neck, tugging, as his mouth trailed away from yours and across your jaw. 

“Dio-” 

“Shhh”

Dio trailed kisses down your neck, sucking marks into your throat as his hands worked their way upwards to your chest, grabbing and kneeding gently. You felt him draw you into him, his face buried in your collarbone as his hands made their way to the back of your dress, pulling at your zipper. 

“D- Dio-” you stammered, tugging at his hair sharply.

He looked up, breathing heavily, his eyes glimmering in the half light. You stared at each other, transfixed, and you felt him slowly pull down the zipper of your dress, the material sliding down your shoulders and hitting the wooden floor of the gazebo. You blinked at him in the half light, now in your under things and his eyes roved over your body slowly, his tongue swiping across his lower lip. 

Your breath hitched and his hands settled on your hips again, his face turned down towards yours and his hot breath hitting your face. “Please let me take you, little dove. Right here, under the moon. Do it for me, please,” he murmured, kissing up your neck, his raven black hair glossy under the moonlight. You let a moan escape your lips and rested your hands on his chest, pressing into him. 

Dio slid his hands down to your ass and picked you up, turning you both around and setting you down on the floor, laying you out and climbing on top of you. You felt him grind down against your hips as he kissed you, his arms caging you in. It was no time before he was pushing your bra up and nibbling at your nipples, kissing and sucking and squeezing your tits more softly than was usual for him. 

“D- Dio, we- we’re outside, anyone c-” 

He silenced you with another glance up at your eyes, not saying anything but communicating all he needed to. Wasn’t like you two hadn’t fucked in public before- 

His mouth came back up to yours, kissing you again and pulling your bottom lip in between his teeth, biting down hard enough to make you cry out. You reached up to grab at his hips, following the edge of his pants to find his zipper and pull at it, unbuttoning and button and sliding them down his hips. You felt him smirk against you and heard his breathy laugh but he didn’t stop you and seconds later he was as exposed as you were and you had him in your hands. You gave him a few slow pumps, making him tense up and moan noisily-- that was when he reached down to pry your hands away, to take back control. 

You gasped as he slid into you, all of the sounds of the night suddenly seeming so much louder, every animal noise just a bystander in danger of finding you two, in the middle of the gardens- 

He let out a low groan and you whimpered at the beautiful sound. “F- fuck, Dio- s- so pretty,” you mumbled, gripping his shoulders. He murmured something and you said, “W-what?” 

“N-not the p-pretty one, dove.” 

Your eyes widened a little at the compliment and you bucked your hips up a little as he started moving so torturously slowly, thrusting in and out of you like he had all the time in the world. “Dio,” you whined, digging your nails into his shoulders. 

“Patience, little dove, be patient,” he said, reaching up to trail his thumb across your jaw. Gradually he started moving faster and you thrust your own hips upwards to meet him, grabbing at his hair and pulling him back down to your mouth so you could kiss him again. 

It was definitely the most intense time you’d ever had with Dio (since the church, at least). The perfumes of the different flowers were heavy in your nose and the humidity was drenching you both in a sheen of sweat. The moon hung over the two of you, the roof of the gazebo keeping out most of the light but the rest of the orangey glow illuminating the gardens around you. 

“Mine… all… mine, little dove,” he mumbled, kissing your chest and circling your clit with a thumb. 

“Y-yours, please, Dio-” 

He growled and fucked you harder, speeding up his assault on your clit. You moaned loudly, no longer caring who saw you, who caught the two of you doing this- 

“F- Dio, I’m g- gonna-” you whimpered. 

Dio chanted something in Latin, very quickly and very softly, so soft you could barely here it, as though he were begging for you to cum for him, praying for it, and with a shout you did. He didn’t stop the Latin after you came, only ceasing once he had, still murmuring meaningless phrases as he collapsed on top of you, panting and kissing you softly. 

“Little dove…. Thank you, thank you-” he was saying, pressing his lips to your skin over and over. You trembled and pulled him close, wrapping your whole body around his. Once you were both able to stand, Dio helped you back into your dress and the two of you started walking back to your car in the darkness. He stepped off the path for just a moment and made a quick grabbing motion at one of the bushes and when he turned back to you, he held a pure black lily in his hand, offering it to you. You sighed shakily and took it, inhaling deeply. 

“Dio?” you said, tracing the petals with your fingers and taking his hand in your other one. 

“Hm?” 

“I love you.”

“‘Love you too, lil dove.”

[ashes-in-a-jar]

There Are Moments Like These That Keep Me on My Feet

Martin realises a terrible truth regarding Jon's relationship with this new world and has to make a decision on how to handle it.

Hurt and comfort in the Apocalypse and their consequences.

Rated: G

Word count: 2.3K

Tw: non sexual intimacy, memory loss, bad tea

Looking back after leaving Upton House, Martin finally understood. He'd had a feeling, he wasn't completely blind but he had hoped, hoped so badly that he was wrong. That all those times were just a fluke. That he was imagining things. But no, Jon really did forget. It was almost unnoticeable, small things really, but Jon forgot them all.

It started at Kinloss Barracks. Jon had just finished whatever it was the Eye made him talk about. When Martin looked up and uncovered his ears he saw Jon with the tape recorder clicking off, looking pale and rattled. As Jon breathed deeply Martin got up from where he was huddled and crouched next to him, gently cupping his cheek.

"Hey, you alright?"

Jon inhaled one more time. As he resumed breathing normally he turned his face into Martin's hand, lips softly moving against his palm.

"I'm okay Martin. It was just. Alot. Like my first statements at the institute. " He huffed in amused irony and Martin's heart clenched.

"Do you need something? Can I help?" Martin hated how useless he felt when Jon's emotions were at odds with his... Patron.

"It's alright Martin, I'm alright. Maybe just... Stay like this for a bit?" Jon mumbled, holding Martin's hand in place where he was framing Jon's face.

"Okay. I can do that." Martin huffed a small smile and brought the other hand up as well, bracketing both of Jon's sides, making a barrier between him and the sounds of violence outside their little hideaway.

It didn't take long for Martin to slowly begin rubbing Jon's temples and soon enough he was gently massaging his face, trying to draw out the tension set between the eyebrows and beneath the hairline and throughout the pronounced cheekbones.

Jon sighed contentedly and closed his eyes, letting out small sounds of approval every few moments.

When Martin was done, Jon opened his eyes languidly and smiled softly at Martin. "That felt good. Thank you, Martin. For everything."

"It's nothing, I'm here for you."

"I know." Jon took a moment to just look at Martin with that tender but piercing gaze Martin was still trying to get used to ever since they left the Lonely, then took Martin's hands in his and helped both of them up on their feet. "Let's go."

Later, after the village, after the many questions answered and unanswered, after Helen's headache-inducing laugh dissipated with a creak of a door, Jon made a sound akin to a groan-infused sigh. Martin glanced at him and saw he was rubbing the bridge of his nose, moving his hands to his temples. Martin took a step to face him. "Do you want me to do that again?" He asked, raising his arms as indication.

Jon's thick eyebrows creased in confusion "Do what again?"

"You know, in the war zone when you finished…" Martin saw a deepening confusion and decided to forgo the explanation, "Here." He brought his hands up to rub Jon's temples. Once again Jon sighed and once again he thanked Martin softly when it was time they moved on. He didn't mention Martin doing that again afterwards, or ask for it when Martin didn't offer. Which he did every now and then, suspicion growing as each time Jon reacted in novelty.

But that wasn't the only instance. Martin brought with him his poetry book in his pack. When they were able to talk about the carousel again without mentioning the... Smiting, Martin insisted on defending the good aspects of poetry which the Stranger mostly lacked, namely identity and awareness. Jon countered by asking Martin to prove it and recite poetry. "That's not fair, I can't remember them by heart that well."

"Martin, you have a poetry book here, why not just read out of it?"

"You, you want to hear my poetry?" Martin nearly tripped.

"I thought it was obvious by this point there is nothing I'd like more." Jon smiled at him.

Martin recoiled and stammered incoherently. Jon interrupted.

"Martin, stop. I know your poetry is good. I've seen some." Blatantly choosing to ignore his own wince at the circumstances in which he managed to peek at Martin's writing, he went on. "It really is quite good. It'd be a shame not to take the chance to perform a bit of your words. You'll find I make quite a compelling listener." Jon smiled lopsidedly and Martin snorted.

"Okay, okay fine. One poem. And I pick!"

"Fine." Jon shrugged.

Martin intentionally chose one of his more mundane works. About rain and windows of opportunity being washed away. It did hint a bit at the times where his feelings for Jon felt unanswered but it wasn't as... Glaring as others he had.

When he finished he looked up expectantly. He was not prepared for the intensely affectionate expression he saw, nor the tackle of a bear hug that followed.

"Jon! Watch out, we're walking!" He gasped, muffled by the shock of Jon's tangled hair in his face. They had to stop anyway, as Jon refused to let go, tightening his hold and nuzzling into Martin's neck.

"Thank you." He said quietly. "That was... That was more affecting than I thought it would be."

"Really? It's just some words on paper." Martin teased, petting the hair near his face, mainly to get strands of it out of his mouth.

"But they're your words, Martin. They are a, a window into you, how you think and who you are. I don't Look to see what you are thinking a-and the you in front of me is more than enough! Truly! But it's nice to hear a bit more. And it's nice to see that, that I'm there too. This made me really happy, Martin. Thank you."

"O-oh." Martin squeaked, not expecting the forthright reaction. He laughed nervously "Well in that case, we'll make it a, a tradition? Once in a while, if you ask nicely, I'll read you a poem- If you want." he added quickly, feeling a little presumptuous.

"You already know my feelings on the matter. Don't worry, I will ask you again, you can be certain of that." And with that he planted a kiss on the dazed Martin's cheek, readjusted his backpack and began walking again. Martin chuckled to himself and rushed to join him.

But the request never came again. And later, when Martin tentatively asked Jon if he wanted another recitation, Jon's face lit up and said, "So you're finally willing to share? I thought I'd never see the day."

Martin looked at him confused but said nothing and instead chose a different poem about bridges and connections which elicited a very similar reaction as the first.

The request never came again unless Martin offered. Each time he was too afraid to try the same poem lest his concerns would be confirmed. He didn't want to know.

There were other times as well. The time after the Lonely estate when Martin insisted on sitting with their meager supply of tea and talking about small nothings. The tea was nicer than he expected and Jon was practically jovial with giddy relief at Martin's rescue and choice to stay with him, laughing sonorously and uncharacteristically at Martin's silly jokes. Later, he did not recall what they laughed about, nor understood why the tea supply was depleted when Martin tried to remind him. Other jokes in general too. Martin would make Jon laugh and when referring back to the joke, Jon would simply stare at him blankly. Jon did not remember when Martin brushed and braided his ever more tangled hair, fiddling with the stands wondering aloud when he'd done that. Jon forgot when Martin took out his sewing kit and fixed a hole made by the fires of the Desolation, wondering why his shirt suddenly had stitches. Jon forgot compliments, short rests when they quietly held one another close, brief exchanges of reassurance.

Martin tried not to think about it, tried not to make the connection. Tried not to read into the words 'They just get whatever hurts them the most. Even me.' that Jon had said when they were traveling with Basira on her tragic quest. Tried not to remember the times Jon, and even Martin himself, commented about the nature of this place,

'This is not a world where you can trust comfort.'

'Levity off the cards.'

'Nice things, they tend not to stay nice out there.'

But they were there. And he had to face it at some point. Because after they've left the wonderful comfort of Salesa's home, Jon, feeling rejuvenated, said with a dreamy quality to his voice, "Pity. It’s going away. That peace, the safety, the memory of ignorance. It's gone. Like a dream."

"That’s… Yeah, I guess that makes sense." Martin replied, resigned. It was all coming together now and Martin could not avoid it any longer.

Jon couldn't remember. He was the 'Archive' and whatever that meant ensured Jon retained all the pain and fear this world had to offer and nothing else. Jon could not keep the memories of anything nice or happy that happened to him personally in this hellscape. Every good word, every caring touch, every wide smile, bark of laughter. It all faded right after it occurred. Maybe if it was small enough he could remember. But Martin's mothering? Martin's hugs? Martin's tea? Martin's poetry? None of it stayed. Only Martin could remember those moments and what was lost.

As they walked away from the green and the sky Martin fell slightly behind, trying to reign in his tears.

Of course he remembered. This place ensured that Martin would remember so the pain of loss would be ever more acute later. It was what this world was. The worst pain it could inflict on them.

It's not fair! They had just got together, they had just begun to open up, share their deepest facets with each other, enjoy the closeness. Was that all pointless? Were all of his efforts worth anything in the long run at all? Martin felt himself slowly descending into a sharp kind of despair that became heavier and heavier as he sunk deeper.

No! He forced himself upright and shook his head vigorously,letting the tears shake off his face.

No! It was worth it! Those moments are there and they exist, even if the memory is gone. They have value and a worth inherent to them as the Good moments that they are, apocalypse rules be damned!

He balled his hands into fists, silently challenging whichever dread power was listening. They cannot take those moments away! The hugs, the soft gazes, the pure happiness, even forgotten will remain and have their merit. Martin will make sure there are more of them, always more of them, to spite the Eye! To spite the Fears! To spite this place! Jon will get all of the love he deserves, memory or not. Martin will double, no, triple the care he will give Jon, make sure he is okay in the quiet moments, give him a reason to smile.

He will see the braided hair afterwards, feel the ache in his cheeks from a long laugh, feel the lingering warmth around his arms and back, the tingle on his lips. The remnants will give him the strength to stand against the powers that be and retain the hope they cultivated. And Martin will be there, every step of the way. Loving, caring, smiling. Because that's what they deserve. And Martin will fight for it to the end.

Later, after that dreadful hospital and another long stretch of time walking quietly, contemplating. Martin was sure Jon was still agonizing over his decision to help Breekon by relieving him of his suffering, so Martin called Jon to stop.

"What?" Jon asked, confused.

"I am making the executive decision to make a stop and rest. I have a little bit of tea left and I will read you some of my poetry while we're at it."

Jon's face lit up, though still retaining its confused quality. "Alright, if you insist. What brought this on?"

Martin already settled down and began setting up a small fire for the water. "We had a time so now we're taking a breather. The air here is slightly fresher than what it was back there."

"Alright." Jon smiled.

Martin put the small pot on the fire and looked up at Jon still standing over him "C'mere, " he opened his arms.

Chuckling lightly, Jon unslung his pack and sank into Martin's embrace. Martin in turn pulled him in tight and nuzzled the top of his hair.

"I know it wasn't easy back there but what you did, it was the right thing to do."

"How do you know?" Bitterness seeped into Jon's voice and Martin began stroking circles on his back. Jon shuffled even closer into Martin's jumper, burying his face in his chest.

"I just do. You couldn't leave him like that. A small act of mercy. To spite this place."

"If you say so." Jon mumbled into the fabric.

"I do. Now move over so I can get my book." Martin decided to read the sappiest, most Jon-related poem he had, cringe be damned.

"I don't want to." Jon grumbled and leaned in, eyes closed, breathing deeply.

"Okay, we can wait. There's no rush." Martin said fondly.

They stayed that way for a long while until the water boiled over and they drank what was left if that dreadful brew that dared call itself tea. They sat there in a comfort later forgotten, reclaiming depleted energy and regaining motivation. A moment that had infinite value, regardless of what the past held or the future entailed. A tangible instant that was completely theirs within the infinite universe, unending in the singular space and time which no one can ever take away.

[thepageofhopes]

Undertale Multiverse Classpects Part 1/??

It’s inevitable once I get super into something that I do this.

I will most likely do more characters but for now I started with just some of the biggest characters of the multiverse/underverse specifically. 

Explanations will be under the cut. Long, long, explanations. (Almost 3k words!)

Error: Bard of Time Ink: Rogue of Space Nightmare: Knight of Doom Dream: Page of Life Cross: Witch of Blood XChara: Prince of Heart XGaster: Thief of Light

Most of this was done using the theories of 0pacfica, whose amazing classpect theory posts can be found on Ao3 here:

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1960270

Though this was also cross referenced with bladekindeyewear’s older theories (particularly on the roles of the classes and active/passive pairs) and a sprinkling of the extended zodiac. 

So this is another classpect where it’s actually easier to do in pairs for a lot of the characters due to how intertwined they are. 

Error: Bard of Time

Ink: Rogue of Space

When starting with these two, it really was a giant debate between me and my friends about whether Ink and Error were time and space or hope and rage. It was very hard to move away from Hope/Rage when it represents unchecked creation and destruction which...is pretty much the entire backbone of underverse, but after lots of back and forth we found Time and Space fit better overall. 

It’s useful to think of Space as Beginnings and Time as Endings. Ultimately what Ink does is facilitate a bunch of new beginnings. Ink is also all about the growth of the multiverse, which is the closest analogue we really have to Skaia. Hope may be creation, but it is creation as counter to the greater narrative, and often counter to Skaia and the reproduction of the universe. On the flip side, Rage, while being destruction, is generally destruction of anything non-fundamental. Error, by contrast, does not care what is being destroyed. His goal is ultimately the end to the multiverse itself; the end of the narrative. Time and Space are also the main building blocks of the universe and without them sessions become void. Ink and Error ultimately represent the core of the multiverse and are also key in most of the big multiverse spanning stories. As well, there’s really no escaping how similar Error and Caliborn act in both personality and actions. 

Finally, looking at the extended zodiac, even their personalities fit decently well, though mostly Ink and Space. While classpect is actually much more about narrative arcs and roles than personalities, it’s still useful to look at the most personality based descriptions of the extended zodiac. Space has the description ‘They are patient, masters of the art of 'wait-and-see', and are inclined to take things as they come. That isn't to say that they're pushovers or willing to let injustice lie-they just choose their battles wisely, understanding that sometimes you have to let something burn to the ground in order to build it back better and stronger than before. To this effect, they tend to be innovators, concerned with creation and redemption.‘ and if that doesn’t describe Ink in underverse at least, then nothing else does. Time is a little less fitting personality wise for Error, but these few bits are pertinent: ‘Their lives are often marked by struggle, not so much because fate has it in for them, but because they are fundamentally incapable of just accepting things as they come.’ ‘At their worst they are ruthless, defensive, and impulsive.‘ 

So now that Aspect is out of the way, I can explain classes. Let’s start with the easy one first. There’s no way we could have Error as anything other than a destroyer class, so Bard or Prince had to be one of the titles. Then from there it comes down to whether Error is active or passive. While it may be easy to say ‘well he actively destroys things’ it’s useful to remember someone's powers can look very similar even if active or passive. My go to for this is Roxy who despite being a passive void class, ultimately can still actively steal nothingness from concepts.

And I have to ask- does Error really actively use his aspect? Because I don’t think so. There’s a popular fan concept of Error as a ‘Forced god of Destruction’ that I think really cements this. Time as an aspect tends to also represent Fate, and if there’s a character who has been actively fucked over by Fate, it’s Error. Even from his time as Genos, Error has been the butt monkey of terrible circumstances. 0pacifica talks about ‘Student’ classes (Thieves, Seers, and Bards) as one where the aspect changes the player, and if that doesn’t describe Error just. 

Also it gives Error a codpiece and isn’t that just fucking perfect.

So onto the harder class to explain- Ink being a Rogue. Unlike the Destroyer class, there’s no ‘Creator’ class to nicely fit Ink into (although some suspect that the Heal class of Sylph and most likely Maid class can double as both Heal and Create) but even then, Ink doesn’t really actively create. Rather he tends to try and inspire creators to create. For Ink it made more sense to use 0pacifica’s chart to lower down the class, and then make sure the powers still fit from there. 

To start with, there’s no way Ink is anything but a mutualist class. Both Ink and the multiverse benefit from Ink’s role in the multiverse. But even more telling that Ink is a mutualist class is the line in the flowchart ‘The story is not complete until I have accomplished what I have set out to do or found another way to satisfy my initial impulse.’ From the start of Underverse at least to now (though I also suspect to the end of Underverse) the story has been driven by Ink’s actions and motivations. There wouldn’t be a story without him, for good or ill. 

From there using the chart, it was easy to lower it down to Rogue or Knight. Ink really isn’t changed or used by their aspect, unlike Error. So it really comes down to does Ink use his aspect or change his aspect. From here I really like 0pacifica’s one sentence descriptions. Rogue is ‘I change my aspect to a more useful form’ while Knight is ‘I use my aspect like a tool’. Eventually we decided on Rogue because Ink doesn’t really actively use his aspect- he’s much more about inspiration- allowing others to steal his ideas, if you will ;P. He ultimately changes other beginnings in service both to the multiverse and himself- squeezing them for paint so he can keep feeling. 

Also Rogue just kind of fits Ink’s aesthetic with that cute little bandit mask

What’s really cool is these two classes are also on opposite ends of the ‘Reinvent/Change’ segment of the class chart. 

Hopefully this is the longest segment..

Nightmare: Knight of Doom

Dream: Page of Life

Here’s another pair we really had to decide between Hope/Rage for and Doom/Life. But honestly there wasn’t actually a lot of debate. If Doom is Stasis and Inertia, then that fits Nightmare’s ultimate goal to a T. If Nightmare gets his way, the entire multiverse will be plunged into negativity, and with no contrast, everything would just be mired in the same. In contrast to both Nightmare and in particular, Ink, Dream is all about growth and making things better. Joku has specifically stated that Dream and Ink had a falling out due to this- Dream doesn’t care about creator intentions or their story. If there is someone suffering, Dream wants to fix it. 

Another way these two fit is in something 0pacifica observes regarding Doom and Life players- Life players come from ‘the top of the pile’ with every advantage behind them, while Doom players come from the ‘bottom of the heap’ with everything working against them. From their beginnings Dream has always been put upon a pedestal, with the love and adoration of the villagers surrounding them, while Nightmare was always hated, always considered as a problem before he has any type of sway over negativity. In actuality, they were born equal, but the circumstances of which side they happened to represent tilted them in their respective directions. 

For the extended zodiac, since Nightmare is such a terrible person, even more so than Error in a lot of ways, means that it’s not as useful. The descriptions ar emeant for people to identify with after all, and no one is gonna self-identify with being told they are a monster. There is a bit of the extended zodiac we can use though, and that’s Nightmare as a commiserator. In underverse he gains Cross’s trust by empathizing (in a way) with his negativity, and he surrounds himself with crew that have been in as bad circumstances as he has been. Life however, has a great section that fits Dream perfectly: ‘ Those bound to the aspect of Life are the universe's healers. They are concerned with the betterment of themselves and those around them, as well as the onward march of positive progress. Deeply empathetic, they have an intuitive understanding of other's suffering and the best way of righting those wrongs.’

When looking at classes, we considered the Commensalist sections for both Dream and Nightmare for a while. But we ultimately decided against that specifically with the line that ‘my accomplishments and failings are purviews of the fringes of the narrative’ which just can’t be true for two beings so fundamental to the multiverse. Indeed, you’ll actually see none of the characters in this post fall under this side specifically because I started with the most ‘important’ characters. We ultimately decided on mutualist for Nightmare- despite his ‘bottom of the heap’ status, he ultimately tends to take control of the narrative, and much of underverse and even a lot of fan works are centered around his actions, much like Ink. Dream, by contrast, is constantly fighting an uphill battle and for most of underverse is more a pawn than any true figure of movement in the story. Parasitic fits quite well for poor Dream who no matter what ending of Joku’s story you go by, always dies.  

There really is no other character who quite wields their aspect and powers to their advantage like Nightmare. I really can’t find a lot to add here, it was a pretty unambiguous choice and had very little debate in our classpect talk. All his manipulations are steeped in death and decay and well, negativity, all which fall under Doom. Knight is theorized to be the active Exploit class which fits nicely into 0pacifica’s class descriptions. So, for Dream, looking under parasitism, Dream doesn’t really change his aspect, he’s pretty much defined by Life. This lowered it down to Prince and Page. Dream, unlike Nightmare, isn’t really an active manipulator of his aspect and of his positivity. It’s more a part of him, and thus Page, who in the flowchart literally uses the line ‘I am defined by my aspect’ seemed to be the perfect fit.

Like Ink and Error, these two are also opposites on the ‘manifest’ side of classes, and even better, Knight is the active Exploit class while Page is the passive exploit class. 

Thank god this section was actually shorter

Cross: Witch of Blood

XChara: Prince of Heart

While these two characters aren’t opposites in aspect or class, it’s useful to talk about both of these two at once both because of how closely they are tied together, but also because how similar their goals and narrative journeys are in general. 

Basically with aspect it came down to Blood and Heart for both of them. The more material aspects really have nothing to do with either of them, both of them are much more focused on narrative meaning. Light/Void is out of the question as when it comes down to it, through all their posturing, they ultimately are much more focused on themselves than any kind of big picture or big over-arching questions on the nature of reality. This also phases out Mind for both of them. And finally, this sentence on Breath is about as anti Cross/XChara as it comes: ‘what’s meaningful and important is discovering something new, expanding that perspective, broadening the meaning-horizon and rising above the mere material of the world until ‘tradition’ is a speck of dust on a marble’.

Ultimately we went with Blood for Cross over Heart. Cross is primarily motivated by the past in a way XChara really isn’t. Hell, one of the main reasons Cross decided to fight against Frisk and XChara in Timeline X was because the timeline they were currently in was a happy place for him and the rest of the monsters. Cross is also shown to utilize bonds- it’s a vision of Cross that stops XChara in his fight against Swap/Blue. XChara, on the other hand, is much more focused on the idea of control and being in control, because they know what’s best better than anyone else. Heart is appropriately labeled as ‘egoism’ in 0pacifica’s chart and if there’s one thing XChara has, it’s an ego. There’s also the line ‘Heart is the reading into and reading out of, the situating of what’s been read in the personal and the familiar, the reshaping and reinterpreting of the text outside of the author’s hands.’ If we see XGaster as an author, then what better describe’s XChara’s role?

Honestly the extended zodiac isn’t really great for these two, once again due to the fact they are largely negative and corrupted characters. Most of what’s there isn’t truly yet in the text but implied in the opening to Underverse Season 2 (Cross being a leader through inspiration) or something that I’ve basically already covered (Heart being self-obsessed). This is long enough already so lets just move on. 

There’s no way either of them are anything other than a parasitic class. ‘I could beat myself bloody against the bars of the narrative and still get no closer to the form of success I personally desire’ describes both of their experiences in XTale and Season 1 perfectly. (’All my efforts were for nothing..’) As well, for how much these characters were corrupted and damaged throughout the course of Underverse, what changed them was much more outside forces than anything having to do with their aspect- they both tend to own their aspect. 

XChara is pretty definitively a Prince- He is incredibly talented at utilizing his own personal potential and even his own ego to advance his own agenda, even as it actively fucks him over. And how do his overwrite powers manifest? A complete domination of others personalities and identity. He destroys others identities and personal narratives. Cross is a tough one because most of what we’ve seen of his powers and actions have been actively manipulated by XChara whose very aspect dominates identity. But one thing that we very much see in Underverse is how Cross actively forces other people to team up and form bonds to stop him. This forwards the narrative while being actively detrimental to Cross himself. And finally, one of the last moments we see with the new Cross at the end of season 1 is him actively changing his bond/deal with Nightmare to save Dream, which gives Dream the determination and ability to escape to the Omega Timeline with the other survivors. Unfortunately most of what is in the actual text isn’t super concrete but there is enough foreshadowing and implications of where Cross’s character is going to go that Witch just ‘feels’ like the right fit. 

Whew I was afraid this was somehow going to be as long/longer than the first segment

XGaster: Thief of Light

This one should hopefully be fairly short as if there was a classpect title there was the least amount of debate and back and forth on, XGaster was it. 

There’s no way XGaster isn’t Light. The literal second I saw the sentence of Light that says ‘There is one answer’ there was no way he could be anything else. XGaster’s entire storyline is about finding/creating the one true perfect universe. Essentially, in classpect and narrative terms, his entire narrative is about the Search for truth and meaning. Which is literally the sentence used to describe Light in 0pacifica’s writeup. 

In the interest of wrapping. this. shit. up. I’m just gonna post this section from the Light part of the extended zodiac. It feels fairly self explanatory. ‘The Light-bound will go after knowledge with a fierce intensity that others may find distasteful. They aren't overly concerned with laws or norms, either. They often take rules as simple suggestions, instead searching for loopholes or work-arounds.’

Class is where I will probably actually have to explain a little more. I don’t think mutualist is anything I really need to extensively justify- the narrative of Underverse bends to accommodate the goals of Ink and XGaster, basically everything I said about Ink also works with XGaster with how closely they are tied. 

The fundamental shift of XGaster’s narrative arc and even personality is all based around knowledge. He learns from Ink that other multiverses exist and in that instant it sets him on a new path. Thieves are all about acquiring more of their aspect to change and benefit themselves, and XGaster literally gathers ideas and knowledge from other universes to create and enrich his own. I know it’s cheeky to not have just one but two canon titles, but they undeniably fit. 

Also he sure does have all the irons in the fire *shot*

Aaaaaaaaaaand we’re done! Look how fast that last segment went. 

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

Once again I am bored and putting off updating so I’m coming at y'all with a brand new au idea. 

Blood God Deo.

The idea of Tommy accidentally befriending gods is hilarious to me for some reason, especially a Tommy who starts out as just some random kid. He has two reflexes whenever he meets a god, friend or fight. So far only Josh and Dream have both triggered the fight reflex.

Deo isn’t particularly open about being the Blood God. He doesn’t even particularly enjoy the job. Sure, he’s ferocious in a battle, but he holds back a lot and he’s no where near as blood thirsty as half of his Acolytes. The voices acting how they do wasn’t even his idea, it was actually a curse from another God placed onto all of his followers. The Original Chat was designed to essentially be a helper. They would help moderate the bloodlust of his followers (who were renown for loosing pieces of themselves to the slaughter) and in addition they’d know things that his followers wouldn’t like the position of enemies and special details about weapons and armor like durability or quality. Original Chat was able to see everything going on around the Acolyte and offer advice in case the Acolyte lost one of their senses or something else happened.

Deo stopped blessing people after Chat was corrupted (probably by Dream. I don’t think Dream should be a Chaos god like a lot of people decide he should be. He should rule over something like Control, Manipulation, or Betrayal, it makes more sense with his current character arc.) Deo starts only blessing people who have enough sense of strength, morality, and self to actually ignore Corrupted Chat, though sometimes if Deo interacts with someone they can become accidentally blessed without him even knowing (read as Techno). Deo kind of closes himself off at some point, hiding himself away on hypixel.

Then he meets Tommy. This little brat who manages to all but force his way into Deo’s good graces and eventually a role of friendship. The first friend Deo’s had in centuries if not longer. Gods have two marks they can give to people. Marks they actively or subconsciously give to their Acolytes and marks that they only subconsciously give to people they care about and want to protect. Their friends. Tommy gets the later and neither notice since the powers associated with the later don’t make themselves readily apparently unlike with a typical Acolyte. (Spoilers, Tommy gets a version of Original Chat that he doesn’t realize is there because Original Chat is way easier to block out and shut up than Corrupted Chat. Still annoying and playful while the marked actually pays attention to it but nowhere near as bad as Techno’s chat. I’m thinking that Tommy probably doesn’t even realize they’re there till exile when he’s so desperate for anything to speak with he’d even settle for talking to himself and accidentally opens the door for Chat.)

I’m thinking that maybe we can make the rest of Business Bay(Wisp Included) + Clara, Clementine, and maybe even Boffy into gods that Tommy accidentally befriended along the way. I don’t have any idea what kind of gods Bitzel or Luke should be but I like the idea of Wisp having something to do with death, rebirth, and second chances. Boffy has to have some kind of link with lightning and destruction because it’s Boffy and we all know what he’s done with that blaze rod. Clara is obviously the god of space and the void. Clementine I actually had a really cool idea for. She’s a flaming moth god and one of the two gods who holds the most control of the nether (Deo being the other.) Clara is the main god of the end and the overworld is in a constant state of fluxing control since there are significantly more gods who want to be associated with rulership of it. Very few gods want control over the void so few challenge Clara and the few who do leave terrified. There are a couple war gods who live in the nether but since Deo and Clementine work together nothing can really overthrow them. Dream is younger than the group of gods associated with Tommy but older than a lot of other gods. He’s working his way up to control of the overworld but that currently still belongs to an unknown gods simply named Prime who never shows itself.

And of course because it’s my brand, at one point all of the gods became so worried over the idea of Tommy dying they made him a phoenix. That way he wouldn’t die unless he chose to, decides he’s ready for his next life. They were still worried though. Sure they were Tommy’s friends, but he had other friends and family that he’d lose being immortal. They realized that one day he’d eventually chose to make his current life the last one. None of them could handle the thought though, they didn’t want to loose him. So then they went the extra mile to ensure that Tommy’s soul would always be semi bound to them and he’d be a phoenix in all of his reincarnations (with the ability to access the memories of his prior reincarnation if and only if he so chooses, which he usually does when he crosses paths with his god friends again). The important thing to remember is that they know Tommy doesn’t “belong” to them. He isn’t a pet, isn’t theirs, he belongs to himself alone. The bond isn’t an ownership thing. It’s more akin to a divine version of Tubbo and Tommy’s compasses. It’s just a way for him to always find his way back to them and vice versa. 

Speaking of which, at one point the gods gave him the ability to do something similar. Marking the souls of people he became specifically fond of so he could find them in future lifetimes. So far Tommy has only done this to four people. Techno, Phil, Wilbur, and obviously Tubbo. Tubbo was the first, that was a bond that was made in Tommy’s very first lifetime and the reason the other gods gave him the power in the first place. Techno, Phil, and Wilbur were all done in one go during the Antarctic Empire era because he decided he just really liked this family and would love to be apart of it again some day. Tubbo is someone he always remembers in every lifetime without fail and seeks out regardless. The kids are platonic soulmates, fight me.

Okay. This is evolving way past Blood God Deo. But dang it, we’re rolling with it. 

Maybe each SMP/server is a different reincarnation of Tommy. That’s also why the sbi family dynamic is murky. Phil and Techno are immortals, not gods or even phoenixes per se but they can’t died under normal circumstances. Wilbur and presumably Tommy in their eyes were not. During the Antarctic Empire era it was easy to tell that Wilbur hadn’t inherited the same immortality that his twin brother had from their father. They couldn’t tell when Tommy was born and it was a deeply ingrained part of his nature to hide his phoenix traits, so eventually they just assumed he wasn’t. Wilbur and Tommy eventually started their own countries (Tommy recruiting three other gods to help him kill god) and both eventually passed away while Techno and Phil continued on. Technically, the death of Wilbur and Tommy is what slowly started turning Techno from emperor to Anarchist. He blamed the countries his brothers ran both for killing them as well as shortening the amount of time he had with them.

Phil later adopted Tommy and Wilbur during the current Dream SMP because both were orphans and reminded Phil a startling degree of the first Tommy and Wilbur (hence why he even named them after the two.) Techno refused the dynamic because he was bitter over the fact that Phil was trying to “replace his brothers”.

Wilbur is a rare case where he reincarnated almost just the same and has some scant memories of his life as a prince of the Antarctic Empire. Tommy early on decided to recover all of his memories associated with his Antarctic family and treats Techno and Phil as such. Techno continued to reject “new” Tommy and “new” Wilbur as members of his family which caused a lot tension. Phil kept trying to repair his relationship with Techno while raising Wilbur and Tommy but Techno kept making him feel bad which led to the whole “Techno is the favorite situation”. Since Tommy decided to recover his memories he kind of gets why Techno feels the way he does but is also bitter since he is Techno’s Tommy, he just doesn’t know how to put that into words. It’s made worse by Corrupted Chat which being a creation of Dream that is actively trying to pin Tommy and Techno against one another. Lotta room in this AU for sbi hurt comfort. Don’t worry, eventually there’s a reveal. It just takes a while since Tommy has to be the one to do it or Dream has to out him as a phoenix first.

Maybe the whole Ghostbur situation is because as a phoenix Tommy has some control over the people around him who die. He can return lost lives using his feathers and considering the nature of the gods who adore him he can bring people back from the dead. Unfortunately Dream intercepted this and we got Ghostbur. Maybe later down the road as a plot point, Ghostbur existing somewhere between death and life could have access the memories locked in the deeper part of his soul that are associated with his past lives (as well as the Antarctic Empire) and he could be the one to do the reveal.

Then Dream goes overboard at some point (maybe he threatens to chop off Tommy’s wings or hurt one of his family members) and suddenly we end up with Protective God Deo kicking down Dream’s door.

[jeogiyall]

Betty; H.HJ

Word Count; 1.9k

Genre; Hyunjin x Reader, Highschool AU, Song Fic

Warnings; Angst, Cheating

Find the rest of my Stray Kids Folklore series here!

A/N: sooo i obviously never think that hyunjin would cheat on his partner, i only used this song and circumstance for him bc he’s mentioned that he likes it and ever since i can only think of him as i listen to it lol. i do not think that he’s a bad person by any means so pleasee don’t take it that way!! i felt the need to clarify that,, i sincerely hope that you enjoy!! 

I won’t make assumptions about why you switched your homeroom

There were many things that caused your eagerness to start senior year, but the greatest of those was wanting to see Hyunjin again. It wasn’t exactly ideal to spend a summer apart after a mere three months of dating, but through the hundreds of phone calls and thousands of half finished letters you managed to enjoy yourself. Even still, you missed him like a bad habit that couldn’t be shaken. The last week of your separation you swear you dreamt of him. 

When you first reunited keeping you apart was like trying to untie a double knot. That first night he held you so desperately in his sun kissed arms, as if you’d slip away. You had pressed your lips to his temple and whispered ‘I’m with you now. I’m always with you.’

And for the following weeks you were, the two of you attached as though it was necessary. If you were making breakfast sandwiches, Hyunjin was there. If he was taking his dog for a walk, you were there. Even when you walked into homeroom on the first day and slipped into your desk, Hyunjin was there right beside you.

But I think it’s cause of me.

People do say all good things must come to an end, so you suppose that means that all wonderful things must crash and burn. At least that’s what it meant in terms of your story. Suddenly you weren’t in homeroom next to Hyunjin, and you weren’t at his house helping take care of his sweet dog. Instead you were alone in your room with your tail tucked between your legs and looking obsessively at the same picture. 

It’s a heartwarming image, two lovers in front of a neon lit diner exchanging a farewell kiss. Except one of the lovers has black hair falling to his chin and skin that's been embraced by the sun. One of the lovers has a face that you’ve kissed a hundred times. One of the lovers is Hyunjin. 

And you so badly wanted to blame anyone but him when your desk partner in English showed you the picture. You wanted to blame the other girl, you wanted to blame Hyunjins friends that appeared frequently on the opposite ends of your phone calls, you wanted to blame yourself. But there was no doubt when you asked him. He did this. And he couldn’t give you an explanation past, ‘I don’t know why.’ 

You wanted to know why. You wanted to know how he could say that he loved you on your fifth date and still do this, you wanted to know what she had that you didn’t. You wanted to know if the tears that he had shed after your confrontation were for yourself or for him. 

The worst thing that I ever did, was what I did to you.

Hyunjin didn't have a single answer to offer. He thought about it for months, he thought about it with that other girls skin beneath his hands. He thought about it while he was greedy for your company in the closing weeks of summer, because a small part of him knew that you’d find out. He knew that you’d find out, and then that you’d leave him. He deserved it. He wishes that he didn’t. 

As the months without you marched onward Hyunjin found his evenings to be sleepless. He would toss and turn for hours, but it was all useless. It’s impossible to sleep in a room where every piece of furniture and every shirt that’s hanging in the closet reminds him of you. He almost wishes that he’d never dated you, because something was always going to end up hurting you. If not in this way he would’ve found something else. Hyunjin’s still not even sure he’s worthy of hurting you. 

It’s not that he often hurts people, either. Most of his friends would say he’s a relatively kind person, he has his moments but it’s mostly just a joke taken too far that's followed quickly by apology. His eldest friend, Chan, was beyond shocked to hear about his summer mishap.

You’re just so good, and you loved him so dearly. He remembers the way that your eyes would hang onto his every word as if they’re worth something, or how you would stick your head out of the car window every time he rolled them down, or the time that you cried over a Pixar movie and then apologized profusely for ruining the date. You’re the girl they talk about in love songs, who smells of candy and whimsy. He’s nothing but a boy who would give you his entire heart. 

He wanted to call it quits before this Summer, but you swore that this could work. He was going to object before you said that you loved him and looked into his eyes with sparkly hopeful ones of your own. He could never say no to you. That was always an issue. 

It’s been months since he’s had that problem, or talked to you at all. Late Summer became early Fall, followed by Halloween and then Thanksgiving break. He spent every day missing you. He spent every day regretting his mistakes. 

The only thing I want to do

You deserve an apology. He was so dumbstruck when you confronted him that no words would come out except for ‘I don’t know.’ He couldn’t even say sorry, despite the fact that he desperately was. He’s been thinking in the past two months that you deserve an apology, he’s been thinking in the past month that he doesn’t want to be with anyone ever again. 

He knows that he should’ve considered that before ruining this. He knows that it’s a shot in the dark, but he also knows that he’ll never be able to forgive himself if he doesn’t at least try. 

Is make it up to you.

So he’s on the way to your house. It’s eleven thirty at night and the early winter breeze is nipping at his nose, and he’s rounding your street corner with a million apologies bouncing around his head. He thinks that he could tell you that she meant nothing. He thinks he could say that he never once deserved you or your love for him. He thinks that he could say that he loves you more deeply than he ever thought was possible. He thinks he could say a million things, but then you open your front door and suddenly there’s not a single word to say. 

You look the same as you did the last time that the two of you talked. Pieces of your hair are falling into your eyes, which glass over as they take in the sight before them. He thinks that he hears your breath hitch, but he also thinks that could be the sound of his own breath doing the same. You look so enchanting.

“Hyunjin?” You ask quietly. He looks so pretty beneath the light of your front porch, his summer tan gone and replaced with the natural honey tone of his skin. He looks similar to the last time that you saw him too, except for the fact that his hair is a bit shorter. It looks nice on him. Everything looks nice on him. 

“(Y/n.)” You step out of your doorway to join him on the porch while he clears his throat, “I-I-“ 

Would you have me, would you love me

It’s probably the way that you’re looking to him with the same loving eyes as always, or maybe the way that he can see your fingers fiddling with one another in an attempt to keep your mind busy, or maybe there’s no cause at all, but his words are finally found. He knows that he has to let them all out now or else they’ll be lost for good.

“I am unbelievably sorry for what happened last summer. It was a mistake on countless parts that are all mine, but you have to know that it meant nothing to me. The only place it holds in my heart is a place of regret. I regret every second of it. She means nothing to me, and you… You mean everything. To this day and for every day to come, you will mean everything to me.” His hand has somehow slipped into your own, and you can’t help but squeeze it. You think that if you don’t you'll probably cry, “A-and I’m not going to beg for you to take me back, because I know that I don’t deserve it, but I will tell you this. If you take another chance on me I will make it my promise to never let you feel hurt again. Not by me or anyone else, because I love you and never, ever, want you feel as though I don’t.”

“Then why did you do it?” Your question comes out small, spoken with a voice that's choking back tears. Silence covers the porch steps for a moment, because Hyunjin honestly doesn’t know how to answer. There’s no way to answer that’s right, or excusable, or any of the things that a satisfying answer should be. There’s only an answer that is honest.

I don’t know anything,

“I don’t know, a-and I know that’s not what you want to hear.” He swallows thickly, thumb smoothing over the top of your hand for what could be the last time. He knows that if you tell him to leave he’ll have to respect your wish, but he also knows that it will hurt him for forever. He knows that he’ll have earned it, “I-I think I knew that one day you’d find out I wasn’t good enough for you, or that I’d end up disappointing you somehow, but I can’t honestly give you a definitive answer. I don’t know. I don’t know anything, but I know I miss you.” 

You look into his deep brown eyes that are brimming with tears, and you want to tell him so many things. You want to tell him that you were never disappointed in him. Or that he was beyond good enough for you, or that he didn’t need to be for you to love him. You wanted to tell him that if he had only talked to you about his doubts then this entire situation could’ve been avoided. Instead you take his face into your hands, squeezing his cheeks ever so slightly. 

but I know I miss you.

“I miss you too.” There's silence, nothing except for two beating hearts, “Let’s try this again.” He puts his hands on your waist and you think to yourself that you’ve missed the feeling. You think to yourself that you’ve missed Hyunjin. 

“Can I kiss you?” His eyes are eager the way that you were to return home to him after Summer. They look innocent, sweet. Like he’s cherishing this as if it were his first kiss. 

“Yes.” His body is gentle when it touches yours, as though you’re likely to break. You think that it’s wise, because in a way you are likely to break. You’re patched together with band aids and medical tape like a bird that’s been rescued off the street. Hyunjin knows this, just like he’s known many things before, but he’s promised to protect you. This is a promise that he intends to keep.

Taglist; @straytannies​, @charm-art