#to the extent that third eye is really hard to write because he no longer thinks of himself as 'tim drake'

[alternis]

my awful brain coming out of nowhere to throw third eye thoughts at me. i see a good meta and my brain goes "hey, you know this means in third eye au-"

[cursestothemoon]

hellooooo<3 so, ive always loved the idea of Harry having an older protective sister(he really need one😭) could u pls do a headcanon of how she protects harry and their relationship? annnnddd how she also is dating Fred?? my heart needs it, pls and thank u❤️

i LOVE THIS 

(also i switch from third person pov to second person in the middle of this so im sorry :) but its fine ) 

ok 

i know a common headcanon/ fancanon for harry’s sister is that she looks like lily 

but hear me out 

Y/n Potter who looks exactly like James 

i mean to the T

and Lily would always make little teasing comments about how both her kids look like their dad and james is just :)

anyway

just picture it 

dark brown, wavy hair that was just tussled enough at all times

blue eyes

and the round rimmed glasses that James used to wear

stOP SHE WEARS HER DADS GLASSES BECAUSE WHEN SHE WAS LITTLE SHE’D PULL THEM OFF OF HIM AND AFTER HE DID SHE KEPT THEM AND WHEN SHE MISSES HIM SHE WEARS THEM AND THEY ARE SLIGHTLY TOO BIG AND SIT CROOKED ON HER FACE 

i made myself cry

anyway

lets talk protecting harry first then we will get into dating fred 

so she’s older meaning she’d be in Hogwarts for before him

let’s say she's two years older

George and Fred’s year

and she’d hear the whispers about her 

obviously

and i think she wouldn't tell harry

she would know the story of how their parents died and who harry was to the wizarding community but in an effort to protect Harry’s innocence and childhood for just a little while longer she wouldn’t tell him

at least not until he got to school then she’d be the one to tell him everything 

she is fiercely protective of Harry 

if someone so much as looked at him funny she was chewing their head off 

Harry might’ve been like James 

but Y/n Potter is James 

down to the way her eyes would narrow at someone in class when they made a rude comment 

or she’d try to charm her way out of trouble 

or charm Harry out of trouble

oH MY GOD SHE’D BE IN MCGONAGALL’S CLASS AND ONE OF HER FRIENDS WOULD SAY SOMETHING FUNNY AND SHE’D BE TRYING SO HARD TO HOLD IN HER LAUGH AND SHE’D MAKE THE SAME FACE JAMES WOULD MAKE WHEN TRYING NOT TO LAUGH

Mcgonagall almost cried 

she needed a moment 

ok Y/n would take the first week or so just to show Harry around Hogwarts 

she did not care if she was late

Harry was going to feel comfortable 

oH SHE NEARLY BEAT OLIVER WOOD WITH A BEATER’S BAT WHEN SHE FOUND OUT HE PUT HER TEENY LITTLE BROTHER ON THE QUIDDITCH TEAM AS A SEEKER

she is also part of the team, a chaser

will get spend most of the first few games with Harry making sure he’s ok

yeah malfoy doesn’t stand a chance

never did

10/10 would use the cloak to prank him

all the time

nothing is out of limits 

especially after he’s been nasty to Harry and his friends

growing up harry gets all embarrassed when she protects him because hes 15!1!1! he can handle it 

she is kinda hurt 

very dramatic 

“mY WITTLE BROTHER DOESN’T NEED ME”

“y/n... please”

“nO ITS OK HARRY I GET IT, ILL GO”

“where are you going?”

“YOU DON’T NEED ME ANYMORE, I AM NO LONGER NEEDED HERE”

“you don't HAVE TO LEAVE, WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS”

Ron was giggling on the couch in the common room he thought this whole scene was hilarious 

ron thinks she is so cool

ok i think she’d also have these little bits of lily that would shine through

unlike harry and james, who could just inhale near a book and get just above average grades

she took pride in studying and being able to sit down and absorb material 

Lily always passed with flying colors because she was a good student who wanted to prove herself 

it was the satisfaction of spending hours studying and being able to retain the information and apply it to earn an amazing grade that she loved

she passed this on to you

as well as her kindness to people who she believed deserved it

and quick wit

you two also had the same hands 

you had everything else from James but your hands looked like your mothers

down to the way your nails grew and fingers held a quill

snape hated it

because he really couldn’t hate you

he was weird around you though

hes just weird

where he'd bully and embarrass Harry 

he couldn’t do that to you because you wouldn’t give him the chance to

you knew the material

you knew the answer 

and he hated how when your hand shot up it looked just like Lily’s 

but you were making the stupid face James would when he’d concentrate 

you did not like snape

at first you were impartial 

then when you heard how rude he was to Harry...

it was also over for him

he didn’t stand a chance 

you had an affinity for pranks, fiercely protective, and you had gall 

your hand writing also looked like Lilys and snape had a rough time grading your essays

tough for him 

:)

also if any rumors went around about harry you were quick to make them actually about you

harry is the heir of slytherin?

actually no Y/n Potter is, there is no evidence but we just heard that it was her somewhere 

you didn’t care as long as no one was being rude to Harry

leTS TALK DEATHLY HALLOWS

so you don’t go with them on the hunt for Horcrux 

and you’d be going insane not knowing how they were or if they were ok

because all your life you had been able to protect to some extent 

but you were completely helpless now

you could do nothing

and then at the battle of hogwarts 

pLEASE

no one stood a chance

the feeling of seeing harry again

beaten, bruised, but still alive 

it was overwhelming

then seeing Hagrid crying in his seemingly dead body

also overwhelming

because you had failed 

you couldn't protect him 

and he heard you scream first 

it was loud and strangled and Harry felt so bad but he knew he had to do this 

I like to think Y/n Potter is the one who killed Voldemort in the end 

you cant argue with me on this sorry

ok

now

lets talk

dating freddie

so he’d probably notice you here and there starting in first year

but he was an eleven year old boy and girls were not on his radar right now

but he thought you were funny and pretty cool 

and your round glasses that were just a little too big for your adolescent face made you look cute 

then you tried out for the quidditch team with him and George 

you were amazing 

not only did you have James natural talent for the sport but that paired with Lily’s tactical thinking and quick mind

you were unstoppable 

you were brought on the team as a seeker 

and you were good at it too, but it wasn’t you’re favorite position

it entailed a lot of waiting and not really moving until you caught sight of the snitch

it was your excellent flying mixed with the fact that you literally had no sense of self preservation that made you a really good seeker

you'd just

nose dive 

if you hit the bottom you hit the bottom oh well 

but when Harry showed up you were happy to give him your position as seeker and take on the more exciting (at least to you) job of chaser

it was your quidditch playing that really got fred’s attention

because you were good 

and during team lunches or team hang outs you were always the life of the party

not because you were avidly trying to be 

but like james, people jus gravitated to your goofiness and happiness 

it was about the middle of fifth year fred realized he had a crush on you

and little man was panicked 

you had noticed fred before that

obviously 

but he was always just the funny guy on the team 

but as everyone knows the potter’s have a thing for gingers 

and it was when they came to pick you and Harry up from the Dursley's just before the quidditch world cup that you saw how attractive he really was 

please its james and lily all over again

kinda 

you become the funniest person in the room when he’s around

always smiley

lilypad?

no.

freddie bug

aH STOP PLEASE THAT’S SO CUTE

YOU’D JUST STARE AT HIM WITH A STUPID SMILE 

it would get to the point you'd be just blatantly flirting 

and fred bluSHES

BECAUSE HE ISN’T USED TO BEING THE ONE ON THE RECEIVING END OF SUCH CLEAR FLIRTING

usually he is the one to pick up girls

he has the charm

likes to make them blush

but yOU CAN JUST LOOK AT HIM WITH A STUPID SMILE AND HES BE ALL GIDDY 

he could barely get a compliment in between your flirting

“Morning Freddie bug, looking cute as always.”

George thinks it both hilarious and disgusting

ron just thinks its disgusting 

but fred is ultimately the one to make the first move to be more than just friends who flirt when the yule ball comes around

he asks you

“Potter! Potter!”

“yes?”

“You, me, Yule ball....”

and as he’s pantomiming it (ya know like in the movie) he also pantomimes a very heavy make out session then what you could assume would be kisses all over your face

it was now your turn to blush as you agreed to go with him

you guys started dating after that :)

pLEASE ONCE HARRY GOT WITH GINNY AND HE SAW A PICTURE OF YOUR PARENTS 

YOUR MOM BEING A RED HEAD AND YOU AND HARRY LOOKING JUST LIKE YOUR DAD

HE WOULD NOT STOP THE JOKES

“i see why you’re with me. it’s my hair isnt it?”

“what? no its no-”

“you probably wouldn’t even look my way if i didn’t have red hair. you potters are unbelievable.”

“you are such a dummy”

“oH AM I? BUT YOU KEEP ME AROUND BECAUSE OF THE HAIR. I SHOULD’VE KNOWN IT WASN’T MY SPARKLING PERSONALITY THAT YOU LOVE.”

taglist:

@amourtentiaa

@siriusement

[dizzydancingdreamer]

The Servant and The Prince | Two

Description: This is very much a Cinderella trope because I cannot help myself and I am in love with Loki, chapter two

Pairing: Loki x Female!Reader, third person as I may adapt eventually with an OC

Warnings: LMAO kinda smut? No- I don’t know how I managed to do this in the second chapter but I did and I don’t care, they’re soulmates, sue me- it is not graphic and it is important for the plot I swear 

Tags: Fluff, again kinda smut but in the least graphic way, a touch of angst near the end

Word count: 5.2k (why can’t I write essays this fast?)

Previous | Next

Master List

The ride to the capitol takes three gruelling days. Each night is spent at a different tavern. It is the same story each time; Estrid and Anna spend the night in a lavish bed and Y/n is left with the horses, curled under her thankfully baggy cloak. It is neither warm nor comfortable, sleeping on the bench seat of the carriage. She never really falls asleep, she only dozes in and out of consciousness. It is almost always interrupted by footsteps or the murmurs of animals or her own mostly empty stomach growling into the night. That one is twofold- usually her stomach is in so much nauseating pain that she cannot sleep but, on the off occasion she can, she is then awoken by the loud roars it makes.

When she does sleep her dreams are plagued by nightmares of drowning in water that tastes of salt. It is always the same, her body sinking slowly to the bottom of what she can only assume is the sea, her lung filling with more and more of the saline water. She has never been to the sea but she has heard stories. She always wanted to go but now she is not so sure.

Each morning she wakes at the crack of dawn, sneaking out of the carriage like a mouse scampering away from the booming footsteps of a prowling cat. Of course she is not allowed to be sleeping in the carriage but it is a liability she must take. She would much rather be punished by Estrid than found by a drunken stable boy. Who would have thought she would miss her simple bed so much. It is just a worn mattress and the last of her mother’s quilts but she longs for it more than anything. She longs for a lot of things in the passing days.

With everyday that passes the anger grows stronger too. She has never been a restless girl but in less than three days it feels like everything she thought she was is wrong. Even while sitting still she feels as though she is pacing in a room that she is completely unfamiliar with. Granted it could be the rocking of the carriage- three days is a long time to be shaken up so- but still it feels different. When she squeezes her eyes closed hard enough she can see those differences. A bed with emerald sheets and a desk pushed against a window. And a man. A tall man who is shrouded in darkness. No matter how hard she squeezes her eyes she cannot make out his features.

She can see what he does sometimes though. He likes to sit at the desk and let the sunlight pour over him. That is the only time she does not feel the overwhelming anger, like daggers, slicing down the insides of her throat. She feels peace in those moments- almost like she is with him, her skin absorbing the sunshine as well. If only it was sunny during the night then maybe she could get a proper night's sleep.

The sunshine is not the only time she feels him, though. It is the best but not all. She can also feel when he digs his fingers through his hair, pulling so hard on the invisible strands that her scalp begins aching as well. She can feel it when he throws his head back, the soundless roar bubbling in her throat. His voice is a mystery to her. Somewhere deep inside her she knows what he sounds like, she just cannot describe it. It is there though, ingrained into parts of her that she also cannot describe. In those moments, if she could scream and know that her voice would sound exactly like his she would do it, if only to truly remember. That is what it feels like- forgetting. She is forgetting something gravely important.

Or she is just losing her everloving mind.

She cannot explain it, whatever it is; all she knows is that she does not understand. The anger is hers but not. The pacing and hair tugging are hers but not. The twinge of familiarity in everything that she sees in her mind. It is all both her own and not hers at all and it is infuriating. What is even more infuriating is to be so angry without reason. If she is to be angry all the time then at least she should know why. She would chalk it up to her situation- there is more than enough in her life to be angry about- but she had never really been angry before. Achingly desperate and mournful, yes. But angry? Before these past few days she never really understood the word.

The anger, then, must be his. But, if it is his, why then is it also hers? This time it is her who slams her hands against her head, digging in desperately. Why does none of it make any sense at all? She squeezes her eyes shut, so hard she sees that little spark of white that must mean her eyes are not supposed to be used so carelessly. She pushes past it- right now it does not matter. She is on a mission to find something out- to find anything out.

Only seconds later does the blackness behind her eyelids shift and she is no longer on the back of the carriage but rather back in his bedroom. The sunlight is pouring in through the window again and she sighs. Thank Odin. The last of her remaining senses that anchor her to the real world fizzle away as she scampers towards the desk where a figure cloaked in all black sits in a wooden chair. One of his shadowy hands is propped up on the desk, his fingers twisting through the rays. For a moment it feels like he is beckoning her to him, curling his fingers like an invitation meant only for her.

Of course she goes to him.

She barely registers the feeling of her feet hitting the stone below her- probably because she is not actually in the room walking towards him. That does not stop her from pretending like she is, gliding to meet him in the sunshine. She stands next to him for a moment, her heart galloping steadily. For once it is not from fear; there is nothing about him that she is afraid of. She wants nothing more than to climb onto his lap and let her body soak in the sunshine as well. It is not fear that makes her heart pound; it is anticipation. It is the looming sadness. She will try to climb into the sunshine- just as she has tried for each of the two days prior- and she will feel nothing. She never feels the warmth of the sun or the warmth of his darkened body. Still, she will try- it is all she can do to try.

She takes a deep breath, the faintest- almost nonexistent- aroma of pine trees and salt tickling her nose. The carriage must be close to the sea. She tosses the thought aside, bracing her hands on the side of the desk. Her fingers land how they are supposed to, splayed against the top, but she cannot feel the smooth plains of the mahogany. Her fingers stop with resistance but it is not tangible. Like every day before, she lifts herself up, placing her knees on either side of his dark lap. She braces for the same easy resistance of air to keep her hovering steadily above him. It will feel almost like nothingness- like only the memory of him is there instead of a real man. It is blissful, like coming home, and devastating, like being barred from entering said home, all at the same time.

She holds herself for a moment longer, not quite ready to feel nothing at all, and that is when it happens- his shadowy face snaps up and she can make out the faintest hint of icy blue in his otherwise misty eyes. She gasps, her heart beating even faster. Can he see her? Can he feel her? It is as though his eyes are boring into hers through her little daydream. It feels so real- like he is actually there and not just a figment of her imagination.

Her hands slip from the edge of the table, her knees jolting against the wooden chair almost painfully. There is a dull thud as she sinks down. That has not happened before. She snaps her gaze down to her legs, her mouth falling open at the sensation of her thighs spreading and pressing against leather. Yes, not the air that she has grown so used to but buttery leather and two warm legs that are covered by the folds of her dress. She could moan from how delicious it feels against her skin- both the supple leather and the feeling of finally being allowed back into her home- but of course she does not. Both because she does not want to risk the man hearing her wanton breaths and because he beats her to it.

Shadowy hands curl over her simple dress, fingers squeezing against her hips. She pulls her gaze back to the man's face, stifling another moan when he does again, almost as if testing the newness of being able to feel her. She supposes that is the answer she is looking for- he can definitely feel her. She watches as his lips- still shrouded in darkness like the rest of him- move frantically. No words form, not even hisses of air. She cannot hear anything he is saying. She can only feel him and his hands as he pulls her higher onto his lap, spreading her thighs even further until she is pressed harder into him. Her body molds into his with each shift, matching each dip and curve with her own, like two puzzle pieces clicking into place.

His mouth keeps moving, his faint icy eyes flicking across her face. Can he see her or does she appear like he does to her- a black mass of nothingness? She tests it the extent of her presence, placing her hands on his chest. Her heart is in her throat as her fingers smooth against the same supple leather, feeling the warm plains of armour and the way his chest heaves when she presses harder. His face tilts down, towards where she touches him, before snapping up to gaze at her. Again he tries to speak, his hands crawling up her back. His touch is heavenly- blissfully gentle against her injured spine- and she sinks back into him. She may as well soak in her daydream to its full extent.

She slides her fingers up to cup his cheeks. She cannot cannot make out the color of his skin but she can feel the heat rolling off him. His stubble bites at her palms, scratching her softly. She giggles, running her forefingers over it, exploring the contours of his face. Her thumbs drag over his cheekbones and he says something again, turning his face into her palm. His lips move against her skin and she wishes more than anything she could hear him. She wants to hear everything he is saying.

She draws his eyes back to hers, shaking her head slightly. He stops talking, his head cocking to the side. She cannot see it but she is almost certain his brows knit together. She is also certain that this man is beautiful, despite having only seen his eyes. If only her imagination were strong enough to fill in the blanks. Perhaps she is damaged- why else would she not be able to fill in a man of her making? His mouth opens again.

Y/n taps two fingers to her mouth and then to her ears, shaking her head. “I cannot hear you.”

She doubts that he will be able to hear her as well but she tries anyway. Her voice comes out soft, jarring against the silence. It is quieter here that she realizes. As expected, his eyes fill with confusion, narrowing slightly. One of his hands moves from her back and she swallows a whines at the rush of cool air that meets the place he had been holding her, immediately longing for the lost contact. Her bottom lip puckers out without her consent. Perhaps he notices, his gaze dropping low. Perhaps his eyes fall past her lips as well, though.

His other arm, the one still around her waist, tightens, sliding until his fingers curl around her opposing hip. Her knees slide even further forward with his actions, knocking into the back of the chair as her chest bumps into his. She shoots her hands out again, grasping onto his sturdy shoulders to keep from toppling off his lap, her thighs squeezing harder around him. Her skin drinks in the buttery material once more and this time she cannot stop the moan from rolling off her tongue, pleasure spiking up her spine. It is like nothing she has never felt before; a bolt of lightning striking right between her legs where her body nestles into his. It zaps her from the inside out, the most blissful heat pooling in the pit of her belly. Gods, the things she would do to hang on to that feeling forever.

He freezes under her, his shadowy arm around her hips stilling. Their faces are inches apart and it is as though she can almost feel his breaths against her lips. That is impossible but still the strange memory of his breath tickles, her mind filling in the blanks with what she assumes it would feel like. She can just barely taste the peppermint, somehow sharp through her dream.

Her hands squeeze harder against his shoulders as she sinks further onto him, her soft body molding again to fit against his hard one. The feeling repeats itself as she does- that wonderful bolt of pleasure- and her eyes flutter closed for a moment, her head falling back. Her mouth draws open as she clings to the growing heat between her legs. She has no idea why it is building or what will happen when it finally overflows but she is more than willing to find out.

His hand finally skims across her cheek, his fingers dipping behind her neck and curling, locking her in place against him. His hand is just as warm as the rest of him, adding a certain heaviness to her eyelids, one that she had been missing for days. He nudges her face gently and she pushes past the sleep and pleasure to meet his stare. He does not speak this time; he must have learned that it would not work. Instead he squeezes her hip, his icy eyes glancing down to where her legs are wrapped around him, before boring back into hers. He shifts again, pressing up and against her, sparking another round of that marvellous lightning in her belly, this time even stronger.

Her veins fill with fire and for a moment she can feel the sunshine on her back and hear the creaking of the chair underneath them as if she were actually in the room with him and not just locked in her own imagination. It does not last long, her newly unlocked senses, and as he relaxes back into his seat the fire in her blood mingles with desperation. She slides her fingers up his neck, tangling them in his soft hair. There is no hint of color, only the same shadows. She needs to see more- feel more.

“Please,” she draws his face up towards her, furiously pulling his darkened body towards hers. The contrast of her skin against his shadowed cheeks increases her drive- she has to see him. “Please do it again. I need more.”

It is futile, her little cries. She knows they will fall soundless on his ears. She can only hope that her actions, choked and frantic as she clings to him, can convey everything her lips cannot. He stares down, his crystal eyes locked on hers, his lips pressed together. His stillness makes her heart hammer rapidly against her ribcage. Please, by Odin, understand; I need you.

She pulls him even closer to her, falling until her back hits the edge of the desk and she is caged between it and him, still perched on his lap. Her dress bunches around her hips, her bare legs secured around his waist and squeezing him to her. Still he does not move, his eyes dragging down until his head is bowed between them, gaze locked on where their hips meet. His hand around her neck tightens, his eyes snapping back to hers, the blue visibly more brilliant. Glowing. He raises a shadowy brow, nodding slowly. Yes you oaf, yes! She would have screamed at him if she knew it would not be pointless. Instead she nods back at him, tugging gently on his hair. When he still does not move she finally snaps.

She springs forward, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, her face pressed against the crook of his neck. She really has no clue what she is doing- at this point she only knows one thing; she wants to be here with him and will do whatever she has to in order to make it happen. She gently runs her nose along the side of his neck, soaking in his warmth, her fingers twisting once more in his silky hair. His chest heaves against hers again and she smiles. That must mean something good, right?

She starts slow, her lips barely glimpsing his skin, testing his reactions to her.

She presses a soft kiss below his jaw.

He wraps his other hand back around her hip.

She brushes her lips lower, harder, kissing his throat.

He squeezes her softly, rolling his head back and revealing more of his neck to her.

She sucks some of his skin into her mouth, letting it go with a pop that sounds as though it echoes through an actual room and not just through her mind.

He pulls her flush against his chest with a groan that just barely grazes her ears, sparking the jagged pieces of her memory to fill in his luscious voice.

She tugs his earlobe into her mouth, biting down a little less gently.

He stands with her still wrapped around him and presses her back against a now fully formed tabletop.

She gasps again, not expecting the vast switch but not angry about it either. In fact this is the first time she is not unreasonably angry and she wishes she could hold onto this feeling. This happiness. She giggles up at him as her skirt pools higher around her hips, her body no longer upright and squished between the desk and him. One of his dark arms lands next to her, sliding under her head. The other hand slips under her skirt, his rough fingers a delicious contrast against her smooth skin. He presses down, his thumb circling her hip bone softly, holding her against him. She sinks her head back into his hand, unable to tear the smile from her lips. This must be what home feels like.

She squeezes her thighs, connecting their bodies. He rolls his hip against her, finally giving her the pressure she has been craving, and the building inferno inside her roars back to life. She arches her back off the desk, trying to get even closer to him, and he leans down to meet her, pressing his stomach against hers. He bucks against her again and she can taste the peppermint for real this time- the salt and the pine so sharp that there is no way she can be imagining it.

The lightning spikes through her each time he juts against her. It crackles through her nervous system, flashing in her eyes. With every spark the colors around her become more vibrant, her senses overflowing. She catches glimpses of the emerald bed behind him and some jade strips of leather in his armour. She can hear the steady rocking of the desk, the scraping of the leather against her thighs. Her little sighs are clear, she no longer has to wonder if they are only in her head. She still cannot hear him but she can see the pink in his lips as they form around his words. They look soft and capable and it is all she can do to roll her head back into his hand and pray that he understands the invitation.

He does.

Unlike her he does not start slow. He leans down immediately, pulling her skin into his mouth feverishly and biting down. Her eyes slam shut as he does so, one of her hands falling to the arm anchored beside her. She curls his fingers around his bicep, forcing herself to remain still in the face of one of the most intense experiences she has ever had. She did not know that a mans lips on her skin could feel this way. The sensation is completely foreign- otherworldly. So is the moan that carves its way out of her throat, filling the space between them. It is loud and aching- much like the rest of her- and it rewards her with something that she is not expecting in the slightest. A laugh.

His laugh.

She pushes herself up as soon as the small sound falls against her ears, musical and elegant, her eyes peeling open to the sight of sharp green leather and raven black hair. His skin is still cloaked in the darkness, his hands two shadowy masses as they snake to her thighs, but she relishes in the details that her mind grants her. Her mother’s words ring through her ears. You are so powerful, little dove. That is exactly how she feels right now; powerful. She will pull him through the darkness, little by little, until she can hear the air in his lungs and see the blush in his face. She will do it if it is the last thing she ever does.

He goes to pull away from her, his face dropping and hands releasing. His icy eyes a tinged with worry. As he takes a step back the color in his lips begins to fade, the pink dulling to a soft grey. No! She uses her legs to drag him back against her, hard enough to make him slam his hands onto the desk next to her hips. The sound thunders through the room and she smiles, the whoosh of air that accompanies his movements like a warm summer breeze chasing away the cold spring. The fire in her belly drinks it in, layering it on top of the lightning like a blanket. She wraps her arms around his shoulders again, clinging to him completely.

“Stay please.” She holds his gaze as she pleads with him, every word making the blue in his eyes brighten even more. “Please-” She does not know what to call him, he has no name that she can recall. Only one word sparks in her mind- an old word she used to hear her mother use occasionally- “Surtr.”

Dark one.

His back straightens as the word slips from her tongue, pulling her up with him until he is standing. It is like something inside him snaps- much like it had earlier in her- and he presses her against the stone wall, using his hips to hold her in place as he all but rips the straps off her arms. His mouth finds her skin again, feathering kisses down her shoulders and over the tops of her breasts where they spill out of her loosened dress.

She digs her heels into his back, encouraging him to press harder against her. He obliges, sparking the fire once more. This time, when the lightning strikes she can taste the smoke in her throat. She is so close to overflowing; right there on the edge. The smell of pine trees is overwhelming now- like she is in a forest surrounded by them. The salt is almost as strong. She licks her lips, drinking in as much of it as she can as she meets his thrusts. The only thing she can think is that the feel of the leather between her thighs is her new favourite thing.

“You are the one who must stay.”

His voice is like honey, dripping slowly down her skin. It is utter perfection; sweet and low. Everything she had been imagining and so much more. He lifts his face, now only thinly veiled by the shadows. She can see bits of his skin, flushed but rosy, peaking through. His raven hair falls forward, tickling her cheeks and nose. She drags her fingers through it again, pushing it away from his face. Something inside her roars to life at the sight- at the sounds. His groans and the hitch in his chest and the little slap he gives her thigh that makes her giggle again. All of it combines with the final jut of his hips against hers and then next thing she knows she is falling, like a star from the sky, spiraling straight into the sweetest oblivion anyone has ever known.

The pleasure that fills her body is like nothing she could have ever imagined. That is how she knows it is real. She is not creative enough to manufacture the desperate sounds he makes against her skin nor the feeling of them both sinking slowly down the wall into a pile of woozy limbs and panting breaths. She does not influence the way he curls around her, shielding her as she muffles her screams into his chest- no dream could feel as strong and soft as his arms as he glues their shaking bodies together. No; this is real.

He is real.

But for how long?

“How do I stay?” She intwines her body with his, wrapping around him once more as the pleasure begins to wane. “Please tell me.”

Even as she speaks she can hear her voice fading, losing the sharp edge it had moments ago. The warmth of his body begins to lessen as well, even as she fights to bring herself as close to him as she can. She pulls her face out of his neck, meeting only the faintest of blue in his eyes this time. They dart over her face, his hands fisting in her dress, tugging her closer too. He is fighting as well. She opens her mouth again but no sound comes out, only a hiss of air as she tries to scream. Do not leave me! Tears pour down her cheeks and for once she does not try to stop them. For once there are more important things.

The room around her begins to blur, hazing in and out of focus. Her fingers slip against his hair, no longer able to hold onto him as he, too, fades. That does not stop her from trying to dig her way through the darkness to get him back. Even as the room begins spinning she keeps clawing at his body, searching for anything that she can latch onto. Any little bit of him that she has left. Her fingers catch on something cold and she wraps her fingers around it, saving it from the disintegrating world. She squeezes her eyes shut when everything blurs so fast that bile rises in her throat, the nausea being too much.

“I will find you.” It is the last she hears of his honey voice and, like everything else, she holds onto it, hoping it will be enough to permanently sear him into her memory.

When Y/n cracks her eyes open she is no longer in the room- she is on the back of Estrid’s carriage. She is shaking still, the last dregs of pleasure- the last reminder that it was real- fizzling out and mingling with the motion sickness. The rocking of the carriage does nothing to stave it, she has to rest her head against the metal to keep from wobbling off.

She blinks a few times, clearing the haze from her bones and the blinding light from her return to reality. When she does, she is almost as breathless as she was moments ago. Instead of the usual meadows that she has gotten used to seeing in the last few days, she is greeted with glittering golden towers. They rise all around her, reaching towards the sky like flowers reach for the sun. She has to hold her breath as she her eyes trace up their iridescent stems, dizzy at the mere thought of being at the very top. She has never been that high before. Well, besides this today. That can only mean one thing- she is in the capitol!

She cranes her neck, trying to absorb as much as it as she can. All around her are other carriages. For miles it had been only Estrid’s but now there are dozens, each one just as ornately decorated. Even more so. They are drawn by white stallions that huff at her when they pass, their muzzles ruffling like they have never smelt a servant before. She does not blame their caution- by the looks of things they are probably used to the finer things. She is quite the opposite. If she was a horse perhaps she would huff at herself as well.

The streets are immaculately decorated for the upcoming festivities. The pillars that line the streets are strung with scarlet and jade banners, the railings roped with gold silks. There are little stands selling candied fruits and chocolate. Along the festive streets people mingle in and out of the towers, dressed in fabric more colorful than she has ever seen before. It is the same golds and scarlets and jades that make up the decorations. It looks velvety and luxurious to the touch- perhaps almost as soft as his hair had felt in her hands.

She squeezes her fist at the thought, something hard biting into her palm. Her heart stops. The slight pain draws her focus away from the crowds- most of which she has noticed are comprised mainly of young women. It is incredible how many girls are trying their luck the same way Anna is. That is a thought for another time though, one when she is not preoccupied by magical phenomenon. She glances down at her palm. There is no way. She peels her fingers open slowly- anticipating the let down. She must be dreaming this- she must have dreamt it all.

But no, there it is, a little gold band with a deep set green emerald sitting atop her palm like a little reminder. Like a plea. It sparkles in the brilliant sun, warming on her skin. It calls to her in a voice so honeyed she flinches.

Come find me.

She peers back up at the towering city, her heart clenching. She wants to more than anything and she will do it- she knows she will. There is only one problem.

Where does she even begin to search?

[kinomiakai]

do you have any tips on writing sasuke and naruto? specifically things like inner thoughts and dialogue?

Oh!!! This is such a cool question, thank you so much anon. This...actually got really, really long, but I hope it’s actually helpful!! This is just the way I write them, so take everything I say with a grain of salt!!

I’ll put it under a read more because it got so long haha :)

General advice:

For dialogue, generally, I feel like what actually helped me a ton was when I had to transcribe a bunch of interviews for school. You have to include everything, the body language, the ums, the stutters - so I’d actually really recommend trying that? Ideally finding something that isn’t edited, like a livestream or something, and trying to write down a few minutes of what the person says perfectly. It’s actually really, really hard!! Your brain automatically deletes the repetitions and stutters and spare words, so forcing yourself to identify them really helps with figuring out how people talk and writing more realistic dialogue. An example would be something like:

“I went to the—like the—the, um, ba—the store in the back alley, you know?”

(Things in there: (1) repetitions of “the”, (2) people say “like” a lot and your brain tends to delete that, (3) same with ums/uhs/other noises of thought, and (4) the way your brain can skip ahead to the next out-of-order word and you back up and go back to finish the thought. That happens a lot!)

You do have to balance it with readability, I find, because some people stutter a lot (especially if they’re in thought), but writing it all out like that really helped me learn how people talk, so I really recommend it!! I think if you can hear their voice saying it in your head, you’re on the right track.

For things like inner thoughts, it’s…sort of like dialogue, but less restrained. Inner thoughts are really fun because you not only get to play with being an unreliable narrator, but you also get to have people’s thoughts betray themselves. You can control your thoughts, but only to some extent, so something I really like to play with is cutting off a thought that’s about too admit something the character isn’t ready to admit (but something that they know, deep down). Like:

“Of course, his shirt did…smell nice. Like him. And there was something warm and settling about being here. Not that—not that this felt like home, or anything, it was just nice, and comfortable, and he just wasn’t used to these sorts of things so of course he—

He shook his head.

Never mind. He ought to get out of here anyway.”

Inner thoughts also are fun to tell a bit of a story with. You can contradict yourself or correct yourself, and a metaphor can sort of change the more the character things about it. Your writing doesn’t have to be perfect because thoughts really aren’t—but they will probably be real run-on sentences hahaha. Dashes and commas everywhere!!! The thoughts never end!!

Character-specific advice:

A big part of how I write Sasuke and Naruto depends on the AU it is set in. I’ll write generally about canon here, but obviously things change if Sasuke grew up with a family, if Naruto got some therapy - they might be more in tune with their emotions, they might be more explicit about the way they feel or more honest. A good example of this is in Something Good, where Sasuke is much more honest about himself and emotions and all that than he would be in canon—this is really only because he had Itachi and actually got help for his trauma. This effects Naruto a lot in AUs too because he doesn’t always have the same tendency to really repress himself, the way he does in canon. So you actually have a lot of wiggle room, as long as you’re focusing on the way your characters have lived until they got to this point.

Another bit to think about: my ability to really delve into character’s heads comes from the fact that I write Third Person Limited, which is third person but in specific perspectives as opposed Third Person Omniscient, which has the sort of free-floating narrator where you can be in everyone’s heads all at once, so it will definitely read differently.

For Naruto:

Naruto speaks more casually:

 He swears more, but not as much as Kiba

 He tends to slur some words together, saying things like kinda and gotcha and sorta where Sasuke wouldn’t

Where Sasuke might say something like “this was certainly…powerful” Naruto would say something like “this was real fucking strong!!!’

More exclamation marks, more straightforward, more sort of loud?? Types of thought and dialogue???

Naruto is grammatically incorrect! Spell check is often angry with me about this

Naruto will be the first to notice something is wrong with someone else and spend loads of time thinking and assessing it

Naruto will be the last person to acknowledge and assess something that is wrong with himself

His head is pretty straight forward, he’s less likely to use metaphors and flowery comparisons to describe things

E.g. Sasuke’s eyes were just—weird. Like the could see right through you, right into you—Naruto felt like some part of him needed to hide, because if he kept looking for a second longer Sasuke would know everything—

He looked away.

He tends to repeat himself and not really describe the way he feels, because he doesn’t really understand it. This also goes for positive emotions!! There is a lot of “huh I felt something. Anyway,” with Naruto dfsfs

Naruto expresses a lot of affection by doing stuff for people - this expands past Sasuke, but can come back to bite him. He’s eager to say yes to favours but this links back to him putting others before himself/wanting everyone to love him

For Sasuke:

Sasuke speaks more formally, but not as formal as Itachi

 Also mostly grammatically correct, uses mostly full punctuation in text messages (Itachi uses full punctuation, Naruto is probably all chatspeak but I write it as partial chatspeak to make it easier to read)

Sasuke’s head will run away with itself all the time

He’s quite poetic and romantic, he’ll speak in much more metaphors

E.g. “Naruto’s eyes were like the sky. Like breathing in the air after it rained—when it was cool and crisp and alive, when the world awoke again after it had all been grey. Something in Sasuke certainly felt…alive.”

Sasuke’s more of an asshole

 He’s sarcastic and sort of eyeroll-y at lots of stuff, including himself and his own thoughts. He tends to be more pessimistic and negative, too!

Exception: Naruto. Naruto is amazing and Sasuke secretly believes he can do literally anything. He will NEVER say it out loud unless Naruto forces him out of it (read: in moments where Naruto is being negative/down on himself/being out character in a way that Sasuke feels like he’s a bit scared and needs to shake him with something honest and true) but he will say it in his own head because he can’t control that. Take that, Sasuke

 He can be real judgy—e.g. in Enter Naruto where he calls Itachi’s coat pretentious.

He can be even more judgy about himself. He’s pretty hard on himself and will frequently put himself down in his thoughts, which he thinks about as factual statements

E.g. “nothing compared to his brother, of course, but Itachi was perfect and Sasuke was still...just himself.

 Now if only his father could realize that, too.”

E.g. “And Naruto looked at him as if it was true, but Sasuke knew it wasn’t. Sasuke had chosen this path, and he’d walked down it. Naruto seemed to think he could simply turn around, but Sasuke…knew better.”

He speaks less, which is helped by the fact that you can totally call him out if you’re writing his POV, or you can use Naruto to call him out because Naruto knows him like the back of his hand

His affection is more quiet?? More nonverbal, in general, than Naruto’s. Not that Naruto is like super good at expressing himself either but he will get closer than Sasuke will out loud

That said, Sasuke is really fun to write as not being able to control the way he seeks Naruto out, through small intimate actions like folding his clothes or wanting to spar or sitting just a little too close to Naruto on the couch. Sort of partially unconscious expressions of love - Sasuke is all over those. (He doesn’t have to be, but it’s really fun to write him that way; you all know how I love writing deeply-in-love Sasuke)

Their fatal flaws when it comes to writing Third Person Limited: both of these assholes are really unlikely to comment on specific details, so you’re gonna have to write from somebody else’s POV if you really want to hit home about how cute Sakura’s new outfit looks. You’re only gonna get to describe it if she’s like...asking Naruto about it in some way, or if Sasuke is being a judgy dick about it or something shfsdkhfd

BUT, they will notice those things about each other, especially if they are in love or are starting to fall, and it’s one of those quiet little ways you can play with to make their emotions evident.

I feel like I could actually keep going about all this but this is SO LONG and I might start repeating myself, so I’ll stop here. Thank you for the ask, anon, I hope it was helpful!!! It was fun to answer :)

[blorbosexterminator]

I really need your two cents about the fork scene

It probably won't be worth more than that because I honestly haven't thought that deeply about the scene. From a more objective pov, I think the show was just trying to mark Andrés' descent into "Berlín" or rather, lessen the gap between the two that kept getting deeper from part 1 to 2.

But I will get into why it was a scene like that in that context that they have chosen.

I believe that it was working on a symbolic level of what was happening internally with Andrés both in general and in that specific moment in his life. It was a crucial scene for the characterization of Andrés on so many levels (his tendency to violence, unawarness of actual social codes, etc.) but the most important of them here is his internalized homophobia. I'll put this scene in context with three others: 1) the other part of the restaurant sequence where Martín jokingly offered Sergio a blowjob, 2) the wedding scene, and most importantly 3) the kiss scene.

In the first one, it nicely puts a framework of contrast. After Martín leaves for the bathroom, Andrés defends to Sergio that Martín only offered him a blowjob, showing Andrés' supposed open-mindness with Martín's sexuality. He's very fine with it, it would seem.

But I do think Andrés' actual stance is hinted more in the second scene I've chosen: the wedding scene. It was a pretty humorous scene, I don't think Andrés (or the show) was going for actual offence, but I do think it does show Andrés' regard for homosexuality. When he answered Martín with something along the line of 'you're the closest we have to it' meaning unmarried women.

Andrés' perception of homosexuality, despite how highly he thinks of Martín (which I'd believe only makes it the more complicated for him), is something inherently unmanly. And we all know Andrés' terrible relationship with masculinity (one day I'll go off about this whole thing with not just Andrés' femininity, but also the perception of it from other characters).

The third scene, the kiss scene itself. We all, myself included, like to do elaborate readings of the scene; why Andrés left Martín, disregarding the actual writing of the scene itself. What I'd like to do here is leave aside this why and take Andrés' words for their worth. His own reasoning is that despite his love for Martín that surpassed anything he ever felt for women, including the one he was happily married to in the moment of the speech, is that he couldn't be with him this way because he wasn't physically attracted to him. It is important that this is what the actual writing says, it could have had any other reason that would also be interpreted, but what it is in canon is that Andrés was physically unable to be with Martín. There are multiple reasons why Andrés left Martín, but this is the actual only reason why he didn't get together with him over the 10 years period they were 'together'. It's signifcant that Martín immediately, probably always has, understood it for what it was, and that it wasn't that Andrés didn't desire him, but that he didn't allow himself to, and pointed at his head, mocking Andrés' "desire" and calling him a coward, because that is exactly what Andrés was.

What I meant with saying that Andrés was physically unable to be with him isn't that he wouldn't get hard. But that, that would be the last step that would completely shatter Andrés' image of himself that he was trying to feed to the world. Because in every single other aspect, Andrés was in a romantic relationship with Martín. He was his life-long partner, he lived with him, despite being married; he literally said he was going out to meet his wife. In that scene Martín was casually hanging in the room that we were told in the show services as Andrés' bedroom, the room that he was also casually getting dressed in while Martín was there. Martín himself regards the effect of Sergio's words, Andrés' leaving him, as breaking their home. Later on, Martín, in a speech that very clearly meant to be about him and Andrés, calls it a romantic relationship with a lover and beloved. I really doubt he would have called it as such because of one moment in a ten years old friendship. It was a romantic relationship that Andrés treated it as such 99% of the way, only not allowing either him or Martín to admit it as such. And it all goes back to that one aspect: the sexual intimacy of it. Because that was the one thing, that if it had happened, Andrés would no longer be able to deny to himself, and he would then have to face what this means to the whole, very fragile image he has of himself.

Now to the scene that you specifically asked for. It's really significant the sequence it was in, right after Sergio literally forced Andrés to look in the eye and admit the reality of Martín's feelings (and his own! Every single point Sergio used in his prove that Martín was in love with Andrés could be applied on Andrés from scene in canon). And right after, Andrés' worst, deepest, probably unconscious fear was confirmed by the man. And that is, a physical, public relationship with Martín, a man, would destroy his manly, "respected" image.

So taking a step back and looking at the whole sequence, Andrés was forced out of his illusions to face the reality of his relationship with Martín, and immediately he was faced with society's reaction to that truth. If this was a psychological thriller movie we would have seen the scene from Andrés' pov as he was delirious and imaginging everyone's closed-on faces laughing hysterically at him. The scene has the same significance, the same effect. Someone pointed out on a tumblr post here how it's also significant that Andrés castrated the man, with the objective of the attack being on his penis; his 'manhood'. This, to me, shows what was internally happening to Andrés, he was returning the exact same damage that the man did to his own manhood. It's not important that Andrés was the one who attacked the man, to me, its importance lies in showing what was happening internally to Andrés, the damage it to his regard of his own masculinity, and most importantly, how he can not accept it, can't live with it. I don't think the scene was in prideful self-defence, rather acts on how threatened Andrés is over his masculine image and to the extent of his violence to preserve it.

The reason I believe Andrés never faced his feelings for Martín is definitely his internalised homophobia and that scene is one of the most important in the show to highlight that aspect.

[exhaustedfander]

Not Quite According to Plan

Word Count: 2,225

a03 link

My Writing Masterpost 

Virgil’s head was spinning. His stomach lurched, anxiety spiking and turning his blood to fire. He wondered, distantly, if this was what it was like to give way to insanity.

He was in love.

It wasn’t at all his choice to be in such a state. He’d never wanted to fall for anyone…or at least that’s what he’d told himself. For a very long time, he’d decided that it would be the most practical to live his self-sufficiently. After all, relying on other people got messy, and Virgil wasn’t looking for a mess he’d inevitably be tasked with cleaning up. In all honesty, he didn’t believe he’d be granted the luxury to be put in such a situation, even if he wanted to.

He’d never been very good with people, enjoying the company of very few and knowing even fewer people who enjoyed his company. As far as he was concerned, Virgil simply wasn’t very enjoyable to most people, and as such, he was convinced he and love were two separate entities entirely.

That was until Roman Knightly had waltzed into his life.

In the beginning, it had felt like a bad dream where he was tortured by a man who failed to grasp the concept of personal space. His first impression of Roman was that he was loud, obnoxious, more than a little self-absorbed and a real pain in the ass, observations that all turned out to be true to some extent. With that being said, he was also very cute, and unfortunately, Virgil was very, very gay.

They’d met at a club, of all places – what the hell had Virgil Storm been doing at a club? – a fact that would forever amuse him. With how well Virgil did around people, which was to say utterly horribly, it was no surprise that he also didn’t fare well in social scenarios. Virgil wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like that – or at least, not usually. The only problem was, one of Virgil’s only real friends, Patton, had dragged him along with him.

For the life of him, Virgil would never understand how anyone as kind and sweet as Patton would put up with someone like him. He’d tried to get it through the man’s skill that there were ever so many better options for a best friend out there, but damn it, Patton stuck by him stubborn as ever, and honestly, Virgil wasn’t complaining. He loved the guy and couldn’t imagine hanging out with anyone else, despite all of the terrible puns Virgil pretended not to laugh at.

Having such a wonderful friend, however, came with some serious consequences, going out and socializing being a major one. He really hadn’t wanted to be in that club that stunk of booze and sweaty, horny people grinding against one another – which normally would’ve surely driven Patton up the wall, but he was busy flirting with some guy he’d met a while ago who happened to be there. With Patton preoccupied talking to the guy, Virgil was left on his own.

In this setting, Virgil felt more out of his element than ever. Everyone was all flirty, talking and dancing, and then there was him: standing in the corner, trying to avoid any and all attention. Unfortunately, this hasn’t worked in the least bit because before he knew it a tall, handsome guy was leaning against the wall with a positively punchable smolder on his face. And Jesus was his line cheesy! Did it hurt when he fell from Heaven? Yuck!

Virgil tried to tell the guy, Roman, to get lost but the damned smile that had stuck to his face seemed to give off the wrong impression. This Roman guy was not walking away and trying to flirt with someone else and it only heightened Virgil’s anxiety.

He didn’t know what he was doing at all, because even if he found Roman the least bit attractive – which he totally didn’t! – he didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to do. No one had really wanted to talk to him for this long, save for Patton, and he wasn’t quite sure what was supposed to happen from here. His chest was tightening, face red and hot to the touch, and, God he felt like he was going to lose consciousness or something!

The rest of the night was a hazy blur of anxiety and alcohol. He remembered Roman dragging him by the hand onto the dancefloor. He recalled wearing a stupid fucking smile on his face, and he remembered, for whatever reason, not actually wanting to go home. But the thing that was the most unbelievable was the fact that he’d gone home with Roman’s phone number, a number he’d surely be waaay too nervous to even think of using.

As it turned out, though, he’d given Roman his number as well.

From there on the two began talking on the phone, much to Virgil’s nervousness. And from there was their first date, where somehow Virgil had managed not to pass out at any point; score! Amazingly, there was a second after that, and a third, and a fourth, and a whole bunch after that. And even after all that, he’d still managed not to screw everything up.

It was a blink of an eye before the couple was living together, closer than Virgil had ever been to anyone in his life. He just…he couldn’t believe how well things had gone. Though they had arguments from time to time, it always ended in an apology and a bone-crushing hug. Nothing had gone wrong from for them, and it seemed that was what frightened him the most. Virgil was, to his utter dismay, stupidly in love.

He’d never pegged himself as the guy who got the fairytale ending. But now here he was with this great guy who he adored with his entire heart, and he didn’t know what to do. It would get ugly eventually, right? It had to; Virgil wasn’t lucky enough for anything else. Even so…Roman said he loved him constantly. He showed it too, with massively grand gestures and dinner dates and just plain human affection. Goddamn, Roman was affectionate.

Roman made him weak, and Virgil loathed his own weakness. He didn’t want to rely so heavily on someone, to need him the way he did. As much as he’d wanted to be able to be on his own, that dream couldn’t live any longer. It was no real dream, to begin with; a previous coping mechanism, but certainly not a dream. Because damn it all, he’d fallen so fucking hard for this boy and he wasn’t getting out of it any time soon. With that being said, he’d gotten some twisted insane idea stuck in his head and it was driving him insane.

He was considering proposing to Roman.

See? Crazy. But the whole ‘considering it’ thing had become a full-blown plan with a ring and memorized speech before Virgil knew what happened. He was sure that he was losing his marbles; he was actually going to go through with this.

He’d never wanted to grow so attached to someone, and despite everything, it had happened and if he could help it, he wasn’t going to let it go.

“Virgil, darling, is something the matter?” Roman asked, arching an eyebrow as he placed a hand on Virgil’s, resulting in a flinch and his heart squeezing in his chest. They sat on a blanket in the park, their picnic having been finished as the sun began to set and the sky was painted in oranges and pinks.

“No – no,” Virgil swallowed down his nerves, trying his hand at a nervous smile, “I’m fine.”

Roman titled his head in disbelief, seeing right through Virgil’s sorry attempt at playing it cool.

“Bullshit, Hot Topic. What’s really going on?” He asked, eyeing Virgil carefully. The emo shuddered under the gaze.

Now or never, Virgil. Come on, don’t chicken out now, he thought to himself, resting a hand on his hoodie pocket with a very important object stuffed inside. He took a deep, shuddery breath before grabbing Roman’s hand and lacing their fingers together, squeezing tightly. He tried to smile again, looking deeply into Roman’s eyes that narrowed in confusion.

“Ro…I…I really, really love you. L-like, a lot.”

A smile of endearment played across Roman’s face as he nodded, bringing their clasped hands to his lips and pressing a kiss to Virgil’s knuckles.

“I know, dearest,” he said, chuckling lightly, “I love you too. Like a lot,” he added. After a moment, though, he realized just how bright red Virgil’s face had become as well as the fact that he was beginning to tremble. “Virgil, are you okay? You seem nervous – I’m not making you nervous, am I?” Virgil swallowed the lump in his throat, clutching his pocket with his free hand.

“Roman, I can’t believe we’ve been together as long as we have. T-three years. Damn. That’s – that’s way longer than I thought a-anyone could put up with me,” Virgil spoke through a strained laugh, trying to remember everything he’d planned on expressing but finding himself unable, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Virgil?”

Suddenly, with a final nervous flinch, Virgil managed to knock the small black box out of his pocket which landed unceremoniously in the grass. Shiiit. Roman had seen it, there was no backing out now. Roman’s face went sheet-white, a trembling hand picking up and opening the box with slow, flickering movements. He let out a loud, squeaky gasp as he caught sight of the gold band with the red stone glimmering in the fading daylight.

“V-Virgil…?” He tried to formulate some kind of a coherent sentence as he held the box in his hand, tears already forming in his eyes as he stared incredulously at his boyfriend, his face slack with shock. Virgil swallowed, trying to regain his bearings somewhat, his shaking hand still clutching Roman’s.

“This – this was supposed to g-go a lot smoother. Fuck. I – I was supposed to k-know what to say, b-but I’m –.”

“Hey, hey, no. You’re doing so well, darling! Keep going,” Roman interrupted encouragingly in an awed voice, a watery laugh escaping his lips as he wore a smile so wide it threatened to split his face in two. Virgil nodded slowly, anxious but determined.

“R-Roman you make me so, so happy a-and even though that scares me sometimes, it’s – it’s also so nice. I don’t ever want to lose that, i-if I can help it. I didn’t ever think I was the guy who was going to find love or a h-happy ending – but then there you were. You’re my happy ending, Roman, and I love you with everything I have. So I was wondering, i-if you wanted to if you’d marry me? I’m sorry, this i-isn’t coming out ri –!”

Virgil’s rambling was promptly interrupted by Roman’s lips pressed to is with more force than necessary, pushing both of them into the grass. He felt the tension dissipate as Roman kissed him with more passion than he thought possible, his hands threading through Virgil’s faded purple hair.

“I assume I can take that as a yes?” Virgil managed to choke out when Roman pulled back, laughing boisterously, tears of mirth streaming down his face as he pressed his forehead to Virgil’s.

“Yes. Yes, of course, I’ll marry you! I love you, Virgil, darling! Oh, I love you!” He cried passionately, pressing kiss after kiss to Virgil’s face. Virgil laughed loud and hard, knowing his tears were causing his makeup to run, not that he cared.

They held tight to each other, lying in the grass after Virgil placed the ring on his boyfriend’s – scratch that, fiancé – finger, the gem sparkling.

“How dare you be the one to propose?!” Roman asked after a long moment of content silent, earning a chuckle from Virgil that rumbled with amusement, “I was planning on doing it soon! I didn’t have the ring yet – but I was going to!” Roman exclaimed, laying against his fiancé’s chest with his arms looped around his waist. Virgil exhaled deeply, a smile etched onto his face he half-believed to be permanent at this point.

“Too slow, Princey,” Virgil said, snickering at the pout Roman’s face twisted into, “But seriously, that’s kinda amazing. Here I was, afraid you might say no or something, and you were gonna propose to me yourself,” he added, muttering the second half.

“What?” Roman’s voice was thick with shock, “In what twisted reality would I say no?! I love you, Storm-cloud, more than anything. Marriage was always the end goal for me.” Virgil shrugged, leaning to face his lover.

“I dunno. You know how I am, anxious about literally everything and it’s not like it really went according to plan. I was chocking the moment I started.” Roman shook his head, scotching closer and leaning up to press his lips to Virgil’s.

“Not even close, darling. You did wonderfully.”

And though Virgil couldn’t agree, he was sure glad Roman thought so. Virgil had never expected to live a life so dependent on someone else, telling himself for years how detestable such an idea was. But lying here with Roman now, for once, he gave way to the unexpected, opening the future with open arms.

=+=

[noonemonitorsmyscreentime]

Ungodly

Because I, again, lost my goddamn mind I decided to write the fight from S15, ep19 from Chuck’s perspective, sort of. Like it’s from Chuck’s perspective but in the third person because that makes sense somehow. It’s like real short. And obvs fan fiction, but like commentary, maybe, idk. Anywaaay... enjoy?

“You can’t defeat GOD!” thought Chuck as he kept punching and kicking Sam and Dean. He was finally going to make them show him the respect he deserves. How dared two little insignificant humans mess with his story? They were his toys to do as he saw fit. He kept trying to fix them and yet they were constantly broken. At what point do you give up on trying to make them work? 

Chuck couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw those two Winchester bastards rising up after each blow. The constant defiance had lost its cuteness a while back. What would it take to finally beat them?

They could barely stand and had to use each other for support. Together they couldn't make for a whole man and yet, they still chose to try and be two. It really wasn't a fair fight. "Why are you smiling?”

“Because, you lose.” Sam Winchester’s bloodied face was defiant. Maybe he had punched the sense out of the younger brother. Lucifer would have been disappointed to find out that the one who finally broke Sam Winchester had been his pops. But Sam wasn't looking at him. His gaze was fixated on something behind him.

Ha!

Jack. Poor kid was going to see his adoptive dads being beaten to death before he, himself… well, not meet his maker-- before he, himself, would be silenced for good. And with the brothers gone, it would also stick.

What was that silly little child going to do? There was no angel daddy to trade his life for him, his actual daddy, the supposedly new favorite son was soundly sleeping in the empty and his two mommies were in Heaven. This kid did not have a great track record with keeping parents alive. He killed all his moms and all his dads died for him. In any case they will soon. Chuck supposed that the Winchesters could wait a while longer for the next punch. “Hey, Jack.”

He slowly closed the gap between them. The kid was just staring at him. This was too easy. How much fighting had they done and how much pain had they suffered to bring the boy back, and he was just standing in front of him, not even a weapon in hand?

The kid was a great story beat and Lucifer really threw him a curveball by becoming a father. Jack had outlived his narrative expectation to a greater extent than Chuck would have thought possible. He had to admit that his grandson was, as late story additions go, a good one in spite of his cliched beginnings. But how many kids with abusive fathers and dead mothers can you have before it all gets too tedious? He was so innocent, so pained, so tortured and so, so very and thoroughly annoying.

Chuck snapped his fingers expecting the boy to dissolve in a delightfully fine mist of pink. After all, how many times did he need to get rid of the kid to finally make it stick?

 Nothing happened. Jack was still in front of him, mirroring his look of disbelief. He'd give him that just like all the men in his life, he was hard to get rid of. Chuck snapped his fingers once more. Again. Nothing. Jack was still in front of him, but he could see that something was changing in the child. He took a step closer to god.

Snap. Nothing. Step. Snap. Nothing. Step. Snap. Nothing. Step. Snap. Nothing. Step. Snap. Nothing. Step. Snap. Nothing. No more steps left.

The boy put his hands on each side of Chuck’s face while his eyes glowed and the veins in his body became illuminated with a powerful gold light. Chuck had known this feeling before; this incredible river of power leaving him was the power needed for the Creation. But, it was at the same time different; he was not merely being drained of power, he was losing it, never to be replenished again.

It was agony. It was his hell. It was never ending.

When the last flicker of power was consumed Chuck fell to the ground trying to catch his breath. He had never felt so weak. He had never been this weak. He would always be this weak.

He heard a snap and prepared to be disintegrated. Instead he saw Sam and Dean healed.

Sam picked up his book that now lay open on the ground. “What… What did you do?”

Dean Winchester looked at him from above, his face half illuminated by the warm sun, each feature of this perfectly crafted weapon was sculpted and majestic “We won.”

“So this is how it ends. My book.”

By the time he finished his words Sam had arrived near him, book open in hand. “See for yourself” he said as he threw it in front of him.

The pages were blank. There were no words. “There’s nothing there.”

“Oh, there is, but only Death can read it.” Cold chills moved up and down Chuck's body at the younger brother's words. They hadn't known how to beat him. He knew that it was time for the victory monologue. He needed an explanation. And, boy, did the brothers deliver one

!“That’s right. So we had to come up with a plan B. That wasn’t too hard though when we realized that Michael really is a daddy’s boy. See, he didn’t take it too well when he found out that you asked Lucifer for help. Oh, he was desperate to be the favorite again.” Dean stated in a cold voice, some disdain directed to Michael. It was natural after all, one iteration took his body for a joyride of murder, mayhem and world domination and the other tricked and used Adam to bring about the end of times. 

“Since we couldn’t read the book we had to come up with a story about finding the spell, which we knew Michael would feed straight to you” Sam continued. “All that prep work we did to turn Jack into a cosmic bomb? Well, it turned him into a… a sort of power vacuum. He’s been sucking up bits of power all over the place. So, when the two heavyweights -- your boys-- showed up to duke it out, oh-hoh! That charged him right up.” Oh, if only his children had managed to work together all of this could have been so different. With Michael and Lucifer by his side Sam and Dean would have never won.

“See, we knew Michael would warn you and you’d show up here. And you did. And you killed your own son.” This was the fatal mistake, Michael should have been punished last. John Winchester had it right, kill the spirit, not the body.

“And you beat the crap out of us. Releasing all kinds of power. God power.” “Jack absorbed it all. It made him...”“Well, it made him unstoppable.” Dean finished the explanation.

Chuck can’t help but laugh. “This… This.. This is why you are my favorites.”

Sam, Dean and Jack look at each other wondering if Chuck understood anything of what he had been told or if his mind had gone alongside his powers.

“You know, for the first time I have no idea what happens next. Is this where you kill me?”

It’s easy to see on Sam’s face that it's a tempting idea and one that had been given some thought. He looks at Dean, on whose face only disgust is shown. “I mean, I could never think of an ending where I lose. But, this, after, everything that I’ve done to you… to die at the hands of Sam Winchester… of Dean Winchester, the ultimate killer...” 

Both brothers got a long look from the former god when he said their names. In turn they exchanged a glance, cold fury shone in Dean’s eyes, while Sam’s bore a much somber look of sad pensiveness. A quiet conversation was taking place. Sam would follow Dean’s lead, who now held Chuck’s fate in his hands, in what, the former Supernatural writer, felt was an ironic twist.

Chuck laughed in a last attempt to taunt the boys, to make them dance to his music “It’s kind of glorious.” He knew how to push their buttons, he’d done it for so many years. They were as close to a perfect creation as he had ever come. “Sorry, Chuck.” was Dean’s verdict, who moved right along to sentencing.

Chuck cowered in fear. Dean had no weapon in his hand, no magic gun or special knife. No stakes or arrows or even grenades. Death had to come by hand. But it didn’t. “What? What?”

“See, that’s not who I am. That’s not who we are.” They are free of him. Killing is not the only option anymore.

“What kind of an ending is this?” The last sliver of control that Chuck had over his precious Winchesters faded away.

They are his creation! They are not his favorite when they act in unexpected ways that don’t benefit him. Or his story. A little death, then straight to Heaven for some peace and quiet and relaxation. He deserved it. He only knows how much.

“His power. You sure it won’t come back?” Sam asked the kid. “It’s not his power anymore.” Jack replied truthfully. 

Sam gives a short half smile to this. What Jack said is good. “Then, I think it’s the ending where you’re just like us and like all the other humans you forgot about.”

“It’s the ending where you grow old, you get sick and you just die” despite Dean’s mercy, it was clear that it would have given him great pleasure to make Chuck feel a fragment of what the men in front of him had endured for his amusement, but he took content in knowing that Chuck’s own creation would do the job for him. The world would save Dean from killing after all the killing Dean had done for its sake. 

“And no one cares. And no one remembers you. You’re just forgotten.” The final blow delivered with steel precision right in Chuck’s, now human, heart had been made by Sam.

The trio moves towards the Impala leaving him in dust. “Guys… Guys.. wait.”

The engine revs and they drive away to the sound of Chuck’s begging “Guys… Guys! No, wait… G-guys… Guys, wait! Guys, wait! Guys, wait! Wait! Wait! Wait! Please, wait! Guys!”

Chuck falls into the dust sobbing.

He has no one. He’s all alone.

“

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

Soft Walls and Roses- Fusion AU

Ao3,   Masterpost,   More of this AU

I think this is my first AU wow,,, So yeah this is definitely just the first installment. It can be read as a stand-alone, but I do intend on writing more with a couple of other fusions later! And then we’ll see how it goes from there. Essentially this is just a series where i get to describe a lot of cool things because descriptions are fun for me and i don’t get to do them enough. Hope u like it :3

Relationships: Royality, mentioned platonic logicality and platonic logince.

Warnings: Lots of Prose (seriously i went insane i think, this is flowery and sappy as hell), Remus makes a sex joke at one point, there is a small argument, food mention. Idk this one’s just sweet and unrelentingly fluffy.

Word Count: 3,216

Daylight streamed in through the wide windows, casting golden and bright beams across the carpeted floor and the various pieces of furniture. The patches of light were warm, comfortably so, and there wasn’t a cloud to disrupt it. Such perfect weather conditions were only mirroring the sunshine out in the real world, but Roman couldn’t help but feel that it was made especially to fit the mood in the Mindpalace. That was to say; sunny and blanketing. 

Music lilted through the living room and kitchen, a cheery little ditty chosen by Patton. It was pleasant, melodic, and not too loud to disturb the peace. Though this ‘Ingrid Michaelson’ woman wasn’t exactly Roman’s usual taste, he couldn’t help the bright smile that curved on his lips at the tunes. 

‘Relaxing days’ were a mostly foreign concept to the Sides of Sander. Someone was always either a), stressed out of their mind with work, or b), starting arguments and generally being disruptive. But today was a miracle, a dreamy noon wherein everyone was happy and sociable with each other. A once-in-a-blue-moon occurrence that everyone was keen to take advantage of, all six of them spread out in the common room to enjoy each other’s company. 

Logan was sitting on the couch, enthusiastically infodumping with Janus, the subject of the discussion requiring many big words and drawn-out sentences to explain (most of which sort of gave Roman a headache trying to think about, so he mostly tuned them out). Remus was lounging almost calmly on the floor by the two left-brained traits’ feet, an enormous sketchbook propped up on the coffee table in front of him. He interjected into the conversation constantly with irrelevant and explicit additions, but nobody seemed to mind letting him lead them on tangents. Virgil had twisted into one of his contortionist-esque positions in the corner of the couch, his headphones stuck over his ears. Occasionally he’d slip one side back, listen briefly to the current topic, chip in some snarky comment, and then go back into his own little world. But regardless, he was still offering his presence, which was well enough. 

Then finally, there was Patton. He flitted between the kitchen and the living room, swaying with the songs and singing along without much care what key he was in. He smiled so wide that his already prevalent smile lines were surely deepening even more, his eyes pushed so far up in the corners that it seemed cartoonish as the light glinted off his big, square glasses. The mouth-watering aroma of whatever it was he was baking filled both rooms, something rich and chocolatey with just a hint of lemon. 

Patton wore a stained apron overtop his soft-colored clothes, all of which were bulky and the precise opposite of form-fitting. He was the furthest thing from a fashion icon in that respect, but the way he didn’t seem to care either way rendered that fact entirely irrelevant; he looked perfect. His pitchy singing only quieted when he jumped into the conversation with a handful of jokes, which Roman always laughed at (even though he definitely wasn’t paying enough attention to understand any of them. Needless to say, he was a little distracted). 

Beautiful, adorable, precious, and countless other flattering adjectives were the words Roman would use to describe Patton in that moment. And most other moments. God, he was practically perfect in every way, wasn’t he?

The wonderful day, the lively company, and Roman’s own overwhelming affection for his oblivious friend swirled together in an almost painful surge of emotion in the Creative side. It filled up his chest, pushing hard against his ribs and making him feel even more brainless than usual. His heart felt more breakable than glass, but it only served to remind Roman that the object of his affections would never take advantage and break it, making the feeling more of a comfort than a concern.

In the end Roman could not bear the emotion quietly, rising to his feet and striding across the room as theatrically as he could. He was bursting into song before he knew it, thankfully familiar enough with the lyrics of Time Machine to belt it out like he was on a stage. 

Virgil slipped one headphone off his ear just long enough to groan at Roman, tossing a throw pillow in his vague direction.

“Dude, chill, can’t you just be happy without being loud?”

Roman shrugged, stopping in his path to the kitchen to lean over his best friend and tap the volume button on his headphones. 

“If it bothers you such, feel free to drown me out!”

Virgil hissed at him, but he was already waltzing away.

Roman slipped through the open wall and onto the kitchen counter, sliding along it elegantly, hopping down to stand near the stove.

The side spun around with a grin and a laugh, silencing his own mumbled version of the lyrics at Roman’s much louder singing. 

As he fell into place beside Patton- gorgeous, giggly Patton- an instrumental hit.

“Dance with me?” Roman asked in a slow, sultry voice (determinedly ignoring the laughing and groaning from the other sides as they overheard), his hand outstretched to the breath-taking creature before him.

“Oh, I'd love to, Roman, but the batter-”

“We can wait a little longer for sweet treats, Patton Dear- dance with me!”

Patton bit his lip through a smile, round eyes flitting between the oven and Roman himself. After trying and failing miserably to look reluctant, he huffed a little laugh and turned the oven off, shoving the batter-filled pan to the back of the counter. Roman watched as he moved, keeping his arm out and a charming smirk on his lips. 

Patton turned back around. He met his gaze. And he placed his hand in Roman’s. 

The response was immediate as Roman swept Patton up in his arms. It was surely a humorous sight, Roman leading the dance even though he was much shorter than Patton, but he was perfectly aware that if he let the taller being lead then they'd both be tripping over their feet in mere seconds. 

Roman twirled them around the small kitchen, crooning along to the peppy little love song that had replaced the previous number. Patton was making a good effort to sing along, but he wasn’t getting many words out through his laughter. Roman hardly minded the tunelessness, as long as he was graced with the sound and sight of that exuberant giggle. 

The limited space grew to be too little quickly for the pair, who’s movements got more flowy and circular. Clumsily, they maneuvered into the living room, dancing around the coffee table with some struggle. 

“Do you two have to do that in here?” Logan sent them a half-hearted glare, clearly not that annoyed with the display- but if there was one thing he was good at, it was acting aloof. 

Roman scrunched his face at the logical side, twirling Patton with a flourish out of spite.  Logan rolled his eyes, turning back to his and Janus’ (and to a lesser extent, Remus’) debate. 

Patton and Roman continued to dance, carefully avoiding the minefield of furniture and discarded items on the floor, for a good few minutes. Just as what would be their third song began, Patton brought them to a stop.

“Can I lead? Just for a second, I wanna do something!”

Roman quirked a brow, a confused smile on his lips. His curiosity nearly took control, desperate to ask what Patton meant, but at the look in Patton’s eyes he got the distinct impression that he wouldn’t want the surprise to be spoiled. 

With a decisive nod, Roman moved his hands from the sides hips to rest on his shoulders. Patton’s hands settled on Roman’s waist with a secure grip. Patton took a breath, a determined and focused look crossing his face as he went through the steps. One, two, three, a twirl, one, two, three, and then-

And then Patton dipped him.

Roman wrapped his arms around Patton’s shoulders instinctively, a startled laugh bubbling up from his throat. He needn't have worried about being dropped, though, as Patton's strong arms curved tight and supportive around him, cradling him desperately near to the moral trait’s chest. 

Warmth flooded Roman, starting in his sternum and spreading out, out, outwards, so much so that he could barely hold it all. His skin was flushed hot, especially in the places where Morality touched it. Along with the physical heat, there was also the almost painful adoration burning in him- and that smug little smile on Patton's face, slowly slipping into something softer and sweeter, Lord. It was too much to handle, and Roman felt like he was losing himself in it. His mind felt fuzzy and his body light-weight, blissfully unaware of his surroundings. Oh, he was just glowing, basking in it. 

No, wait- he was glowing. Literally! 

Actually, no, he wasn’t glowing, Patton was! No, both of them were? Or was it just one? No- yes- but then, there was only one of them. Where was Patton- no, Roman?

He opened his eyes, a gasp escaping him. 

Who was he?

He was tall, certainly taller than Roman, but even taller than Patton, too. He could just reach up and touch the ceiling if he really wanted, pressing his full palm against it. His four full palms, actually, that were attached to his four full arms. One set in the usual place, the second set placed just below them. God- nuh-uh!- Goodness, he was something else. 

His hands were big and flat, with thick, stubby fingers. That matched his general physique indeed, as despite his height he was very wide. His stomach was round and prominent, his thighs even bigger, and even his arms were flabby. But all of the fat was very obviously sitting over impressive muscles- if he flexed, there surely wouldn’t be a part of him that wasn’t sturdy and stiff. Considering that Patton and Roman were the two bulkiest sides, that wasn’t exactly shocking.

His outfit was ornate- and yet it was remarkably soft, falling in waves of fabric down his body, but clinging in all the appropriate places. Sheer, pale-blue sleeves hung well past his hands, slits running up the inside of them all the way to the elbow. The transparent material revealed smatters of freckles all over his skin, right down to the backs of his hands. 

His sleeves connected to an eggshell-white blouse, which sported shining golden buttons about the chest and collar. There was a shining yellow belt, then, from beneath which spilled a flowing and slightly ruffled white skirt. This, too, was accented with golden buttons looping around the hem. The brown leather tips of his shoes were just visible from underneath it. And the final component to the ensemble was his scarf, plush, hugging around his neck and shoulders, the color a deep crimson, shot through with streaks and speckles of gray. 

He was engrossed in his new form, examining himself with a seemingly ever-growing self-love. It took him quite a while to notice the hush that had fallen over the room, brought on by his presence. 

He glanced up with a start, seeing four pairs of incredulous eyes trained on him. 

“Oh, um,” he offered a small wave, “Hi?”

There was a beat.

Janus was the first to reply, stone-faced and blunt:

“What the fuck.”

“Yeah, I second that?” Virgil had pulled his headphones down around his neck, sitting up normally for once, posed tense as if he were about to stand. 

He- what was his name? He really ought to have one, seeing as he existed now!- Well, regardless, The Currently-Unnamed Side cleared his throat. He stood up a little straighter, flashing a wide smile for his audience. If he was going to be anything, it would be someone who made an excellent first impression. 

“Goodness gracious- it is just a pleasure to meet all of you! I’d really love to get to know you all better, but first I would really like to get to know myself. What am I, exactly?”

Logan jumped to his feet at once, his eyes sparkling like little stars. He was across the room and inspecting Currently-Unnamed in just a few long strides, pulling at the side’s arms and examining his face. He even pushed up C.U.’s oversized glasses to get a closer look at his eyes.

C.U. politely allowed the poking and prodding, knowing that Logan would probably be able to explain the situation. (Ah! There was one thing to know about himself; he admired Logan greatly.) 

The rest of the sides had gathered, one-by-one, to form a semi-circle around the new entity. They kept a respectful distance- well, mostly. Remus deigned to walk right up and audibly sniff C.U., which he was not a fan of (part of him was annoyed, but another, louder part of himself felt strongly amicable towards the trait. He’d have to talk more to his sibling- half-sibling?- later, then.)

The stunned silence was growing to be a bit awkward, as was all of the scrutiny C.U. faced. On one hand: attention!!!! On the other hand: attention… 

“You,” Logan spoke at last, an air of importance in his tone, “Seem to be some sort of fusion created between Patton and Roman.”

There was a respectable amount of gasping.

“A fusion?!” C.U. exclaimed, as though it hadn’t been so very obvious what he was, “We can do that?!”

“Evidently,” Logan was barely hiding his own excitement at the situation, smiling widely. 

“Oh- Oh my gosh! That’s awesome! I’m awesome! And awe-inspiring! And- and- and-” he sucked in a deep, gasping breath, and the word appeared in his mind as clear as a neon sign, “PATRON!”

“... Patron?” Janus muttered, looking him over appraisingly. 

“Yes, it’s a name- my name! That’s my name,” Patron confirmed with a nod, grinning broadly at nothing in particular. 

“We need to find out more about this,” Logan summoned a small notebook and pencil, flipping it open with one hand. “Now, given that we’re imaginary figments, it’s entirely possible that this is a result of Thomas’ affection for the show Steven Universe. It could be that his obsession incidentally resulted in granting us these, ah, abilities, via him subconsciously projecting elements of the show onto us. Or, it could be viewed as an extension of our abilities to shapeshift! Perhaps there’s more-”

“TEACH ME HOW TO DO IT!” Remus howled at Patron, draping himself over the much taller being. Patron gave him an indulging smile- it was only slightly strained- and opened his mouth to say he didn’t exactly know how he’d managed to fuse. 

“Wait,” Virgil interrupted, “How do we know if this is safe? What if they get stuck that way and we can’t get them out?”

“Well, the best way to figure it out is to study it, which is what I was saying,” Logan gestured to his little notebook.

“I’m just not sure about this.”

“When are you sure about anything?” Janus snarked, earning a hiss from Virgil. He hissed back, and it was unclear if it was playful or actually aggressive. Both sides then devolved into making senseless feral sounds at each other, disrupting pretty much any chance of civil conversation. 

“Who cares if it’s safe?” Remus spoke, mostly to himself, “It looks like fun.”

“It would benefit us to learn how it works before we-”

“That takes time, though-”

There was a particularly shrill hiss from Janus, exacerbating both of the budding arguments. It was headache-inducing.

“Okay!” Patron said, his voice surprisingly commanding. Immediately the squabbling silenced, the others looking guiltily in his direction. He coughed, suddenly unsure how to use this newfound power.  “Okay…” What was he saying? Oh, right- “You guys can keep arguing about me, if you wanna, but I think I’m going to go get to know myself a little better, before worrying about- any of that, actually.”

He extricated himself from the group. 

“Ooohh, get to know yourself, you say?” Remus winked. 

Patron was torn between laughing or maybe kicking him, so he settled for a nice middle ground.

“Shut up,” he slowly sunk out, “Please,” he added politely, as he left the living room behind him entirely. 

The room he rose up in was foreign and familiar in conjunction. He knew, immediately, that this was his home- one that had existed for about three seconds, but a home nonetheless. 

It felt like a dream. 

Happiness washed over Patron as soon as he arrived, it felt like walking on clouds. His vision was pleasantly hazy as he looked over the comfy-cozy room, filled to every corner with wonderful plush furniture. Every surface was patterned with flowers and lace and gold; every bit of them was as soft as loose spools of cotton and fluff. 

Patron went wide-eyed as he took it all in, smelling sweet candy, fresh roses, and earth. Almost unconsciously, he fell onto a loveseat, curling himself up in the pillows and blankets arranged on it. The lights were warm and soft, casting the room in a bubblegum-pink glow. Somewhere, distantly, music played.

“Oh, this is so pretty,” he whispered to himself. It didn’t feel like just himself, though. 

He couldn’t remember the last time either of his components had felt this way. This particular brand of contentment. The polar opposite of lonely. He felt… loved.

Patron laughed softly to himself, and it was a melody.

“I guess that answers that,” he laced his hands together, both sets, “You must adore each other, for me to love being me as much as I do.”

He imagined that the ‘revelation’ would embarrass the stuffing out of his components. They might be shy of each other, even. But, whole as he was, there was really no need to feel any embarrassment when he knew perfectly both of their perspectives. Yet again, Patton and Roman find a short-cut that means they don’t have to actually talk about their feelings! 

He laughed again, mostly at his own expense. 

“There’s one mystery solved,” Patron hummed, laying his head down upon the arm of the loveseat. His glasses were knocked up on his face, ones that he was only half-used to having, so he took them off and carefully placed them on the coffee table. It was already littered with various other objects; bright pink and pastel blue fidget toys, small bottles of nail polish, adult coloring books, small ceramic animal figurines- all of which he found himself immediately affectionate about.

Every item in the room seemed to give him a little bit more information about himself. Little things he knew intrinsically that he adored, things that hinted at his dislikes, tiny contradictions everywhere. It was almost overwhelming.

Patron huffed out a breath, sinking his fingers into foamy pillows beneath him. Before he knew it, his near-sighted eyes had fallen closed. He thought that, perhaps, it would be nice to learn about himself on his own terms. To take things slow. 

There would likely be a lot to figure out when he unfused, but unfortunately/fortunately for Patron, both of his components were quite the procrastinators, content to bask in this for as long as they wanted.

(I feel I should say that it’s pronounced “PAH-tron” not like the actual word patron haha.)

Taglist: @shrimp-crockpot @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob 

[confessions-of-a-blogger]

Karma, or bollocks?

I wanted to write what's happened in my life for a while, well, my adult life. I find writing very therapeutic and something I have enjoyed doing since I was 13, so 16 years now.

I haven't found the need too, but now, I do.

It's going to paint myself in a bad light, or a good light, you can judge I am fine with that, I have lived with these choices for a long time, some more recently fair to say.

In the words of Nickelback 'Something's gotta go wrong cos I'm feeling way too damn good'

I always say out of every negative, and there can be alot, there is a least one positive. I hope by the end of this, I find that positive.

So the beginning, kind of. October 2012.

I was with a girl, but went to America for a month with my best friend at the time. He used to live there and I came into a bit of money, always wanted to go to the states, and had the most wonderful month.

About 2 weeks in I got a scent that something was happening between my partner and someone else, and I was right. I snooped on her Facebook inboxes, and found she had been talking to a girl, more than talking really, flirting, saying she wish she could be with her, the usual jazz. Which, I had done myself previously, and I deserved it to happen to me. I jumped from relationship to relationship for years, my therapist said it was because I didn't feel loved by my mum after years of abuse, I always went from woman to woman to find the love, and I agreed.

When I came back, I was expecting to break up with her, but I was about to look after my friends dog in his flat for an unknown period of time, and she had told her mum this, so her mum kicked her out.

With nowhere to live, I felt like it was now my responsibility, so we spoke and worked on things.

A few months down the line, she fell pregnant, and I was over the moon. I always wanted the family life, even after the red flag, but unfortunately she miscarried.

Then things changed slightly. Controlling behaviour, both our heads in the wrong places, still trying to hold a relationship together, and of course still sleeping together, and she fell pregnant, again.

This time I was at fault, I didn't wanna be with her, and I figured she was going through my phone, so I left her things to find so we could break up.

Then I felt horrible. I left my pregnant partner. Regardless of if I wanted to be with them, I should not of done that, at that time, so we got back together, and she miscarried, again.

2 back to back nearly killed us both off. So I made it clear I didn't want to try again and she went onto the pill.

Which she then stopped taking, and on her highest ovulation day she got me drunk, we fucked, and she fell pregnant a third time.

Not wanting to make the same mistake, I stayed. For a while. The thought that someone just went behind my back to get pregnant after I made it clear I couldn't cope with another miscarriage brewed. I had already struggled with mental health from the years of abuse by my mum, I didn't want to go through a third and come out alot worse.

We got to 12 weeks, and everything was okay with baby, but I knew I needed out. It was a massive betrayal of trust, and I could no longer trust her.

Her birthday came up, then Christmas and New year, so I didn't act on this, I didn't want to cause more stress and miscarry again.

In Jan 2014, after a month of just basically both of us talking to other people, I ended it, and a month later I was with someone else. Needless to say, it wasnt a good thing. I felt like I was being blackmailed by my ex to do all these things just so I could see my unborn. I always wanted children, and said I would do anything to see them as often as possible.

In May that child was born, and it was the most amazing feeling in the world. The blackmail continued and in August it all came out that I had been essentially having an affair, not that I wanted it, and that caused strain on my relationship at the time. I was wrong, very very wrong to do what I did, and should of stood my ground, but maybe the rest of this story will show you how hard that would of been.

Things were hard, I was being stopped from seeing my child as often as I liked, and it was a case of 'can you have her tomorrow' always at short notice, and always having to juggle work around that. When I couldn't change shifts at short notice, things got worse. Arguing on her side, emotional abuse, the works. Child as a weapon.

After a few months, I would say February 2015, contact turned very very minimal.

In March, my partner cheated on me twice, with the same person, but I loved her and accepted that as she accepted my actions the year before. And we moved passed it, even if it was on the anniversary of my mum's death.

A few more months down the line, the contact with my child stopped completely, and over the years no matter how hard I tried, for a while, I got nowhere.

My partner cheated on me a further 3 times, and in 2016 she left me for someone else. 7 weeks later we found out she was pregnant.

She told me she hadn't slept with the guy the first 2 weeks but she was 7 weeks pregnant. So we got back together. I was dating someone, someone I wanted to date for a while, but felt this was the right thing to do. If I had one chance to make it work I had to take it. I didn't miss an appointment, and I only just missed the birth. Then we did the DNA, and in the best Jeremey Kyle moment of all time, she told me she wanted a family with me regardless of the result, we would be a family and a day later, the DNA test showed that I was not the father.

I was okay for a few weeks, but I couldn't live with looking at a child that should be mine all the time whilst not being alllowed to see my own, once I said that, she left.

Then out of nowhere, my ex rings me, and I see my eldest for a while, a month or 2, before she got back with her fella and the contact stopped, again.

Then I lost my job, and had nothing. Time to rebuild, whilst being off sick for 3 years.

In that time I met someone, they were super nice and we had good times, but truthfully, I was still hung up on my ex for 2 years, and then I chose to settle. I hadn't had nice before, things were good. I thought I would finally grow to love her, and I did to some aspect, but I never fell in love.

Then one day, in February 2020, I walk into a shop and there she was. The person all these soppy love quotes are about, the person I dreamed of meeting since I was teenager, stood before my very eyes. At that point I knew I had to break up with my partner. If you look at someone else then you should not stay with the person you are with. I went in a further 3 times and every time all I could think was wow.

Then lockdown happened, and well, signs were there that my partner was pregnant. When lockdown ended in the summer, she came to mine, and low and behold, she was. 23 weeks pregnant.

We had one week to decide and we booked everything for an abortion, but, I was born at 24 weeks, so we both opted against it.

In September, I applied for a job at where the girl I always wanted to be with/find, and got it. At the same time, my partner gave birth.

I pushed my feelings to one side. They only grow when I think someone might be interested and that certainly wasn't the case. I now had a family to provide for, and that family life I always wanted with a nice, lovely, good looking girl, plus, the girl I liked and her bf both worked there, and I got on with both of them, so my feelings kind of disappeared to the back of my mind.

Then the job was made permanent, at a time when my relationship was failing, and over the course of a few months, things creeped in that made me unhappy, and I was so pissed off with myself that I just settled knowing it wasn't what I wanted. Stupid me, everything I wanted and got turned to dust, I thought being with someone nice meant that I would get the happy ending and a family life, but life doesn't work out like that.

But fate has its way sometimes. I had found my dream girl, I got the job, it was permanent, and out of all the people I worked with it was her I went to for advice, and it appeared we had similar thoughts, but also, we were both unhappy in our relationships to some extent, and I just got contact with my eldest again, for a while at least.

Then something amazing happened. She flirted. I couldn't believe it either, and then we became good friends, that helped each other out.

I spoke to my partner, told her I was unhappy, and we tried to work on it, but it got worse and my mind was made up. So I pretty much made it clear to the girl I worked with I liked her. I told her she was my type, and she seemed interested if i was gonna break up with my partner, and I was. Then I reacted to some pictures of her on her insta story, where she looked absolutely out of this world, and then suddenly we knew we had to break up with our partners.

She wanted to call a break but fate had its way again and they actually called things off, and so did I. Not to get with each other, but because we knew we were unhappy whilst being made happy by someone else. We had both checked out our relationship a while back, I guess we just forced each others hand.

Its not been a month, and I am crazy in love, but we aren't together, as much as I want that. We are taking things slow in terms of commitment and I am okay with that. I never thought I'd get this far. I only imagined we would go out on a works Christmas do or something and I might slide it in there how I feel, so the fact this all happened has been crazy.

Talking everyday, seeing each other often, and our first proper date coming up, and I am really living the dream.

But now, I haven't seen my eldest in months, and when I asked, she is 'too busy,' imagine if I said that.

Now I just get ignored often by both, and whilst I have had the month of my life, the bad is happening.

I'm now worrying its going to be 2 children I don't see, and that really would be karma for all the hurt I caused.

But at least I have you, my light in the dark times, you really really make me happy, and I have never felt like this before. Thank you for being there, and making me feel on top of the world.

Just to be shot back down by 2 people, ignoring, and making life difficult.

So is this karma, or is it bollocks.

[petri808]

Hauntober prompt Ghost (sort of lol)

Bakudeku requested by @nona-inc Angst w/happy ending, AU modern times. Longer than I’d planned to write but stories go where they wanna lol.

Got the idea here

A Second Chance

In his adulthood, Izuku Midoriya did quite well for himself career-wise. He had a nice home and lived comfortably even though it was alone. Relationships had never really crossed his mind, which he chalked up to the turmoil of his childhood. It wasn’t a terribly horrible one but coming from divorced parents is never easy on young child minds. Why get close to anyone if they’ll probably leave eventually? That was a lesson bolstered by the end of primary school when his best friend ditched him for the popular kids.

It was Halloween night, and Izuku’s simply followed his normal routine after work consisting of dinner while watching a bit of television. Trick or treaters were a rarity in his neighborhood, so there was no sense in celebrating the holiday. As he waits for the news, he lets the current show drone on in the background while he scrolled mindlessly through his social media. He didn’t pay a lot of attention to what acquaintances posted and mostly looked for interesting or funny posts instead.

“Deku...”

Izuku’s brow furrows slightly at that ancient nickname. He looks at the television characters on the screen, had one of them said it? But instead of the tv show, he finds a fuzzy, staticky screen. He grabs his remote assuming something had gone wrong with the channel or service when...

“Deku, I’m sorry...”

“What the?” Izuku starts clicking the buttons and getting no response. The screen stays stuck, yet that voice... it was a familiar voice from long ago...

“...I’ve watched you from afar for all these years, because I could never admit how much I loved you and now it’s too late. I’m so sorry Deku. You’ll always be my only true love.”

Silence. Dead silence for a flash of a second when the television loudly blares back to life and startles Izuku out of his seat into a standing position. “What the fuck is going on?!”

The show had ended, and the news is now on in its regular-timed slot.

‘Breaking news, a major four car accident on the I10 highway has left 3 people dead and one in a critical condition. The victim identified as 37-year old K. Bakugou had been transported to the hospital for treatment. Police have closed off the highway in both directions, so anyone traveling in that area should use alternative routes...’

As he watches the footage of the accident story, Izuku’s hand unconscious covers his mouth and tears gather in his eyes. “Oh my gosh....” That was the voice he’d just heard! Of course, Katsuki was the only one who ever called him Deku.

He quickly calls one of the nurses at his hospital and they confirm that the man had in fact been transported there 15 minutes ago.

“Oh! Dr. Midoriya! We were just about to call you! Yes, patient Bakugou was brought in unconscious, lacerations to his arms and chest, broken leg, possible punctured lung, internal bleeding, concussion, and brain swelling which is why I was just about to call you in.”

“I’ll be right there.”

The entire way there, Izuku struggles to rationalize the message. If Katsuki was unconscious, how could that have been his voice? Then again that’s if you believed his television had somehow sent the message in the first place! Oh, this was entirely crazy! Izuku didn’t even know why his logical mind was allowing him to believe it had happened if not for the coincidence of the news coverage.

But as a neurosurgeon, he had to put all those questions aside and focus on the task at hand. The description the nurse had given him already indicated major problems, but it wasn’t until his own physical examination that determined the true extent of the damage. Primary surgical nurse Uraraka already had set up the operating room by the time Izuku arrived.

“The patient was revived once by EMTs in the ambulance and a second time in the ER after his heart stopped. Right now, the patient is intubated and prepped for emergency surgery.”

“Thank you, nurse Uraraka.”

Along with a fellow doctor, Izuku switched into a hyper focused mode. He works to repair the damage to the patient’s brain while the other doctor simultaneously focuses on internal chest injuries. Time was of the essence to stem the blood loss and mitigate further damage if they had any hope of saving the man, because even if he made it through the surgery, only a miracle would bring him back at this point.

It was now a waiting game. They keep Katsuki in a medically induced coma for the first three weeks as his body worked hard to repair itself. Once he was brought out of the induced coma, he still didn’t wake up, was breathing with the assistance of a machine, but at least the man’s heart was functioning normally. Surprisingly, Katsuki’s parents remembered Izuku and were grateful their son was in familiar hands. They’d initially flew in after the accident, but the cost to stay for such a long length of time would be too steep. So, after they returned home, he kept them up to date.

Each day that passed by, Izuku would check in on Katsuki’s progress like a normal doctor would, but at night he’d go home and ponder the ghostly message that had come through the television. He’d told no one about it because who would believe something so crazy? It just didn’t sound like the man, or rather child he remembered. Never once was there any indication Katsuki had romantic feelings for him, especially considering it was him not Izuku that ended their friendship. They saw each other in passing though middle, then high school and still nothing. So why is he now being told this?

Some say that when you die, any regrets you have must be released or your soul cannot ascend to the next plane. Izuku wasn’t religious or spiritual and before that Halloween trick he would have said he didn’t believe in anything beyond what he couldn’t see, touch, feel, and analyze. Ugh! Maybe that’s why this was all driving him so crazy. He wanted answers but the one person who could give it to him was stuck in a coma.

“Everything okay doctor?” One of the LPN’s asks Izuku. “I just need to check on the patients vitals.”

“Do what you need to nurse, I’m just visiting before I go home for the night.”

“Yes, doctor.” The woman makes her chart notations and leaves them alone again.

Because of Izuku’s standing at the hospital, he’d gotten Katsuki a private room. The man was taken off the breathing machine a week earlier and this way he could monitor the man without being pestered. There were times he would spend a few hours just watching the man sleep, trying to study what had become of his childhood friend. Through research, Izuku learned Katsuki had moved here around the same time that he’d started his internship at the hospital. Before that the man lived in the same town as the medical school he attended. It appeared Katsuki really was keeping track of Izuku, never married, and just worked in the marketing field.

Izuku squeezes the man’s hand with his eyes closed in a silent conversation. The only sounds being the beeps and noises of the machines to break the stillness. Lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t know what to think, what to feel, just that this man was dredging up long buried emotions that part of him was afraid to open up. Hadn’t he built up a good life, albeit a lonely one, it was still by his own wit and merits whereas Katsuki always had it so easy. The man was a smart, handsome jock, popular, and had been on track to do great things. While he was the geeky kid with freckles and wild green hair who the popular kids teased.

They were so close as little kids, all through preschool and the first years of primary. Katsuki was the extroverted one pulling him along on make believe adventures to emulate a shared love of a comic book character. In fact, it was with Katsuki’s help that he’d weathered his parent’s divorce. He idolized the stronger boy and wished he was Katsuki, not a weak like little nerd... perhaps having his child’s heart broken, really was the reason he swore off ever caring about anyone else again.

Did he just?! Izuku’s eyes pop open when his hand squeeze is returned by a weak one. Katsuki’s eyes are still closed and nothing else seemed unchanged. Perhaps it was just a nervous tremor, they happen sometimes. But no there it is again! Izuku stares down as the weak squeeze slowly turns into a grasp of his hand.

“Katsuki?”

A third squeeze. That meant the man was alert enough to hear and understand! Friend or not, it was the kind of thing to get a neurologist excited! Izuku quickly moved into doctor mode again and starts checking all the stats as well as alerting the nurse on shift.

“Welcome back Mister Bakugou.”

The man squeezes his hand.

“I’m your doctor, Midoriya. You might remember me...”

The man squeezes again and tries to talk, but after being intubated for a long time the throat tends to be dry, sore, and the muscles weakened. All that comes through is so faint it’s barely audible.

“Mister Bakugou, you’ve been unconscious for almost two months now, please try not to talk just yet, everything will be fine.”

But that only makes the man angrier. Furious red eyes flashing, Katsuki grips harder to Izuku’s hand using what little strength he has to try and pull him closer. So, Izuku leans in. “Calm down, it’s gonna...”

“Ma—y...” angry growling noises. “Mar...”

Obviously, the man wasn’t going to stop until he gave in, so Izuku leans in even more until his ear is practically next to Katsuki’s mouth. “I’m sorry?”

“Marry me damnit!!”

Izuku shoots straight up. “What?!” Is the guy serious?! The first words out of his mouth is that?! Wow... Katsuki really hasn’t changed, feisty as ever even after almost dying.

“Pa-pa—per pen!”

“H-hold on, just try to calm down please! I don’t want you to strain your heart!”

Midoriya grabs the chart, flips the paper over to the blank backside, and puts a pen in Katsuki’s hand. He holds it steady as the man scribbled shakily. ‘No waste 2nd chance marry me Deku.’

“Mister Bakugou, this is...”

The man pounds his fist on the bed then scribbles more. ‘Stop call me that! nickname!’

Izuku sighs and squeezes his eyes closed for a second. He hadn’t used that name since primary just like he’d hadn’t heard Deku all these years. “Kacchan. Happy now? I-I can’t just say okay. You—y-you ditched me remember and now you suddenly pop up and expect me to marry you?! Kacchan you almost died, I get it, that’s a scary thing to deal with, but you just need time to process...”

Katsuki writes, ‘Nothin 2 think bout. No more regrets,’ Then he mouths out the rest in a whisper, “I love you Deku.”

Izuku sighs, “I’m not saying yes or no Kacchan. Just get well first okay, then we’ll talk about everything.”

“Fine.” The man closes his eyes again seemingly satisfied with the answer.

He squeezes Katsuki’s hand. “I’ll see you in the morning Kacchan.”

When Izuku leaves that evening, he couldn’t help but walk out with a flutter in his chest and a pang in his heart. There really was a lot he still needed to get off his chest, but... he felt the honesty from Katsuki. If his dying regrets had been strong enough to reach him via spiritual mail, and the first thing he wanted to talk about was love, then... ‘take the second chance Izuku.’ Not everyone gets one.

[twinkleomorashi]

Day 2 Desk Wetting

Day 2 Desk Wetting ( Junior Year Preston) 

AN: Yeah big shock, Preston again. It is technically day 2 after all so I managed to get this done just 4 minutes too late lol.

All characters in sexual scenarios are 18 or older. Read my “refz” tag. Preston is 18 in her junior year, the only reason this doesn’t take place when she’s 19 and a senior is because in the greater universe of my fics it wouldn’t make any sense. I care too much about the pissfic universe canon, soz about it. Contains female omorashi. Not your cup of pee? Don’t read!

Not My Fault

Teachers need to chill the fuck out. Listen, I get it that seniors are all little shits who just wanna get out of school already and I wouldn’t wanna deal with us either, but if you’re getting paid to do it there’s no need to be such a massive bitch all the time. Apparently it’s not their fault though. No, apparently it’s my fault. My fault that my idiot friend Josh dared me to chug four bottles of gatorade back to back without hurling. I mean, yeah I didn’t have to do it, but then I wouldn’t have gotten $20. Fine, I can see how that’s kinda my fault. But my third period teacher didn’t have to assign a test today and she didn’t have to make a rule saying that nobody was allowed to leave the room during it. And my fourth period teacher really didn’t have to have such a harsh tardy policy which forces me to sprint to her class everyday or risk detention. 

What I’m saying is, it’s really not my fault that I have to piss this badly right now.

I scribble down the homework assignments I probably won’t do in my planner I never used. The writing is more messy than usual, I have to go so bad my hands are shaking. I finish writing and slam the planner shut before trying to casually walk up to her desk.

“Ms. Perez? May I please use the restroom?” I ask in my nicest voice. 

“No, you’ve already used your bathroom pass for the semester, remember? September 2nd?” she asks.

It was December 14th, of course I don’t remember that. Oh wait.. That’s the day I ditched class in favor of Taco Bell. Fuck, I’ve screwed myself over. I’ve screwed myself over so bad. No way would I be able to last another hour and twenty minutes like this, I can literally feel my bladder pressing up against the waistband of my jeans and I’m already bouncing my legs and squirming in my seat like an idiot.

She shrugs me off and starts to lecture. And lecture. And lecture. She’s lecturing for years. Centuries. I know it’s history class and all, but does it really have to be taught in real time? The scenario is so cliche I’m shocked I haven’t been in it sooner. I have to pee fucking so bad, holy fuck. I jam my hands between my legs and cross them out of sheer desperation to not risk accidentally letting any out, it helps.  I feel a pencil tap my left shoulder. 

“What?” I irritatedly whisper at the tapper, my friend Andrew. 

“Does wittle Pweston have to go to the potty?” he chides. 

“ Leave me alone, dicksack.”

Fuck, if a dumbass like him noticed I’m definitely being too obvious about it. I’m conflicted, do I sacrifice my pride or my (relative) comfort? I slide my hand out from between my legs and hold my legs still. Nope, nope nope nope. It feels like I’m seconds away from pissing myself when I act natural. I check the time. How the hell do we still have an hour left?!

“Ms Perez?”, I beckon, “May I please use the restroom?” 

Some kids snicker, probably noticing that I’m drenched in sweat and trembling like a cold chihuahua.

“Is it an emergency?” she asks.

I swallow my pride for the sake of my pants. 

“Yes.” 

“You should’ve thought of that on September 2nd.” 

The class laughs again. It takes all of my strength not to lose my shit over that. That was over three months ago, how the fucking hell was I supposed to know that I would be on the verge of pissing myself in the middle of her class in a few months? And this bitch has the nerve to keep on lecturing. I have to piss too badly to pay attention, much less write notes. Andrew taps me again.

“What now? More words of wisdom?” 

“She usually gives in at this point. Guess she just hates you.” he shrugs.

“Andrew, if I piss myself I am placing 23% of the blame on you.”

His eyes widen.

“You have to go that bad, huh?” he chuckles as I rock back and forth in my seat with my hands still between my legs. 

I don’t see how he couldn’t have realized that yet. I feel tears prick into my eyes. I can’t tell if it’s because this hurts so much or if it’s because I can tell that I’m reaching the end of my rope at a quick and dreadful pace. Panicking is only making it worse. I need a plan. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I need a plan. Why can't I think of a plan? 

Then something horrifying happens. I leak. A ton. It surprises me so much that I whimper in surprise and take a sharp breath. A few kids turn their heads so I try my best to act natural to some extent. 

Once they lose interest I quickly inspect that crotch of my jeans. Fuck, it's noticeable. It's really noticeable, there’s a patch about the size of my palm and a couple drops of piss already on the desk chair. I start hardcore freaking out. I can't hold it much longer. Hell, I don't even know if this counts as “holding it”. The stain on my jeans is only gonna get bigger if I don't do anything about it. I shakily raise my hand for the second time in five minutes. 

“I said no, Preston.” she says, barely turning away from the board. 

I whimper again in frustration, more heads turn. Some kids whisper. Holy fuck, this is so embarrassing. I’m usually not so shy with this kind of stuff, but I literally know only one person in here and it’s fucking Andrew. If I was with my friends I could at least laugh it off.

“Miss, please.”, I beg, “I know you don't want me to miss anymore class, but I- I can't even focus right now!” I whine, my voice shaking. I'm willing to do just about anything to not piss myself right now. I can brush off any comments about this, but if I don’t make it I’m never gonna live it down. 

Ms. Perez slams the dry erase marker into the built in tray on the whiteboard and puts her hands on her hips. 

“Fine, but we're gonna use this as a learning opportunity. See, kids? This is why we don't skip class-”

Fuck fuck fuck! She's lecturing again. I leak once more, a small puddle starts to form on the chair. I panic and try to sit back further in it to try and cover it up. The feeling of wetness only causes another spurt to escape, somehow traveling up the seat of my jeans. I'm not gonna make it, there’s no way. This isn't happening. This can not fucking be happening. 

“Because leaving class at all detracts from your learning and then you use up passes that you're going to need later. And on that note, you really should be going before class.”

The leaks become longer and much more frequent. Even if she stops lecturing right this second everyone is gonna see that my jeans are soaked when I stand up and there’s no way I’m making it all the way to the bathroom, but if worst comes to worst at least I can hide somewhere and avoid making a scene over the inevitable. Another wave of desperation hits me and I can tell my time is running out fast. Hell, can I even move from this position? I slowly uncross my legs to test the waters. 

I let out a shaky gasp in surprise as the floodgates stop leaking and burst open entirely. My hand instinctively flies to my mouth as I freeze in shock and try really really hard not to make my heavy breathing obvious. Everybody in the room except for the teacher who's too wrapped up in her fucking lecturing can tell what's going on. A puddle forms on the desk chair and dribbles down to the scratchy classroom carpet. Loudly. To the point where I wonder how the hell she can't hear it. I cross my legs to try and quiet it in sheer mortification but now I can hear people whispering. This can't be happening, this can't be happening. 

“So you can't really come crawling back to me if you miss information, because you chose to leave class.”

There's no point in trying to hold back at this point, there's no going back or covering it up now. I put my head on my desk in defeat. Pissing after holding it for a long time is probably one of the greatest feelings in the world. Even if it is in your jeans during the middle of history class. Okay that was the grossest thing I've ever thought. Ignore that please. But I’m not wrong. But-

“So in short, be smart about your bathroom passes. Now hurry, Preston.” Ms. Perez nods. My face is burning with embarrassment as I nervously bite my tongue knowing I had no choice but to fess up before someone did it before me. 

“T-Too late.” I stutter through the tears pricking in my eyes. I feel like I'm gonna pass out. My face is so hot with embarrassment it feels on fire. 

Her face goes pale, almost sickly so. She stands still, unsure of what to say. All eyes are either on me or her.  I slowly stand up, covering my ass with my backpack and my crotch with my spiral which was nowhere near the right size for the task at hand. 

“So, uh, I’m gonna go now.” I blush, regretting my choice of words but leaving before any obvious jokes can be made. 

And I don't come back. I embarrassedly stormed outside the school, rummaging for my car keys and pressing the car unlock button for way longer than necessary before practically diving into the driver's seat. I start the car and let my head rest against the steering wheel as it turns on, still in park. I glance down at my jeans and can’t help but to find a little humor in it. If people give me shit for it there’s nothing I can do. This so obviously is not my fault.

[itsuki-minamy]

“K - THE FIRST STORY”

CHAPTER 3: THE SWORD, THE CAT, AND THE SEVEN KINGS (Part 3 / End)

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

* Prologue: Side: The Boy * Chapter 1: The boy named Isana Yashiro * Chapter 2: Flames * Chapter 3: The Sword, the Cat, and the Seven Kings (01 / 02)

Humans, if they're too hungry, their heads won't work.

The boy is accused of murder, he is about to be cut by a guy with a sword, a naked girl shows illusions, and loses the power to think deeply about them. He just remembered the relief that Neko, who was running naked, put on his jacket properly because it was so cold in the middle of the night.

Now the three of them aren't even sure what purpose they were pursuing, and are kneeling in the boy's room, which is the beginning, to get rid of his harsh breath. The fatigue and hunger from not having eaten since last night seems overwhelming.

In the hallway of the student dormitory, the peaceful buzz of boys and girls trying to go to school in uniform resounded, like "Good morning." and "Did you do your homework?"

Kuro was also tired of being thrown during the night. Still, he has not lost sight of his purpose, and when he stands weakly to his feet, he reaches for the sword at his waist.

"Bad "King"... Isana Yashiro... By order of the dead "King"... You..."

However, since he has escaped many times, he is very weak. Also, there is swirling graffiti on the raised Kuro's left cheek, with "stupid" on the right cheek and "meat" on the forehead. It was written by Neko while being carried away by illusion. However, while chasing him, she got used to it, so she didn't laugh anymore.

Looking at Kuro, who was trying his best to draw his sword, the boy was confused on what to do, with a feeling that was different from the already imminent sense of crisis and was mixed with a slight sense of humor.

At that moment, a sad sound and signal was heard. It's Neko's belly.

"Shiro, I'm hungry… Ah~"

At what was said, the boy's belly screamed and responded.

"At the moment... aside from the accumulated stories, why don't we eat?"

At the boy's suggestion, Kuro frowned, "What...?", But his belly obediently complained of hunger.

The boy was flirting and standing up to him.

"Thanks for your support."

It's okay to put the problem aside for the moment and eat, but the boy had no other household skills than cooking rice.

It seems that Neko loves to eat too, but she can't seem to cook like a natural thing, and when they stood in the kitchen and talked about how they could make something that they could eat, it seemed like they couldn't make it. He stood up.

When he sees a briefcase that appeared to be stuffed with guns on the table, does he want to kill before meals? Although it was loud, when he opened it, there were some kitchen gadgets like his own kitchen knife and condiments that he thought were professional.

What kind of person is this guy, a chef who thinks he is a samurai? The boy is confused and watches Kuro's tendency.

Kuro first looked inside the refrigerator and looked at him.

The contents of the refrigerator in the room of the boy who does not cook is deficient. There are some ingredients that can barely be made with miso soup, but there is nothing that can be a side.

"Shall we go shopping? Because there is something like a supermarket on campus."

"I want to eat fish!"

Kuro looked at the boy and Neko with a hard look, and fell silent with a thoughtful look for a moment. Finally, he turns to Neko instead of the boy.

"Do you want to eat fish?"

"Yes!"

"Then buy three horse mackerel. The skin is crispy and the inside is smooth and juicy."

"Nyaa!"

Neko happily makes her eyes shine.

"If you put some soy sauce on the freshly baked horse mackerel, it tastes great. Because it's simple, it tastes universal and happy."

Horse mackerel, Neko sniffed at the drool.

"Then let's buy eggs. Do you like rolled eggs?"

"Dashimaki?"

"It is a dish that is made by mixing many sardines with broth and eggs, and rolling it while baking. It is a soft and smooth food with a spongy dashi aroma. When you put it in your mouth with grated radish, the flavor is accentuated and returns to be delicious."

Neko's drool could no longer be held and hung from the edge of her mouth. Kuro looked into Neko's eyes and said.

"You want to eat?"

"I want to eat!"

"Well. Then go buy it. Write down any other necessary items in a note. Well, your most important role is definitely bringing Isana Yashiro back to this room. If you run away, you won't be able to eat the delicious food I just mentioned. Do you understand?"

"Okay! Wagahai will eat delicious fish and dashimaki with Shiro!"

It seems like he intends to catch Neko with her appetite and make sure the boy doesn't run away.

In the chase during the night, Kuro seemed to have grasped Neko's characteristics to some extent. The endurance game that lasted over a dozen hours, gave birth to a kind of strange bond between the three of them. There is no trust in her, but he can somehow understand the points that he can trust.

He won't run away anymore... He's so hungry that he doesn't know where to run since he found his home, so he only wants to talk quietly once.

The boy laughed bitterly and watched the exchange between Kuro and Neko.

Steam comes out of the rice cooker and there is a slightly sweet aroma that can cook boy's favorite rice.

But that is not all today. The fragrant smell of burning fish mixed there, playing an indescribable harmony.

Wearing a pink apron, Kuro rhythmically cuts the onions. The boy gazed admiringly at the onions, which quickly and accurately became increasingly thin.

Tofu miso soup is made on the stovetop next to the fish, which has a small, crackling, explosive skin and is exquisitely browned.

After chopping the onions, Kuro takes it upon himself to bake rolled eggs with one fluent hand.

After chopping the onions, Kuro takes it upon himself to bake rolled eggs with one fluent hand.

The egg, which was stirred well in a bowl and mixed with the broth, soy sauce, mirin, etc., was rubbed with a strainer, and the liquid egg was poured into a heated, oiled pan. The egg makes noise and hardens in good condition. Kuro started to roll it into a half mature state with beautiful movements.

"Oh~"

The boy and Neko involuntarily give a voice of admiration. The belly of the two screamed again.

When the eggs in the skillet are tightly rolled, the remaining egg liquid is also poured out and rolled further. In the blink of an eye, a beautiful rolled egg was completed and Kuro put out the fire.

At the same time, the sound of cooking rice resounds, and the fish appears to be baked and the grill rises.

It was a wonderful skill to finish everything at the same time.

The boy and Neko make their eyes shine on the table. It's simple, but that's why it stimulates an empty stomach.

He didn't have all the china in the boy's living room, so he bought it when he was shopping for ingredients.

While shopping, he offered to buy a bowl for Neko and was delighted with her large eyes glowing brightly. Along with Neko, who carefully selects her favorite tea bowl, the boy also chose tableware for Kuro. He doesn't eat as often in the boy's room, but he can't bear to let him eat white rice from a flat plate or drink miso soup from a cup.

Kuro opens the rice cooker. The white steam that smelled of freshly cooked rice rose, and Neko happily offered her a new bowl of tea of ​​her choice. He's staring into her glowing eyes as another rice is spilled.

A boy dressed in a killer robe, a guy trying to cut it, and a mysterious girl who suddenly appeared and was believed to be a normal kitten until yesterday, like a united family, clasped their hands around the warm rice.

"Itadakimasu!"

When he sipped the miso soup, the moderate salty taste and aroma of the soup spread through his mouth. The ingredients are simple, tofu and fried, but the boy thought it was the first time he had had such a delicious miso soup.

"It's delicious! It's really delicious!"

The boy lifts the cheeks with red tide. Kuro didn't look careless, but he snorted with a casual expression.

Neko also hurries, squeezes the muff and rice, and enjoys the fish. However, she didn't seem to be very good at using chopsticks and she spilled grains of rice in a conspicuous way.

When he saw how Neko was eating, he looked up and pulled the voice recorder from his chest.

"Rice is important, chew it well."

A man's deep voice rang out from the voice recorder. It was a good voice that was smart but also had a mysterious feel to it, but the boy twisted his head at a strange word like haiku, slogan, etc.

"That's…"

Kuro's eyes said, "Do you want to listen?" He turned to the boy as his eyes twinkled. Seeing his glowing eyes, he said that he was talking about a mysterious tape recorder, the boy was sensitive to the long annoying air it created, and the sign that a story was likely to unfold that the boy didn't care, and he quickly turned his important attention to the rice.

As he cut the fluffy rolled egg into bite-size pieces with his chopsticks, cut out the story of the person that is important to the guy.

"By the way, I want to ask you now."

When the boy changed, Kuro also turned to the boy, erasing the childish expression he wanted to show off when he played the tape recorder.

"In the first place, who are those men who chased me?"

They were people who manipulated supernatural powers, such as attacking with a metal bat that spewed flames and shooting fireballs with cigarettes. Both Kuro and Neko have a mysterious power, so the boy feels lost if he is the only common person.

"A member of their clan was killed. They are seeking revenge."

"Clan member? Are they a runaway tribe or a mafia or something?"

"Clan is a group that follows the 'King', and Clansman is a member of it. The 'Red King' Suoh Mikoto is the 'King' of the third clan, and the most temperamental man among the 'Kings'."

Clan, clan member, "King", "Red King".

The boy freezes slightly, writing down the words that appear in his head.

"In short, the head of the supernatural powers? Is there some other group like that? Do you mistake me for the criminal who killed that member?"

"I am not mistaken; you are the criminal himself. When I finish eating this, I will crush you properly."

The boy was told with a very serious look and a tone that declared that he would take care of the domestic matters he had to do.

"Yes..." He withdrew.

Although he is eating rice with him, he seems willing to carry out the execution after the meal. There are simple parts that are easy to use in Kuro and stubborn parts that are unlikely to bend smoothly, and it seems easy to understand and difficult to read.

"Fill it up!"

Neko, who was happily eating, happily handed the empty tea bowl to Kuro. Kuro receives his bowl and tries to serve rice naturally as if he is doing it every day.

"Oh, yeah, me too!"

They have an especially delicious side dish today, and the boy's favorite white rice is on the rise. Kuro silently stared for a few seconds at the boy who took advantage of Neko and pushed the tea bowl away.

"Well, this is probably the last white rice of my life."

With a light sigh, Kuro also received the boy's tea bowl.

He doesn't want this to be the last meal, but the white rice he eats with the garnish that Kuro made is really delicious, so the boy chews the stuffed rice he got and puts a juicy fish on it.

"I know why they are after me, but why are you trying to kill me in the first place? You are not a partner of those people, right?"

It seemed like a lonely little shadow had fallen over his eyes.

"Because I am a vassal of the Seventh King, the former 'Colorless King'."

"Colorless?"

"It means it has no color. My deceased master ordered me to carefully identify the next 'King' and if he is bad, I will not hesitate to eliminate him. He had the power to predict the future."

He must have longed for the dead master. When talking about that person called Miwa Ichigen, Kuro has a scathing tone.

"The power of prophecy... "Colorless King"... What is that "King" you mentioned earlier?"

"He has great power and embodies the reason of this world. The power of the 'King' is moving this country. It is something that ordinary human beings do not know."

It's a tremendous story and the boy makes his eyes go round

"I was wondering if the Prime Minister was the greatest in this country..."

The current prime minister, Samukawa Kanichi, is not very popular but he is not very obnoxious and he is a person who still maintains a medium approval rating. There is no atmosphere like that of a king, but in this country where there should be no royal system, Prime Minister Kanichi should have the decision-making power to move the country first.

"Now, the politics and economy of this country cannot be established without the power of one man. Japan, which became a defeated country and was eaten by the surrounding countries, could now become the greatest economic and technological power of the world because of the appearance of that man in this country."

"Who is that man?"

"He is called the 'Golden King'. His power is secretly everywhere, for example..."

Kuro poured the soy sauce into the chabudai and took the PDA out of his pocket.

"Both were created by a company controlled by the 'Golden King'."

Soy sauce, PDA, gender and manufacturer are different, but both are famous brands that are spread all over the world.

“The head of those people with fire powers, you said he is the 'Red King', right? Is there red and gold?"

"There are seven kings."

"Seven people?"

Kuro took out various condiments from the briefcase containing a set of kitchen utensils and placed them on the table.

The seven seasonings with different colors on the tops can indicate seven "kings" respectively. Kuro puts his index finger on the seasoning on the red cap that contains paprika powder.

"The character of the clan is completely different depending on the 'king' who rules. For example, if you describe the Red Clan in one word, it is violence."

The boy instinctively frowned, "Uh…". He is being attacked by people who are like symbols of violence. The boy on the skateboard who attacked the boy with a metal bat without asking questions was certainly violent language.

"That is a very close-knit clan, which is united with an elegance darker than blood. Killing that member was a very stupid thing on the part of the new 'King'."

"That's why! It's definitely about someone else! I'm not a 'King' and I didn't kill anyone in the first place!"

The boy is quick to insist on the premise of something he does not remember. Kuro sipped tea silently with a nasty face.

Neko, who should be on the boy's side, seems not to be interested in the story of the two, and when she finished eating the rice, she got on the bed and started playing with the boy's umbrella.

"The 'King' is the one that moves the economy and is the boss of the mafia, right? A high school student living a mediocre life like me is not a 'King'!"

“I have said that the nature of the 'King' varies. There are several ways to do it. The fourth royal authority, the "Blue King", is the head of an institutional police organization for those who have powers, while the first royal authority has immutable power, but is shrouded in mystery. He is patrolling the sky over Tokyo in an airship without fulfilling the role of 'King'."

"Airship... Oh, I certainly could see it. That's a 'King' too, isn't it..."

There is something strangely intriguing, and the boy hugs himself around his belly on the shirt.

“Furthermore, although the existence of the fifth 'King', the 'Green King' has been confirmed, but he has not appeared on the table and appears to be planning something under the surface. It's no wonder if you're a newborn 'King', a high school student, or if you're hiding your status and power as a 'King' and killing for an evil purpose."

"Oh... what does that mean..."

“There is a mysterious relic called "Dresden Slate" that selects the "King" and grants him great power. It is said to be a huge block of stone with a mysterious power that was discovered and studied in Dresden, Germany, during World War II. After the war, the Slate was brought to Japan and is now kept in the Mihashira Tower, which is the residence of the "Golden King". I've never really seen it. The criteria for the Slate to choose the 'King' are unknown, but history shows that not only are good people chosen, and that position and age have nothing to do with it."

"Hmm...", the boy gave a warm reply.

"But I don't have any supernatural powers..."

"Is that what you are hiding? The Seventh King, the "Colorless King", is a special "King" who has different characteristics for each generation. What kind of power and what role does he play appears on the Slate. It is said to be a prankster who knows no limits, the king of clowns. So I don't know what kind of power you have, even if you're hiding it."

"No, I'm not hiding it..."

"Just what is common to successive 'Colorless Kings'."

Without hearing the boy's objections, Kuro continues.

"The 'Colorless King', good or bad, has the power to interfere with the 'King' and change the balance of power between the 'Kings'. The predecessor, Ichigen Miwa, was a kind person. He was doing his best as mediator so that there would not be a conflict between the 'Kings'. The new 'Colorless King', as 'King' has shed human blood, and I cannot forgive him for causing and causing chaos!"

In front of Kuro, who speaks enthusiastically, the boy again heaves a heavy sigh.

Perhaps Neko was tired of playing alone, she returned to the kotatsu and picked up a piece of fish that was slightly stuck to the plate with her finger and put it in her mouth.

Each plate was carefully emptied. When Kuro put his hands on the plate he had finished eating, the boy did the same.

"Thanks for the food."

When Kuro and the boy talked to each other, Neko compared them to each other, clasped his hands as if to look at them and said, "Sorry."

Kuro drinks the hot tea and stands up naturally.

"It's time to kill you."

So, Kuro said that with the same ease as if he said that he would go to a convenience store.

Neko jumps up and poses intimidatingly while yelling "Shah!" The boy was impatient and held out his hand.

"Wait, wait! Then it's funny! Let's calm down! The reason you want to kill me is because I'm the evil 'Colorless King', right? What's the evidence?"

"That video."

"It's so easy to fake! Don't you think that's funny? Why would I call myself the 'Colorless King'?"

"Evil, you reveal yourself."

"If it were so… I made a mess with those dangerous people, I'd already be running away to a safer place! Right?"

Kuro looked away with a thoughtful gaze, but it seems his determination to kill him hasn't changed yet. The boy says desperately.

"I said it many times, I'm just a mediocre high school student!"

"So who is she? Is she not your clan member?"

Kuro pointed at Neko. Neko, who was still intimidating, turned to her own topic and showed her big eyes as if she had struck the void.

"Eh? No... She is..."

The boy looks at Neko from head to toe. The beautiful long-haired girl, who wears only the boy's uniform coat and exposes her bare feet in the harsh place, does the movements that animals actually perform, as she claims to be a cat.

Apparently, it is the identity of the kitten who was friends with the boy, but that is not what he wants to hear and the boy had no words to explain what she was.

The boy asks Neko directly.

"Who are you? Or what are you?"

"Wagahai is a cat!"

Neko said it like she did at the beginning, and she was very excited.

Kuro puts his hand on his jaw as he ponders.

“A Strain… Is she here by chance? Cannot be."

"Strain?"

"A person who has her own special power without being granted by a 'King'. Some people have it."

The boy asked Neko, "Is that so?", But Neko tilted her head with a smile.

"I don't understand anything, but I'm Shiro's cat, and Shiro is mine!"

Neko declares that in a good mood and starts dancing around happily.

Kuro also thought that it was difficult to think that this innocent girl understood the story of the evil "King" or was his vassal.

The boy turned to Kuro and faced him with the greatest sincerity he had.

"Hey, Kuro Yatogami. This is probably some kind of unfair accusation. I'm going to clear up that suspicion in front of you! And I'll ask those scary people to clear up the misunderstanding. No!"

Holding his fist in front of his chest, the boy insisted.

"Your deceased master said to identify the other person and kill him if he was evil, right? Then identify me correctly, if I am good or bad!"

Kuro straightened his line of sight towards the boy and paused to think a bit. Finally, he took out of his pocket that voice recorder that played during meals and handed it to the boy.

"Press a button."

"Hey?"

"Do it."

The atmosphere cannot be maintained any longer, the boy gets confused and presses a button, "Well then..."

"Do not judge the cold, without first knowing the heat of the burning sun."

A good voice flowed with astringency, depth and sensuality.

"What is that?"

The boy was very confused, but Kuro was convinced of something.

"Don't make a quick decision. You have apparently earned a chance to live, Isana Yashiro."

Even with a smile, he was confused. He's not sure what that means, but for the first time, he's happy that Kuro's attitude has softened and the boy's expression relaxes.

"Shiro is fine. Yes, can I call you Kuro?"

"Isana Yashiro."

Kuro, who called him by his full name to cut off his offer, stretched his back and looked at the boy with a stern look.

"I will identify you as you say, and if I find out that you are evil, I will kill you immediately. Okay?"

He thinks he was stubborn, loud, but sincere. In response to Kuro's statement, the boy smiled and asked for a handshake and extended his right hand.

"Thank you, Kuro. That is enough for now."

"If you are grateful, thank Ichigen-sama for advising me."

Kuro doesn't hold his hand and walks away.

The fact that he gave up means that the voice of that recorder is the voice of "Ichigen Miwa". The boy wondered why he was really worried about the tape recorder containing Miwa's mysterious words.

"What is that voice recorder?"

At that moment, the atmosphere Kuro was wearing changed. The atmosphere becomes brighter as if a flower is blooming, and a loose smile is shown as if such a face is made, and the cheeks become red.

He seemed to be excited and began to speak rapidly while breathing.

"This is…! This is a record of the words of the late master, Ichigen-sama. The words of Ichigen-sama, who was also an avant-garde poet, were so connotative and beautiful! I was recording it. It was not enough. burn it on my soul, and I still get lost."

Out of breath, Kuro presses the switch on the recorder.

"Occasionally walk the path you have chosen, the path of your dreams."

"Miwa's words" flow from the tape recorder, and during the narration period, he listens with an elated face that appears to have been beaten. Stained like an apple, Kuro picked up the recorder and looked at the boy with a proud face.

"That's what I'm saying!"

"How awful!"

An honest impression came out of the boy's mouth.

++++++++++

Wagahai is a cat. There is no name yet.

She feels like she used to have one, but she forgets. So a cat is just a cat.

Neko is now curled up on the boy's bed in the shape of a kitten.

She chased him from last night until morning, and when she had breakfast, she made her sleepy, so the boy said, "We will sleep for the moment."

The boy is sleeping under the blanket where the cat is curled up, and on a small tatami space, Kuro is leaning against the wall, sleeping with a sword in a sitting position.

Neko doesn't like Kuro. He came to destroy the happy days with the boy.

There is no way she will like people who say terrible things like kill the boy.

However, the rice he made was so delicious that she forgives him a bit. Especially the fish with crispy skin and plump body was wonderful.

Inside the room with the curtains closed, the morning sun shines through the gap, but it is comfortable and dim.

Neko tried to fall asleep as she was, and after thinking for a moment, she moved towards him. Bring her face to the boy's face and wave by bringing the tips of their noses together.

"Good luck, Shiro."

Neko snuggled into a position where the boy's body temperature could be felt. It is not cold here.  She is not alone. She liked this place where she could hear the boy breathing next to her.

Neko is from Shiro, and Shiro is from Neko.

Feeling the temperature of her favorite company, Neko closes her eyes and enters the world of dreams.

[skullsandwineglasses]

To Dear Myself Review/Rant

If you’ve had the patience to watch all 45 episodes until the end, then you probably know what I’m going to talk about in this review. I feel like it’s pretty unanimous that the ending was awful. 

It’s a slow burn slice-of-life drama. I don’t normally watch these types of dramas and instead go for the ones that are fantastical and far away from reality so that I can completely get lost in another world. But Liu Shishi and Zhu Yilong are familiar faces, and I’m more likely to start a bad drama with familiar actors than a good drama with unfamiliar actors, because I’m basic and want to invest as little attention and mental effort as possible (it takes work to warm up to new faces). 

The drama started off promising: it introduced obstacles that normal couples and families would face. Obstacles like money, social class, infidelity, unemployment, workplace competition, the value and desirability of “aging” women who prioritize work over love. It was relatable, even though some of these are unfamiliar experiences for me, a psychology grad student in her mid-20s. I didn’t expect this drama to be inspiring. I didn’t want this drama to be inspiring. But I wanted it to be at least logical, if not realistic. The drama seemed to promise reality though, which I held out hope for, but instead it butchered the character arc for most of the leads. 

[spoilers ahead]

The devolution of Li Si Yu and Chen Yi Ming’s relationship was laughable. 

LSY is afraid of marriage, while CYM believes that the ultimate goal in life is to get married and have a family. They don’t see eye to eye on this, and so the pressure causes them to break up. I respect this. It’s a common problem: you can’t really move forward when one isn’t ready to settle down, and the other isn’t willing to wait or support them. CYM is portrayed as a calm, composed, and morally upright person who feels uncomfortable when LSY makes a questionable decision. But CYM is also a hypocritical person who suppresses his feelings. Whenever he’s displeased, he acts as thought everything is fine until he can’t hide it anymore and explodes with unbidden rage. He punches the roof of the car, he slams the desk. It’s a little scary tbh. LSY is portrayed as a passionate and impulsive career-driven woman. She has to make tough decisions, and you understand why she makes them. Whenever she’s unhappy, she’ll let you know. The drama seems to set up a character development arc for these two flawed characters. 

LSY starts her own company, but then fails, and ends up learning that while it’s important to fight for what you believe in, but you shouldn’t be too caught up in whether your fail or succeed. It’s the classic “it’s about the journey, not the destination” kind of lesson. 

After a bout of heartbreak, CYM is swept off his feet by the manipulative Wang Ziru. She lies to him, evades him, controls him. At this point in the drama, we think that LSY is better off without him because he seemed to have moved on so swiftly. CYM and WZR seem to have a calmer relationship than the one he had with LSY. They never argue. We see that he’s easily attracted to confident, powerful women, but expects them to settle down with him when they’re not ready. For a third of the drama, he’s happily in love with WZR and doesn’t think about or interact with LSY (except when he comes to her office to tell her to shut her company “for her own good”). It looks like he completely moved on.

LSY on the other hand, misses him. She’s always looking at the only picture that she’s saved of them together. She still loves him. 

I liked that they introduced Guan Xiao Tong as a potential love interest for LSY. Despite being over a decade younger than LSY and constantly being looked down by her because of this, I thought he was quite mature. I also liked how LSY wasn’t “moved” by him. The typical drama would have her eventually reciprocate his feelings and make him her rebound. Yes, she was amused by him, but she knew that he wouldn’t grow up fast enough with her, and so she never led him on. It made their relationship wholesome. Even though LSY  wasn’t attracted to him, I liked how the drama normalized a potential may/december relationship between a woman and man. Though I don’t think I can forgive the drama was making him disappear so abruptly after he found out that his dad was struggling financially. Maybe the drama implied that GXT was too busy “growing up” by helping with his dad’s business so his relationship with LSY came to an end and that he was no longer relevant to drama, but that wasn’t made clear at all. 

Zhi Zhi also stopped appearing after the 3rd last episode of the drama when she decided not to marry the misogynistic Su Li Xing and to instead stay in Shanghai for her career, which also implied that there could be a chance for her and Liu Yang to get back together (their storyline is a whole other can of worms, but I have to admit that no other drama, movie, or book has made me cry as hard as Zhi Zhi confronting the mistress and then getting publicly slapped by her husband. Not sure if it was the drama itself that had the power to move me, or if it was because I watched that scene at 3am on a Thursday, or because it reminded me of some personal experiences, but either way, I sobbed hella hard that night).

But back to LSY and CYM. In the last 2 episodes of the drama, they start appearing together in scenes again. There are some unresolved emotions. There is still attraction. Nervous, longing, awkward glances. After nearly 20 episodes of believing that a reconciliation is impossible, you start wondering if the drama is hinting that they’re gonna force them back together in the last 2 episodes. CYM sells his apartment to support LSY’s project. Haowen tells LSY that CYM still calls out her name when he’s drunk (although it’s still unclear if this was just a gimmick to distract her to sign the sale agreement). 

CYM can’t give WZR a straight answer about whether or not he still loves LSY. He punches Gong Jing in the face for cheating LSY out of her shares. 

And even after all this, guess what happens? He confronts WZR. She tells him she lied to him to help him preserve his dignity. She tells him she had to do underhanded, unethical things in order to save the livelihood of an entire company that she’s responsible for. He’s moved. He’s grateful for her thoughtfulness towards him. He stands by her. He chooses her. 

I mean, what? Does he really love her that much that he’s willing to look past everything she’s done? All the crimes and hurt she’s committed? I don’t need to him to get back together with LSY. I don’t want them to. I think he’s a terrible character who believes that happiness and fulfilment only comes form finding a woman who’s willing to let him love and dote on her. But this decision just doesn’t match the morally upright character we’ve been sold with at the beginning of the drama. LSY only made one morally questionable decision, of which she apologized for, and yet CYM was already questioning whether or not they should continue their relationship because he felt like they were going different ways. And yet he forgives WZR? Because he loves her? But? What about those ambiguous, uncomfortable faces he made when he was with her? Like that scene when he helped take off her coat before she went into the awards ceremony, and he stood back, leaning by the door, staring off into the distance looking sad and regretful?? What are we supposed to make of those scenes and expressions? I probably shouldn’t victim blame, especially since WZR created an uneven power dynamic in their (lowkey toxic) relationship, but I’m just not sure what the scriptwriter was trying to do with this plotline. It felt like they were condoning WZR’s behaviour (despite saying she was arrested in a voiceover) because CYM forgave her. Or were they condemning CYM’s passiveness? Again, not clear.

And then the final scene with the women marching on happy and hopeful, and then men staring out onto the city skyline looking lost and depressed? Female empowerment is great, and it was nice that they were all single at the end (except for Xiao Ling, I guess), but was it really necessary to tear men down to emphasize this? But then again, the drama kind of had to since they wrote shitty male characters. I just dislike creating the winner/loser dichotomy. 

I respect that Liu Yang is working his way towards forgiveness and has found what he’s passionate about. But I don’t know if he’s forgivable, because what he did was pretty unforgivable, but he’s showing growth and is working towards redemption, which is somewhat admirable. 

Haowen went from being the most level-headed one to becoming the most impulsive and obsessive one. 

CYM is just blank. Absolutely blank. There is nothing interesting about him. At first you pity him for being the one who’s always chasing after LSY and being the one to give in first for the sake of the relationship, but then you realize that he’s just trying to mold himself into what he thinks is the “ideal” boyfriend, which he thinks is someone who is able to succeed without the help of his girlfriend. He thinks it’s weak to rely on the help of his girlfriends, which is ironic since most of the career moves he made in the drama were directly because of his girlfriends. 

Anyway, I could just go on about how much I didn’t enjoy this drama, and other people on youtube and mydramalist have ranted more eloquently about this. I usually don’t write drama reviews unless there’s something I’m deeply unhappy about. 

My recommendation? Don’t watch this. But if you’re curious, don’t be afraid to jump and skip scenes. There are no likable characters. Even Zhi Zhi doesn’t start to become likable until she decides to leave her husband. Is this a feminist drama? Yes to the extent that it normalizes women in their 30s who are single and career-driven (which is a pretty big deal in China where unmarried women over 25/27 are considered “leftover” women), but I’m just not sure whether the plot does justice to these women. The verdict is still out on that. Thoughts?

Oh and one final qualm that I have with this drama is the LSY and WZR never had a final face-to-face confrontation. After everything that WZR did to LSY, LSY never got to interrogate WZR. WZR could have even gave LSY some final parting words. Instead, CYM took LSY’s place and the drama made it seem that WZR was only answerable to him and no one else. There was just absolutely no closure from this messy, messy drama.

[prettyyyboyluke]

Sophie, this ones for you

~

She was never good at English, but she always loved how it’s spoken to her. this semester she was taking English 325, which is studies in fantasy and science fiction. It definitely is an interesting class, and so far the class had to write fantasy poems. This is where she gets stuck. She has no idea what to write about, and it drives her nuts. There is this one guy, Luke Hemmings, who can spit out poems and essays like it’s nothing! And his pieces are always so beautiful and diverse, Sophie doesn’t know how he does it. And every time he goes up, his cheeks turn just a slight shade of pink, and one of his hands is always playing with his chain that he wears around his neck. He’s attractive no doubt, but the way he describes his poems just him ten times more attractive.

He’s been in a few of Sophie’s other classes, and she’s always thought he was just some stupid guy who cared about booze and girls, but in English, he’s a whole new person. Part of her wants to go ask him how he does and if he can help her, and the other part her thinks he would just laugh, so she hasn’t. Since this is Sophie’s last class on Tuesday’s and Friday’s, she normally goes to the library and tries and write something, and that’s exactly what she’s doing. Her brain was spilling so many ideas, but nothing was right. She began looking around in the library and noticed that one of the dominant colors was blue. Then, her brain started working.

She was so engrossed in writing this poem she didn’t even notice her friend, Mirayah, calling her name for the past five minutes. “Sophie! I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last five minutes!” Mirayah spoke. “Sorry, I have to write this poem for English, and I think this is the best idea I’ve ever had.” She said, closing up her notebook. The girls went back to Mirayah’s dorm and started talking about their week. “You know who I realized is in my Psychology class?” Mirayah asked, pulling out a shirt from her closet. “Who?” She asks, picking at nail polish. “Luke Hemmings!”

Sophie’s headshot right up.

“Really? He’s in my English class.” She said a bit surprised because Luke did not seem like the type to understand people.

“Really! I saw him walk in with Calum Hood, crazy right?” The friend says, changing her shirt for the third time.

Sophie was confused, but then again, it made sense. The way Luke wrote and what he wanted to portray always made sense, guess that’s where the psychology comes in. The rest of the night, she was thinking about all of Luke’s past writings and how they all made sense. She wondered if that’s where he got his ideas from. The more she thought about it, the more intrigued she was to find out his secrets. She wasn’t even paying attention to Mirayah ramble on about how much she had to study this weekend.

“Are you coming out tonight? The frat on 9th is having that rave. It could be fun, take your mind off that English assignment.” Mirayah said, putting on an absurd amount of lip gloss.

“I don’t know, parties aren’t my thing, you know that Mimi.” She said. And of course, the more she thought about it, the more she thought about Luke. It started to become like an infection, where no doctor could figure out what virus was going around and no medication could “fix” the issue. “You know what, why not!” She said standing up.

~

The whole night was moving slow, and the frat party wasn’t anything that it turned out to be. Sophie wanted to leave, but she knew that she couldn’t leave her friends. She spotted Luke in the crowd and immediately felt her cheeks heat up. The funny thing is that he was wearing a blue shirt, one that she was writing about in her poem. He started coming up to her, like it was something normal.

“Sophie, right? You’re in my English 325 class.” He said.

“Yeah, I’m surprised you knew my name since our class is so big.” She said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Some of the poems that you’ve written I really liked.”  That was a shock since she felt like she could never write something good. Not to Luke, though.

“Really? I have such a hard time writing, but yours, are really good. I don’t know how you can just spit them out like that.”

The conversation went on for about an hour, which was surprising since a bunch of Luke’s friends kept calling him to play beer bong or rage cage, but he declined every invitation to continue talking to Sophie. She picked on small things he would do. Running his hand through his hair, messing with his chain around his neck, and sometimes stumbling over his feet.

Mirayah came up, clearly drunk, and rambling on about how she needed to go back to her room because she needed to eat some goldfish. “Sophie! Sophie, we need to go! I have to eat my goldfish!” She came up saying. “Okay Mimi, drink some water and stay here while I’ll find Savannah and we can go.” “I can help you find her? I think I saw her go upstairs with Ashton.” Luke said. “Are you sure? I don’t wanna keep you any longer.” “It’s no trouble, I’d be happy to help.”

Luke lead Sophie all around the house, and they finally found Savannah dancing her life away. “Sav, we gotta go. C’mon, I’ll walk you and Mimi back.” She said, pulling Savannah away from the crowd. “I can’t leave yet! Ashton said he’d be right back, and I am not missing a hook up with him again.” Sophie just sighed. “Please, Sav? I don’t need another Mason situation.” Luke came down and began to whisper in her ear. “I can watch her so you can get Mirayah back, and if you give me your number I’ll call you when she’s ready to leave?”

Sophie’s head was spinning from the whole situation in front of her. “Luke, that’s so nice of you, but I don’t need to get a call from her saying that Ashton never came and she wanders around the streets.” “That won’t happen, angel, trust me.” Sophie complied and gave her number to Luke, and he texted her a few emojis so she knew it was him. “Okay, please call me when she’s ready and I’ll walk Mirayah back.”

The walk back to the dorms was treacherous, and the heels both of the girls were wearing was not helping one bit. “Okay Mimi, I just need to be quiet until we get to the elevators. Can you do that for me?” “Yes, ma’am!” Mirayah spoke and acted like she was locking her lips and throwing out the key. Once they got to the elevators it was a quick walk to the room. Mirayah threw her shoes somewhere in the room and climbed right into bed. Sophie sat on the futon waiting for Luke’s call, and she ended up dozing off.

3:56 am - Luke

“Hello?”

“Sophie? Are you awake?”

“Yeah, is Savannah okay?”

“Yes, she’s fine. Are you good to walk back and get her?”

She sighed, putting on her shoes again, “yeah, I’ll be there.”

“No, you sound tired, let me drive her back.”

“Luke, no I’m okay. You did a lot for me tonight.”

“It’s really no trouble, angel. Send me your location and I’ll be there.”

*my current location*

And within the next ten minutes, Luke called again saying that they were here. Sophie walked out quietly and went to meet them in front of their building. “Sophie! I have to tell you so much tea!” Savannah yelled, clinging onto her best friend. “Thank you for driving her, I don’t think I could’ve handled it myself.” Sophie thanked Luke. “Anytime angel, now go get some rest and I’ll see you in class on Tuesday,” Luke said, giving a quick kiss to her forehead before getting back into this car.

~

The rest of the weekend, Sophie was confused and excited. Her mind kept wandering to what happened on Friday. Does Luke like her? Was he just being nice? Will he even remember what happened? He texted her only a few times to ask how her poem was going, but that’s the extent of the conversation. And when Tuesday rolled around, nerves were the only thing running through her body. She sat in her seat, anxious for the poem readings today. When Luke walked in, he smiled at her and started walking towards the empty seat right next to her.

“Mind if I sit?” Luke asked, already placing his bag down.

“Nope, how was the rest of your weekend?” She asked.

“Good, had to clean up the house after Friday.” He chuckled.

“I bet, a lot of people were there.” She said.

Their professor walked in, ready to hear what the students wrote. Sophie’s hands were shaking when her name got called to go up and read her poem.

Black and White turned to Blue

No one could see color. Only black and white, until they turned 18.

At 18, everyone was responsible for finding what color their soulmate could see.

Her’s was blue. So was his.

She saw him everywhere, but never went up to him because she was afraid.

At the party she went to, he talked with her the whole night.

And she wanted to know what color he saw, just for kicks.

His eyes were crystal blue, much like the ocean.

He was wearing a blue shirt, and she could see it.

She was wearing a blue dress, and he could see it.

After the party was dying down, he walked her back to her room, completely unaware that they were soulmates.

This was his chance, to tell her.

He got real close to her, making her dizzy.

“Blue’s a nice color on you, angel.”

That’s when both of them could see color.

The whole time she was reading her work, all Luke could do was stare at her. Now the questions were running through his head. Does Sophie like him? Does she think I was too nice? Does she want to talk about what happened? He looked at her outfit, and just like she wrote, a blue dress. Then, he looked at his shirt, the blue one she described. This was becoming all too real to both of them. When she sat down, Luke wanted to ask her so many questions, but he knew he would get crucified by his professor.

The class ended with her poem, and Luke didn’t know what to do. Sophie was getting ready to leave when Luke grabbed her arm.

“Sophie, your poem. It was beautiful.”

“Thank you, I was really nervous.” She began to blush.

They just looked at each other, neither knowing what to do or even what to say. He moved closer to her, letting his nerves settle when he felt her skin against his. Sophie was significantly shorter than Luke, so all she could look at was his eyes. The closer he moved to her, the closer their lips were to touching.

“C-can I kiss you?”  

( @calum-uncrowned​ ) 

[writerman]

Some sort of soulmate au with Elbarduil? Like maybe Elrond and Thranduil have been soulmates for a while and Bard is still trying to figure how ti tell them he is their soulmate as well? (Or tbh general soulmate thing if you prefer I am just a sucker for that trope)

Oh you and me both, anon! I just finished writing a 110,000 word fic about soulmates so this is absolutely my jaaaaam.

I hope you enjoy this response, I would have finished it earlier but I am a dumbass amongst other things.

----------------------

A wistful sigh would go unnoticed if only expressed once.

The way one might get away with a heavy sigh on a summer day when the sun is at its zenith, the heat unbearable to all manner of man and beast.

But a second heavy sigh would not be missed, especially not by elven ears.

When Bard received concerned looks from both Elrond and Thranduil he passed off the second sigh as a yawn and profusely apologised because that seemed less embarrassing than the truth.

In his mind anyway.

His excuse worked, for the most part, and Elrond merely nodded and gave him an understanding smile before continuing on with his explanation of the trade agreements. One hand holding the documents as he read, the other hand gently tucking a strand of soft brunet hair behind his ear.

However, the same could not be said for Thranduil who stared Bard down for a long moment, his ridiculously pale blue eyes dissecting every inch of his face for any telltale sign that Bard had lied to him.

He had, of course.

But it really wasn’t the place to tell both the elves that he woke up one day absolutely sure he was their soulmate. The mark on his wrist was growing bolder every day and it looked just like theirs…

So, this left him with nothing left to do but hide the fact he was silently yearning for the both of them to realise in their own time. He already felt terrible that he was, essentially, invading their marriage by being a ‘third wheel’ without their knowledge.

As kind as they both were to him, they had helped him get the kingdom of Dale on its feet with nothing in return, he was quite sure they would not appreciate his sudden appearance in their love lives too- but if he was their soulmate wouldn’t they realise it?

Was the mark on his wrist only similar and not identical to theirs? How could he compare without revealing that after the majority of his life he’d never had a soul mate mark until now?

The meeting was adjourned until the next morning, Elrond and Thranduil had things to do in their own kingdoms and Bard had to get back to Dale, which for the first time he was absolutely looking forward to, especially the ride back which he was going to make alone this time.

Much to the despair of Elrond who had insisted on sending his own soldiers with him. Bard refused and explained all would be well without an armed elven escort.

There was not a single ounce of motivation inside him that he could summon to make conversation and the thought of trying made his skin itch as it did in spring when the trees and flowers started to bloom again.

Collecting his papers up, Bard shoved them as quickly yet as gently as he could into the leather bag that had been at his feet moments before. Everyone was filing out of Elrond’s study with the exception of Elrond himself and Thranduil.

The blond elf had stalked over to where Bard stood trying to ensure the papers weren’t creased or folded over on themselves, Thranduil’s gaze something akin to fire rather than the cool indifference they often displayed.

Why he was angry Bard had no idea, but in an attempt to remain casual he looked to Thranduil with, probably awful, feigned surprise. In return, he received the full force of Thranduil’s expression and every vein in his body felt as though they had been ignited and for a moment his brain shorted out. Whatever friendly greeting he had prepared fled and his mouth refused to do anything other than clamp shut like a bear trap snapping over a deer’s leg.

With his body conspiring against him Bard could only blink up at Thranduil who with a sneer gritted out between bared teeth that he would accept the elven escort home and he would thank Elrond for the offer.

Almost in the blink of an eye, Elrond was behind Thranduil with a hand on his shoulder pulling the blond away from Bard, who was still silent and mentally trying to put himself back together because while his veins were no longer on fire, he wasn’t quite sure he was perfectly stable either.

He consciously rubbed the mark on his inner wrist with his thumb as he began processing a response to Thranduil that would not ignite his fury further. Bard knew the anger was more likely concern for his safety but it still stung to be spoken to like that.

“I don’t need an escort, Thranduil. I want the time alone, let me have this.” This was too personal a conversation to be having with them both. They were friends to an extent but mostly they were considered… what exactly?

They were lords of an ancient race and they governed their people with power and respect that Bard could only dream of exuding, they were not close friends but allies and that was all.

Except that really wasn’t all, not to Bard. They were his soulmates only he couldn’t tell them that, couldn’t tell them that the reason he seemed so far away when he came to the meetings was that they were close, close enough to touch but even as the king of Dale he didn’t think he deserved such an honour.

Perhaps it was dangerous to hold them in such high esteem, but why not?

These men were closer to Gods than man. Bard shared very little in common with the two of them and when he did try to find a similar interest to share with them it was a struggle to make it seem legitimate and not utterly flimsy.

“Don’t let yourself get so riled up imagining the worst. Bard is a capable fighter. Remember that he took down a dragon on his own, he fought in battle and survived. You underestimate our friend, Thranduil.” Elrond spoke calmly and it seemed to ease the tension in Thranduil as his expression softened to something more like concern.

“It is still dangerous out there,” Thranduil mumbled but he threw out his hand as though to dismiss the rest of the conversation and moved aside to allow Bard to leave the study.

In the stable, he dismissed the stable hands and tacked up the horse himself. It was good to have the time alone doing something simple that did not require constant thought. Preparing his horse for the journey home gave him the grounding he needed while his thoughts played out his reunion with the children.

They were the perfect distraction and he always missed them dearly when he had to travel without them. Sigrid and Bain were growing so fast and soon he imagined it would just be himself and Tilda left in the castle atop the hill in Dale. But at least he would not be alone.

“Are you going to tell me what has you so distracted?” Thranduil stood at the entrance of the horse’s stall, tall and imposing even when he was gifting Bard with the softest look of worry he had ever seen on the elf. “It has been months and you only grow more distant from us, do you wish to close off from us completely?”

It almost sounded- no they did not know. Thranduil was worried that he and Elrond might lose an ally and nothing more, but still, Bard offered a tired smile hoping it covered the worst of his unease.

“You worry for nothing, Lord Thranduil. Did I not explain myself clearly enough earlier?” To save himself, if only for a moment, he turned from the elf and busied himself with adjusting the bridle all the while thanking the horse for being so patient. He had known all too well that what he had said was harsh but the alternative of staying silent was not an option.

Once he was satisfied that his expression was neutral and the horse was fully ready for the journey Bard turned back to the elf and offered up a casual shrug. What more could he say to get rid of him?

Apparently, the shrug had not helped him in any way because before he knew it his back met with the wall of the stall and Thranduil was bearing down on him once again. Getting up close to the elven lord was nice and all but Bard really had to get back to Dale and there was the problem of getting his heart to stop thundering in his chest.

Thranduil stepped back when he realised what he had done, the surprise on his face told Bard all he needed to know. Something beyond their control was trying to force them together.

Fate.

The Gods.

Whoever or whatever ordained for them to be together was getting impatient with the lack of results.

“My apologies, Bard. I am unsure what caused me to behave in such a way.”

“It’s fine,” Bard stepped away from the wall and hurried to his horse’s side grabbing the reins and leading him out of the stall without meeting Thranduil’s eyes. He wasn’t afraid of Thranduil for what he had done, but it had not been pleasant to feel his heart pulse hard for someone he could never have.

Out in the courtyard, Elrond awaited him.

You can’t escape either of them, Bard, even when you try to avoid them you can’t, he thought to himself wearily as he brought the horse to a stop at Elrond’s behest.

“I am saddened to see you go when there is much that weighs you down, Bard. It bears repeating that Thranduil and I are happy to help you if you are in need-”

“I’m not.” Bard interrupted abruptly, “I’m just tired and I feel as though I have taken up enough of your time as it is, gentleman. So, let me ride back out to Dale and rest. I promise that when you call for my return I will be well again and you can set aside your fears for my health." Elrond seemed taken aback at just how abrupt Bard had been, and had it been any other moment than this Bard would have already apologised.

The more space he put between himself and his supposed soulmates the better. Distance seemed to help somewhat, the age-old adage of ‘Out of sight, out of mind’ had been all he was able to cling to lately and it had served him well enough.

“Bard…” Elrond tried again to coax something from him but like a coward, he mounted his horse and offered a curt nod to the elf before he nudged his horse enough that it near leapt across the courtyard and through the gates.

Don’t look back, don’t ever look back, Bard told himself and he did not allow his horse to slow until they were deep into the wilds and the sun barely filtered through the trees, only then did he allow the pace to slow.

It would take him at least three days ride to get home and Bard used the time to muse, no, to erratically overthink his situation and in quiet moments he found himself rubbing the mark with his thumb.

Thankfully he was not disturbed by anyone other than travelling merchants on the road, but they mainly paid their respects to a king and moved on.

When he finally arrived home it was to very little fanfare. Both Bain and Sigrid were not there to greet him and Tilda was already distracted by something else, though she did gift him with a pleased smile and a long hug to welcome him home.

“I’m sorry Da, I have to get back to my studies.” She had explained as she turned away hurrying off toward their home leaving Bard, again, alone.

He had to take care of business before he could rest but paperwork held no appeal when the allure of sleep tugged at his consciousness tempting him to close his eyes while he sat at his desk.

Eventually, he gave up on trying to get anything in order in his study and instead left for his bedroom. As he walked he shrugged off his jacket and handed it to a passing staff member who whisked it away for cleaning. Sleep seemed to be the only way to rid himself of the horrible feeling building inside him.

A mix of anxiety and sadness welled up and Bard could only take a deep breath and try his hardest to will the feeling away. It was tight and cold in his chest a reminder that he was so far from those he was meant to be with.

Falling into bed was the only thing on his mind when he finally reached his room, a distraction had come in the form of Bain who had fallen into step beside him and walked him to his chambers chattering happily about what had happened while Bard was away. After bidding his son good night, he didn’t even bother to undress before climbing on top of the covers and passing out almost immediately.

The plague of odd dreams left Bard with only a short and fitful sleep, so when he woke up he was on edge, more so because there happened to be two rather familiar elves standing at his bedside.

Lifting a hand, Bard brushed his hair back off his face and blinked up at both of them with great confusion. Both elves, who had at first been smiling gently, seemed surprised by the sight of something, and so when Elrond leaned forward, to better inspect, Bard did not question him and allowed him to wrap slender fingers around his wrist.

Elrond sat on the bed and with a light touch traced the symbol on Bard’s wrist several times sending the king of Dale’s thoughts into a frenzied mess as he tried to form words to deny the mark.

“I suppose this would make sense of all our sorrow upon your departure, you left so abruptly and we were unsure why it had hurt so much.” Elrond’s voice was soft as he spoke and when he looked to Bard for a response none came.

How could he say anything now?

They both knew now that he had hidden this from them.

Were they disappointed in him or betrayed?

“Did you fear we would shun you if you told us?” It was Thranduil that had spoken then, he moved around the bed and sat on the edge of it with his back to both of them. His gaze was set to the window where sunlight streamed in with dust motes drifting in and out of the light like minuscule ghosts.

“My anger,” Thranduil paused clearly filled with unease, “Was it that which had you hide this from us?”

Bard scrambled into a sitting position, feeling Elrond release his gentle grip from his wrist, looking between the both of them wondering what on earth he could say to make any of this into a better conversation.

“No, no… I’m not afraid of either of you.” Bard let out a heavy sigh and tried to pick through his jumbled thoughts for something to say that would make sense, but regardless of what he said he knew it might hurt them.

“You and Elrond have been married for years, who am I to come between that and demand to be a part of your lives?” Yes, he had feelings of inadequacy and that he would address at some point, but he had to battle with the intensity of his imposter syndrome first.

The next thing to come out of Thranduil’s mouth was laughter, the surprised laugh of disbelief. As he turned to face Bard he gestured to the symbol on his own wrist.

“You have no idea what this symbol means, do you?”

“Do not make him feel bad, Thranduil.” Elrond began though he too also smiled as he tried to hide his amused laughter. “See how worried he was in telling us he likely did not think with logic.”

“Are you going to explain or just continue to make fun of my tiny human brain?”

The elves try, in vain, to stifle their laughter but Bard’s words did garner softer looks of apology from them once they had settled down a little.

Amazingly, he didn’t feel so very slighted at their words, they had never withheld knowledge from him before so it was only logical they would not now. It had always been something he had appreciated about them both.

“The marking on your wrist has the theme of three. Three lines overlapping into the shape of a pyramid, and three circles along all three sides. Do you understand now?” Thranduil asked and he reached over as Elrond had done earlier and traced the lines but all Bard understood was that it felt very nice when both the elves touched him softly.

“It means that we have been waiting for our soulmate, we were never supposed to remain as a duo. At last, it all aligns perfectly, three lines overlapping are our lives. The two that cross at the top are Thranduil and mine, the third line represents you and the long space of time from you meeting Thranduil and then me.” Elrond explained and it made sense to Bard now he understood because they had met each other first, he had then met Thranduil and after that Elrond.

“The circles’ represent us as individuals that belong together. That is why they are found along all three lines.” Thranduil finished.

They fell into silence for a short moment letting Bard take in the information.

Elation unfurled in his stomach like the wings of a bird readying for flight and Bard, at that moment, truly felt like he could fly. He could scarcely let the information fully sink in because his joy blotted out all his doubts like the sun blotted out the dark.

It was not that he was a piece that required to be wedged into a space that did not exist. No, there had always been a space waiting for him, a space in which he perfectly fit.

“We are so glad we finally found you.”

[seijch]

BY DAY, you attend classes and sling drinks at the campus cafe. By night, you’re known as the Harbinger, an individual with the Gift of shadow and darkness. Your two jobs have never had any reason to collide…not until the appearance of a fellow Gifted by the name of Ace, anyway.

[ read luck of the draw here !! ]

this is an extra post for me to infodump on all the worldbuilding details i never got to fit into my already obnoxiously large fic 🕺🏻🕺🏻 its holding my brain hostage so maybe posting this will help!!!

please read luck of the draw before clicking the readmore !! there are spoilers abound (and you probably won’t understand much of what i’m saying if you haven’t read the fic LMAO)

ABOUT THE CONCEPT

the very core of luck of the draw isn’t actually unique to kenji or to haikyuu in general; in fact, it was originally a part of a superhero!skz series i was planning to write but never got around to. the foundation of this fic -- kenji’s power and the idea of them being opposing forces that slowly draw together -- was originally given to stray kids’ hyunjin. i never went past the Thinking Stage with it, so it was fairly easy to hand the concept over to futakuchi when i moved fandoms.

the dynamic of this fic in general was inspired pretty heavily by miraculous ladybug’s “love square,” but i ... obviously wasn’t going to write all four sides of it so i stuck to the civilian identities (the reader and kenji) and the alteregos (harbinger and ace). in the kpop version of this wip, the reader and hyunjin were coworkers, but in moving from one fandom to another and reworking it for futakuchi, i decided to make them friends instead. they’re not particularly close (they’re definitely comfortable but not close Emotionally) to start with, but there’s potential for something to start!

ABOUT THE WORLD

in this universe, the city is ruled by two major factions that control much of the economy: seijoh, who controls the entertainment/tourism industries and has its fingers in most of the smaller businesses around the city (such as johzenji and dateko) and nekoma, who is partnered with the equally large fukurodani to control shipment of all kinds as well as the food industry (among others). nekoma has allies within the local government, and seijoh all but controls the law enforcement.

karasuno, on the other hand, works entirely from the underground to overhaul the way things are run in the city; it’s a bit .... corrupt as of right now, and they seek to change that. 

at the top are typically individuals blessed with special powers known as gifts. these gifts can be as mundane as the ability to make flowers bloom wherever you walk or as powerful as being able to alter the flow of time. there exist a series of regulations (and a shit ton of paperwork) that come about whenever an individual happens to manifest a gift. 

however, the city’s gifted demographic is incorrectly represented; a chunk of the gifted population are instead drawn to the allure of making money by doing illicit deeds for companies like seijoh or nekoma. these individuals’ gifts are never properly documented due to the traceability it lends itself to, should a job go wrong.

the government is supposedly in talks to enact stricter laws on the gifted, despite them making up a comparatively small percentage of the population. the head of the department of gifted individuals, ushijima wakatoshi, is a particularly overwhelming force in support of better regulation of his fellow gifted.

ABOUT THE CHARACTERS

in the first draft of luck of the draw, the sequence of events and relationship dynamics were MUCH different. in the final draft, you see the alteregos being drawn to each other first before you see the civilians come together. 

in that first draft, it was originally centered on the civilians getting together despite kinda-sorta being attracted to each other’s alterego? as a result, the kiss scene between the alteregos was still there but it was DRASTICALLY different. the whole idea of it and imo moral ambiguitity (kenji and the reader never went official with their relationship in the first draft) didn’t sit right with me at all; it felt a little like i was using cheating as a plot device which ??? no.

to make the long story short, the execution of that (tbh poorly developed) idea was.......less than stellar.

so i took a look at the chronology and basically upended the entire midsection to make the concept something that was less awful morally? that’s what i hope happened, anyway LJSKDFLSD

in the first draft, the reader (as harbinger) was also much less competent than they are in the final draft as a result of having been affiliated with karasuno for a shorter time. in truth, the harbinger’s origin story didn’t surface until i was in the middle of writing the second draft!

when it comes to the other characters:

oikawa doesn’t have a gift, which is rather rare for someone with their thumb sitting so heavily on the city’s pulse point

iwaizumi’s gift is entirely up to interpretation! him and oikawa making formal appearances in the story was something that only came up towards the end of draft two, so i didn’t have the space (word count wise) to really give either much thought

kyotani came into his gift without any control over it, and is only given amnesty because he was found hiding by iwaizumi

i really really wanted to talk about kyotani in this fic but ultimately it wasnt revolving around him + i once again didn’t have space to even tease an encounter with him (so in the fic proper he’s mostly there as a cameo + to scare you as you read into a potential action scene)

aone and kenji actually come from the same company that happened to come under seijoh’s control, so they’re more comfortable with each other than anyone else!

hinata has the gift of manipulation as long as you’re making eye contact with him; unfortunately, if he wills it, it’s rather hard to break eye contact once you’ve made it -- aone made the mistake of glancing at him during the takeover at seijoh hq, leading to his hold on harbinger loosening

kageyama obviously has the gift of ice/hail/snow manipulation to a rather strong extent, considering he can create it where there is none and lower the temperature of the air around him (the reader cannot create their own darkness, only manipulate what is around them)

he also has some beef with oikawa (or is it the other way around?) that involves him formerly working under seijoh -- not one of their many smaller companies, but seijoh itself (much like iwaizumi and after kageyama leaves, kyotani)

in terms of who’s been with karasuno the longest of the introduced cast, it’s tsukishima/three-eyes > hinata = kageyama > reader (but not by much)

MISCELLANEOUS

following the takeover of seijoh, tsukishima finds himself at wit’s end much more often LMAO

there are a good amount of deleted scenes and scenes that were only added in at the very last second!

among the deleted scenes is a scene where the civilians are at the park -- in the first draft, it happened in the middle, but in the second it was towards the end. it got taken out because come the end of the second draft, i realized it no longer fit ...

in terms of completion status, it probably ?? took a little over a month from this to go from Thinking Stage to the 14.2k monstrosity you see now? there were a couple of weeks early on where i did nothing on my ipad and laptop except outline and write, respectively

i definitely got burned out halfway through (which is abt the time i posted the xc2 au .. i NEEDED to work on smth else)

the idea of the clock tower wasn’t present at all in the first draft!! i only really came up with it in the second draft because i’d rather have them meet somewhere consistent and identifiable rather than some nondescript building

the running joke (?) of them getting drinks together wasn’t present until the third and final draft -- originally the scene where ace asks “do you remember our last conversation?” had a different beginning

in fact, a lot of the scenes that are a bit more...emotionally charged (see: every scene after ace’s unmasking as well as the movie night scene where the civilians struggle to define what their relationship has become) had to be overhauled dramatically

ummm i love kenji thats it! none of this would be possible if i didnt have the strongest mf brainrot for him so ... ! theres that LMAO

(theres probably more im forgetting to say ........ if any of you want to pick my brain regarding the chronology or the characters or why i had them say something or do something send me an ask! this post tbh is almost entirely for me but i didnt put this much thought into a fic that long to NOT share it with everyone else)