#u ever just write a thing and then realise there's something fundamentally wrong with u on an atomic level? cause hey that's me

[yeyinde]

This might sound so cringe and cliche, but I wanna be of help in some way-

how about price faking injuries to see a specific nurse he has a crush on but won’t admit.

Cringe and cliche are quite on brand for me, tbh.

It starts as a concussion, a stiffness in his neck. A pinch in his shoulder. 

Then it changes shape, shifting, evolving, into something more. A tenuous dance held together by silken threads. He tugs on the ends sometimes, just to watch little pieces of you begin to unravel. Raw skin, untouched and new bared to his curious eyes. 

You’ve thrown him off-kilter, left him feeling strange. All asunder. 

He shouldn’t be too surprised by the way you unmoor him so easily. Your eyes swallow the atmosphere around him, eating through gravity. Weightless, he’s left to drift in the aether until you snatch him from the air, leaving him wing-clipped, and kept cupped in the soft swells of your palm. 

It’s greed, he thinks. That awful little thing that makes him keep coming back for more.

The helicopter crash did a number of things on him—mild concussion, a fractured rib, sprained wrist; it seemed to have flipped his insides all askew for a moment when he plunged to the earth before somehow righting themselves when he'd landed—but in retrospect, hindsight, whatever, it could have been a lot worst. 

A fact Gaz seemed to have picked up on quicker than he had when they'd met in the medical bay together, holding their broken bodies with trembling hands. 

(Or maybe threaded together by a statuette of Nefertem laced in the fibres of their hearts.)

"What's this now," Gaz asked when he limped in, knee smarting without the surge of adrenaline keeping him upright. Mirth rolling through his teeth, ge offered Price a fractured grin that very likely might have been a grimace. "Two for two? Might be a sign, cap…"

"A sign for what?"

Gaz shrugged, pressing tender fingers against the gash on his forehead. "Stay the fuck out of helicopters. Take the bloody bus instead."

There's a retort in the back of his throat, but it's swallowed when you walk in, hands gripping a medical bag between blanching knuckles. He's closest to the door, and you turn to him with an air of pensive uncertainty that nudges the spot inside of him that preens under authority. That likes law, order, and the simplicity of life. A natural-born leader. He plays the part, of commander and captain, and dips his head toward Gaz, a silent motion meant to convey him first. 

The always in that is ironclad, he thinks. Brassbound. Even if he was bleeding out on the pavement. His men, his boys, first. 

Except, he catches Gaz doing the same thing toward him. A stalemate, then. 

You're new, he notes; ears still wet, face still green. He braces himself to step in, to lay down the authority you need before you flounder, unsure what to do, but instead of being met with uncertainty, he finds himself breathing in your ire. 

"Well, heroes," you snip, brow pinching together in displeasure. "One of you has to go first, don't you? So while I put my stuff on the table, I expect you to have figured it out amongst yourself, yeah?"

And it's—

It's something. 

A strand of static in the air. Direct current to his heart. It thuds in a strange murmuration, off rhythm, off balance. But it makes sense. You'd thrown him so wildly off kilter. 

He clears his throat of the soot that congeals the back, and nods once. Sharp and jerky. 

"Right, yeah…" 

Price turns to Gaz, brows pinched in the middle. A messy bow. 

It isn't like him to be so askew, but you turned everything upside down before he could familiarise himself with the world in its right state. He's adrift for a moment. Floundering, he notes, tasting something sweet behind his teeth. 

Gaz meets his eyes somewhere in the fog, the furrow in his brow asking the questions he won't voice aloud—you alright, cap?—but he isn't sure what he's meant to say. Everything feels like it was knocked loose inside of him, left to roll off shelves and clatter to the floor. Disorganised chaos. Awash. Lost in tangled webs. He isn't used to this. To feeling so useless, so askew. 

He later finds it just the concussion warping the edges of his mind, turning his thoughts into a slurry. That the mild part was an oversight, one that was immediately corrected by you—firm fingers holding his chin still, nails scratching against his beard as you peered into his eyes with a clinical air of detachment that shouldn't have made his heart beat as loud as it was. 

You smell of summer rain. The musk of water on a hot pavement. He breathes it in until it's clogging the back of his throat, so thick he can almost taste it. So heavy, so heady, his head swims. Ozone. Charred wood. War tucked in a bottle.

The soft fingers against his pulse was a shock, made potent by the little curl of your brow when you counted the beats per minute and found they were much too fast. He isn't embarrassed. Doesn't think he has it in him anymore to feel that way, but there's a sense of frustration in the back of his mind as you move around him, commandeering him with an ease that leaves him feeling a little breathless. 

"You're concussed," you say at last, lips pitching downward as you read his charts, the scrawl left behind by the nurse who'd seen him earlier. The one who promptly sent him to you. "And it isn't mild."

With that, and a list of things he ought to do (non-negotiable), you send him on his way. Gaz, too. Fixed up with gauze and made shiny and new. 

Soap asks why he's so quiet later when they meet for a debriefing later on (one that he knows is definitely on the list of things you told him not to do), and has to stop the rip current from spilling past his lips. 

"He's concussed," Gaz supplied, narrowed eyes clipping the side of his face when it lands; a physical blow. "Doc said he needed rest. But good luck telling him that."

"Don't need rest," he grumbles. There's a blossom of pain in his temple. A little sapling that flourishes under the waning sunlight. "'M fine."

They don't believe him, but the debriefing is too short to push him to lay down, and he spends the next hour pretending he's not seeing shadows in his periphery. That the words on the pages don't bleed together. 

(That the scent of Petrichor doesn't glue to the back of his throat.)

When the hurt in his head dims, he finds his thoughts drifting back to you. Meek and unassuming. A wolf in sheep's clothing. It lingers long after the meeting has ended and he's ushered to the barracks for rest. Home tomorrow, Gaz promises on the tail end of yawn. Gonna sleep for a whole year, I think. 

Aye, gonna head home in the morning, Soap murmurs, but his eyes don't stray from the corner where Ghost leans, chin dipped low to his chest. 

(Price wouldn't put it past him to be asleep already.)

They tell him to get some sleep, dressing the worry in their voice as a friendly admonishment, and he takes it as it is. 

But rest doesn't come. 

He's curious about you. The little hellion that managed to snatch him clean from the air, and cup him in the palm of your too-small hands. 

(He wants to feel it again.)

It begins as idle curiosity.

Price is a large man full of bulk and grit. The snarls in his throat command authority, respect. He isn't used to feeling so wing clipped, sidelined, and he blames that on why he seeks you out. 

A pinch in his shoulder. His chest feels swollen around the broken rib. His knee hurts. There's an ache in his throat. A throb in his kidneys. 

Each time is met with the same stern expression, firm hands. You commandeer him around the room, dragging out the ailments with ease that always seems to leave him off-kilter and breathless. 

He realises what it is the fourth time he comes to your office, exacerbating some mild pain. 

You take up space. All of it. Any crevasse, or corner is immediately filled by you. You have this presence about you that is so at odds with the meek façade you carried on your countenance like an ill-fitting mask when he'd first laid eyes on you. 

You're an enigma, a paradox. A riddle begging to be solved. He wants to take you into his hands and pull you apart until your insides are bared to him, true and real, and known. 

He's met people like you in his lifetime. Leaders in roles that don't fit them. He thinks you belong in worn pages of history, tucked behind a desk as you commandeer the world around you with firm hands and a gnarled smile instead of standing before him, musing softly at whatever ailments he throws your way. 

Despite his plethora of issues, you tackle them all with an air of severity and seriousness that he finds kinship in, touching softly at the twined mass that writhes before him. The cuts in your gaze are made from the same shorn razor as his, and he wants to see what's behind that ill-fitting mask. 

He wants to see you slip. 

But you don't. 

Tongue between teeth, clenched so hard that blood blooms and swells in the tip, you keep everything locked tight to your chest, and usher him out with pantomime remedies to heal his farcical hurts. 

Price isn't sure why he keeps going—curiosity, maybe. An attraction that cracks like lightning striking through his chest. A gale of turbulence that leaves him seaswept and standing on shaking knees. He doesn’t know what to do with the kinetic energy that buzzes in his veins, begging to be free, and so he tests. Pulls and tugs at the seams that keep you spooled tightly together just to see that fissure that once split across your face, leaking fury and fire into the air until it ripped through his nerves, an electrical fire, and set him alight from the inside out. 

(He finds he likes the way it hurts.)

As much as he tugs, he finds he likes it when you pull back. 

"Should be careful," you coo, and the syrupy sweetness of your voice sparks against some dormant part of his mind. "You seem to have a lot of bad luck when it comes to ailments."

He shrugs. "Just unlucky."

"Or you're being cursed." 

"Oh, yeah?" He hums. "Could be." 

You offer a flimsy smile, but it’s enough to soothe the ruffle through his plumage. 

"What's your name?" He asks, fingers plucking at the gossamer that sits between you, unsettled by the quiver in his chest. 

The smile you flash at him is all teeth. "Sekhmet."

Laswell doesn't ask why when he requests your records, but he senses the confusion in her voice when she calls. 

"All of them?" 

He grunts in response. 

"I vetted them personally, John… but," there's a shuffle in the background. Boxes sliding on linoleum. She's overseeing the tearing up of Shepherd's office, and this minute request suddenly turns his stomach sour. "Fine. If that's what you want."

"It's just—"

He isn't quite sure what to say. He was weakened and flummoxed by the world around him. You turned the tipping axis on its head, leaving him feeling asunder. 

"Heard they were quite rough with you," she teases, an olive branch. An excuse. "Bossing around the boss. Is this what it's about?"

He scoffs, then, and only feels an inkling of pain. "No, Laswell. And I wasn't bossed around."

"Manhandled?"

It gives him pause. That feeling from before swells in his chest. Soft hands against his talons, clipping his wings. 

"No," he mutters, but the airiness of his voice gives him away. 

Laswell, in a feat of mercy, just hums. "They're good, John. Good for this team."

Good for you, she doesn't say. John thinks she doesn't have to. He hears it, anyway. 

There are cracks inside of him, ones made from the chipped clay that once concealed an unslaked black hole. 

You fill space, he thinks. 

He isn’t surprised to find you fill the gaps inside of him, too. 

He goes again, but this time it’s real. A bullet grazed his shin, deep enough to warrant stitches, and finds you waiting for him with that clipboard pinched between your hands. 

The look on your face gives him pause. It’s pulled taut, coiled like a defensive viper, but where he expects the same clinical efficiency and detached airs, he instead is met with a palpable sense of uncertainty—too much, he thinks, like the first time you walked into the room, unsure and wobbling on unsteady feet. 

His heart thunders under your prying gaze. “Need some stitches,” he says, if only to fill in the terse silence that settles over the room, hushed and aggrieved. 

“Right,” you echo, eyes dropping to the blood that runs in streaking rivulets down his leg. 

And you say nothing else after, working quietly as you knit skin back together and sponge the drying blood from the wry thatch of curls that blanket his shin. 

Price takes in the paleness of your lip, pinched tight against your clenched teeth. The deep ravine that cuts a line between your brows, heavy with shadows and flooded in some strange amalgamation of anger—potent enough that he can catch the embers in the air on his tongue—and this uncharacteristic sense of disquiet that makes your shoulders tense, your hands slacken. The firm, sure touch is gone—replaced, instead, with clouded unease—and you no longer commandeer him around the room, catch him from the air and manoeuvre him to your fanciful whims. You nudge, now. Soft utterances; requests. 

You don’t move space to fit yourself between the brackets. You linger in the periphery. 

He isn’t accustomed to this, and the hesitancy in your brow needles behind his ribs, pinching and pushing until he’s left feeling that same, strange sense of weightlessness as before. But where you led him around by the tip of his ears, he finds himself unmoored. 

(He likes the loss of control, but only when it’s tethered to your hand.)

His wound is patched up, skin knitted together with silken black lines that cut a neat crisscross through his tumid skin. There is no reason to linger, despite the weight on his tongue urging him to speak. 

But you strike first, catching him at the door. 

"Is there a problem?" You ask, words stripped bare, and masticated between clenched teeth. Reluctance is a heavy weight on your brow when he turns to you, as if you don't want to ask, but are compelled to. Forced to. 

It's the first time he's felt any sense of control around you. He stretches his wings. 

"Problem?" He echoes, and tucks his hands beneath his arms. Steadying his stance. Preparing for the fight. 

You mimic his pose, but grab the knobs of your elbows between tense fingers instead. There's fire in your eyes. The room fills with smoke. 

"You asked for my papers."

The meagre file tucked away in his cabinet spoke of your accomplishments in the same detached, clinical distance as one of the many façades you adopt. It listed your education, your former employment, and your accolades in Times New Roman, all standard affairs. Impressive, of course, but he found it all to be quite lacklustre. 

It didn't mention the firmness of your fingers when you take his pulse or commandeer him to your liking. It said nothing about the paralysing weight in your gaze, vipers tucked in the corners of your eyes when he meets your stolid authority with his own fiery wrath. 

(Or the softness of your cheeks when you try to hide a smile. The admonishing pinches made in jest when he says something that distracts you from your task.)

"I did."

"Okay," you breathe heavily through your nose. "Why?"

"Is there any reason why I shouldn't?" 

"You just—" another breath. He has the peculiar urge to syphon the next directly from your lungs, to taste your air on his tongue. "You come here, week after week, with some—illness, and just—"

"Just what?"

"If you have a problem," you say at length, eyes flashing. "You could have come to me? One on one. I would have—"

"A problem?" He singles the word out, tossing it back at your teeth. “I don’t have a problem.”

You laugh, but it's scathing. "Are you undermining me? Is this—hazing?"

“Hazing? No,” he shakes his head, chasing the tail end of your derision. “Consider this vetting.”

And there it is—that fissure. Heat pops from the lavascape, spilling down the split of your lips. 

“Right.” You snip, shaking your head. “Well, I hope I met your expectations, Price.”

He huffs, then. The noise is a broken facsimile of a laugh forced through crooked teeth. “Of course you do.” The pinch in your brow wobbles. “Wouldn’t be here if you didn’t, love.”

He rents the air with his admission, splits the seams of this tenuous dance you make each week he shows up, speaking of some phantom pain ripped the pages of the textbooks that sit, worn and well-loved, on the shelves behind your desk. 

You say nothing when he leaves. 

(Or when he rests a piece of himself on the doorframe—a glossy feather from his primary remiges just for you.)

He doesn’t go for the next three weeks, but it isn’t cowardice that drags him away from this oddly shaped choreography. He’s caught in a storm halfway across the world with sand in his hair, and the curve of your confusion nudged between the fibrils of his chest. 

In the softness of night, he wonders what you've done with his clipped feather. 

Price meets you at the beginning, but this time, he stands in the medical bay with firm knees, and a clear head. Searching, seeking. 

The thread vibrates, and he finds you with your back to him, doling out gentle, firm, commands to the medical staff congregated around you. Clinging to your breathy orders with the same listless uncertainty that makes his chest swell with the urge to lead whenever it's rested on his shoulders. 

He isn't sure if you can feel the reverberations through the thread, the leftover sutures from when you weaved a needle over the cut on his forearm, and accidentally sewed a piece of yourself into his skin, or if it's just the heavy weight of his gaze burning brands into your back that draws your attention. 

(It certainly garners enough from the staff around you, their flighty eyes flickering from the mountain of a man seething at your back, to you—feigning obliviousness as he strips you bare beneath his glacial gaze, cutting a path to your membrane where he knows he'll find the piece of himself that you snipped off months ago.)

When you finally turn, you give a peculiar look over your shoulder, eyes clouded over, gaze inward. He watches you for a moment, taking in the curve of your cheek, the slope of your nose. Foreign, of course; but familiar under the cloak of darkness and the hail of gunfire. 

The fire still burns in your unreachable depths, but the embers are smouldering. He feels the heat even from this distance, but when you return from whatever thoughts were racing through your head, he finds the look that fixes itself there to be strange. Pensive. 

A quiet contemplation as you take in the length of his shoulders, the width of his chest. 

His heart hammers against the cages of his sore ribs, leaping to the base of his throat where it pulses like a raw wound. 

The whole of his body smarts like a massive contusion—muscles bending at odd angles, bones brittle—but he knows in an instant that he won't mention it to you. He'll tuck the hurt aside. Let it moulder. Let it rot. 

This thing between you—crafted from the design of his heart—has been pulled and pinched, flexed and stretched too taut. It's ready to snap. To break. 

He waits for that moment, bracing himself for the inevitability of the recoil clapping him against the chest, but it doesn't happen. 

You give a small dip of your chin. 

Then, you're gone. 

You've been moulding him between form hands since the beginning, moving him around however you please. 

So, it just feels natural when he follows. 

This time it's his chest. 

You go through the same dance, steps known. Ingrained in muscle memory. Your hands are firm, authoritative as you lead him on this little chase, pushing and pulling, tugging on the threads that keep him sewn up and whole. 

But an incipient path is born. A new routine. The hand on his cheek, as you read his temperature, lingers, thumb brushing over the dividing line that separates skin from wry curls. 

The touch is familiar. You’re no strange to feeling around the phantom aches and pains he presents to you, but this is an electric shock that rattles through his nerves. The trail your thumb leaves behind as it strokes idly at his skin prickles and burns. Goosebumps rise, creating cresting hills and peaks along his topography. You map it all with nimble fingers, firm and sure. 

You take the thermometer out of his mouth after a moment, not even pretending to read the results (thirty-seven degrees, always), and it’s tossed back on the tray quickly before your hand returns to his skin, drawn there by that same innate pull he feels in his iron bones. The warmth of your palm threatens to suffuse his skin, mated together in ferromagnetism. 

His chin rests, plinthed in your palms, and there’s a sudden swell, a rush, that gorges on his heart. The façades fall, clattering to the ground. The broken pieces lay in remains by his feet. 

Price doesn’t spare them a glance. 

Can’t, maybe, because in azimuth he finds that solidary feather he plucked for you resting between your teeth. 

Wonderment. Awe. He feels the surge of something ripping through his body—a paroxysm—but he can’t look away from the shapes of your bare face; the imperfect asymmetry, the wrought iron lines, the convulsing atoms. It’s mesmerising. 

And maybe it’s an electrical phenomenon—no let go—but he doesn’t spare it a single thought, even as the current burrows deeper into his chest, igniting his tissue until red-hot, blistering, charred. Even then, even with the scent of smouldering, necrotising flesh brimming cloyingly into his scenes, the absolute apathy he feels for himself at that moment is a testament to the unshakeable draw, that primal magnetism that glues him to you; met in perfect equilibrium in the middle.

It’s you who moves, who splints the poles until they fall apart when you let your hand drop.

But you’re not finished. The tips of your fingers move, a long peregrination down the twisting, sloping topography of his visage; snaking down his temple, the dip of his nose, the rough bushel of curls, the soft pout of his lips, the ulotrichous hair along his cheek and jaw, the long decline of his check, the ridged of his collarbones, the swell of his chest. It’s there where it lingers, fingers spreading like webs along the birdcage of his thundering heart. 

Price watches you, rapturous and nearly choking himself on the avarice that spills from his heaving lungs. 

You rest the flat of your palm there for a beat; lost in perambulation. Feasting on the thud of his heart. 

He thinks you’ve had your fill. Quenched yourself. 

But when you look up from the slight tremor of your hand, pulsing in time with his hurried beats, the look in your eyes is distinctly unslaked. 

(—and he can’t stop the rumble from spilling out of his chest at the sight.)

Price isn’t sure how long you stay like that. Minutes, seconds, hours. Aeons might have passed since you let your mask slip. Since he plucked at threads keeping it upright. But he shakes back into cognisance when you pull away, cutting through space and time, and filling the gaps once more with the heavy weight of your presence. 

“You’ll be fine,” you say over your shoulder, reaching for your clipboard. “A little rest is all you need, captain.”

There’s an insurmountable number of things he can say, but you press on his throat, and he swallows them down, nodding at your back instead. 

The cloven strands fall around him, broken with distance. There’s an urge in his bones to sew back into his skin, to press them like drying flowers into the folds of his heart where they’ll say, nurtured on his blood and suffused into his being. He rests his laurels on it for a moment, feels the weight of his want, his desire, and compares it to the fraying wisps dragging along the linoleum. 

But he doesn’t reach for them. 

He is wing clipped and flightless. You hold the only feather that gives him lift between the monoliths of your teeth. 

A fine place to keep it, he thinks and turns around, ready to leave on unsteady feet, but—

"Seven," you say, firm and sure. No nonsense. But when he turns, he catches the pallor of your knuckles gripped tight around the clipboard. You hold it to your chest like a shield. The vipers in your eyes quiet their hissing, tongues lashing out to scent the air. "There's this place in Manchester that makes the best Beef Suya."

You're not asking him. 

(But you don't really have to, do you?)

His lips pull up. He catches the drifting threads in his bare palm. "Manchester, mm?"

"I hope you like a little bit of spice."

"I can handle the heat." 

You swallow thickly, and he thinks the action on anyone else might be easily mistaken for nerves, but the livewire that pulls taut between you thrums with a heavy sense of anticipation. 

"I hope so, John," he startles at the mention of his name. It makes your lips curl back, and he shouldn't find it so mesmerising when can't tell if it's a smile or a sneer. "Otherwise I'd be quite disappointed." 

His chin dips to his chest. It renders his voice to little more than smoke and ash, but you shudder from across the room at the growl. 

"Wouldn't want that, now, would we?" 

It isn't breathless when you speak, but he licks his lips and tastes the pulsing excitement that sparks in the air. It curls in his lungs. Saltwater on burning coals. 

"Don't be late." 

It's a promise, he thinks; a warning, too. A threat. "Wouldn't dream of it, love."

He turns away from you, shielding the growing smile from your searching gaze, but your voice stops him short at the door, fingers curled around the frame.

“And Price?”

“Yes, love?” He calls, featherlight in a way he hasn’t felt since he was eighteen and free. Ready to soar, to fly.

"You know," you say, brows knotting together. Despite the severity of your expression, there's a note of playfulness between your teeth. "If you wanted to see me, you could have just asked." 

After dinner, they fucked so nasty that Qadesh could be heard gagging across the aether.

[welcometogrouchland]

could u elaborate on darius camila fake dating? ill assume its for convenience's sake but ure so right the complicated feelings this would stir in luz, hunter and even vee are delicious

Okay so, I don't usually write fanfic, but I do have several fanfic scenarios and jumping off boards that I, when inclined, rotate in my mind like a DVD. Most of them are remarkably silly and arbitrary in premise, and the Darius and Camilla fake dating scenario is no exception.

To set the scene, it's post canon, w/ a working portal at Luz's disposal and Hunter flitting between a couple houses atm

The Nocedas and Deamonnes are having family dinner in the human realm. Things are going well! Darius is telling mostly non-morbid stories (bc based on CotH he CAN get morbid when he wants), Camila is impressed by the things he has to say even if he's not so subtly bragging as he goes on (both about himself as a matter of bravado, but also about Camila's kids. They're tough little bastards and he admires them, even if he'd never admit it)

Luz and Vee like to push Darius' buttons bc frankly it's stupidly easy and rewarding to do so (he is an irritable man, Luz is a mischievous lil scoundrel and Vee is, fundamentally, a silly creature. Vee's still nervous around witches (excluding the hexsquad) so Luz takes the lead w/ teasing)

Meanwhile, Hunter's having the time of his life!!! He's getting double the amount of parental praise and affection he normally gets!!! Big win in his eyes!!! He's never realised how much he likes his lives in the human and demon realm intersecting until now.

and, obviously, the stars of this hypothetical show, Darius and Camila. on the surface they seem very different, and they definitely are to an extent! Camila's naturally a sweet woman with a tougher more authoritative side that she reserves for when her loved ones are in trouble. Darius is a naturally cold and sophisticated person who only reveals the softer side of himself to those he's close with. she's very sincere and has been at this whole 'parenting' thing for a while, Darius has a few layers of persona and hard outer-shell on at all times and he's literally only been something close to a parent for like. a few months max.

but fundamentally they both feel massively out of their depth. right now, they both have a bigger support network than ever before, but the fact is that they've both been very lonely people until recently, and they're used to doing things with maybe one person by their side, max. they have all these people eager to help them, but also all this fear of Doing It Wrong and i feel like they're both people who're very conscious of how they're perceived by others. it makes them want to pull away and keep doing things the way they always have. but seeing that same imposter syndrome and concern born out of love in each other is...nice. it's nice to know someone else gets it. that they're not alone.

It's a wonderful time all around, until someone (stealing the idea of it being Camila's coworkers from another anon) unexpectedly calls to the house for a visit (ig Camila forgot abt clinic potluck night)

IMMEDIATE panic breaks out; Vee greets the guests at the door and stalls while Luz and Camila shove Darius and Hunter into another room to quickly try and come up with an exit plan. There's one obvious solution: summon the portal and go.

We could say there's an issue with this somehow (idk maybe stringbean ate the portal key and they're waiting for her to cough it up) OR we could just say that while Luz and Hunter want to be responsible, protect the demon realm and all that, they were also having a really good time. Luz loves talking about her adventures in the demon realm to her mom, Hunter's only now realising how happy having two parents/families makes him, even Darius is coming out of his shell as the night goes on.

And thus, the Boyfriend Suggestion is given

(rest under the cut bc holy fuck this is long)

Which is to say, Hunter says they can excuse Darius' presence by claiming he's Hunter's previous foster parent/social worker/etc (since I think the only way Camila can really justify the 5 extra kids that stayed in her house over summer with 2 of them staying to people in town would be something like foster care)...AND Camilla's new boyfriend, hence why he's here for the night :] <- this is the face Hunter is making @ Camila and Darius btw

Now, this may seem like a lot of mental gymnastics on Hunters part to keep the night going. And it is! But fortunately, hunter has experience with mental gymnastics. Especially if it's for something that he really really wants. It's not entirely selfish on his part, he's perceptive can tell that both Camila and Darius are lonely people deep down. he wants to see the people he cares about being happy and connected and they were just getting along so well!

Maybe the extra connection is an unnecessary detail, but in his eyes, the worst thing that could happen is a slightly awkward evening, while the best thing that could happen is he gets to live like this forever. Hooray! He is not going to investigate his own possible desire to have a more conventional family structure btw. He definitely doesn't have any leftover fears about non-conformity and being neglected left over from the emperor's coven. Absolutely not.

exiting out of hunters inner monologue and returning to the scene- Camila laughs, Immediately and nervously, because really? Darius? her boyfriend??? As if her co-workers are going to buy that the middle aged, nerdy widow with the famously unpopular daughter managed to snag a 6 ft tall, buff-ass Adonis who, while not being able to tell them that he's secretly a beautiful elf man, you still kinda tell. There's a Vibe he's always radiating, even in human disguise mode.

She genuinely means it when she says all this, she thinks she's just being realistic, but it makes Luz, Hunter and Darius sad to hear. Luz and hunter love Camila SO MUCH. Darius has really appreciated her company tonight. they don't want to hear her talk bad abt herself.

And maybe it's Darius' own rebellious nature that spurs him to contradict her. He's the kind of guy who believes in sticking it to ppl and proving that you're not the person they thought you were! And he's not above petty victories either. He looks at Luz and Hunter. They look back at him. He steels himself.

He pretended to be a coven head for years. He's played the role of someone cool, calculating and utterly unattached to the point of nearly convincing himself along with everyone else...

...So surely he can pretend to be his son's mom's boyfriend for a night!

and essentially any amount of shenanigans can spiral out of that premise, lol.

You can have Darius fumbling his way through pretending to be a human!

(He's doing his best. Hunter is guiding him but he's also wrong a lot of the time. Honestly Camila's coworkers look at Luz and think back to Manny and are like. Yeah that checks out this woman's a weirdo magnet)

You can have Camila and Darius!

(2 full grown adults who haven't had significant committed relationships in a while) trying to figure out the Right Amount of fake affection and PDA it takes to be convincing w/o being weird

Darius not knowing how to operate around the Noceda girls now that he's been put in this liminal paternal space for the night. Gives them both these awkward head pats and then internally cringes

You can also have the kids wildly differing emotional responses to this frankly absurd scenario! I genuinely cannot afford to make this any longer than it needs to be so maybe I'll expand on this idea some other time BUT in my mind it's a lot of...

bickering between Luz and Hunter about if this is really necessary (they are both self motivated rn but in ways that are understandable)

Vee not even knowing how to approach the idea of Camila having a boyfriend/her having more than one parent (this is all very new to her). I'm honestly torn about whether she'd warm up to Darius and be happy at the idea of having a bigger family or if her own fears of abandonment would lead to her being possessive/protective of her mom. It could go either way depending on how you characterize her relationship to Darius

Luz knowing that it's fake but still having a visceral reaction to just the idea of her mom dating and finding herself torn between wanting her mom to be happy and not being ready to accept any new father figures in her life after losing her dad

Hunter realising that Luz is uncomfortable and that in his pursuit of his dream family he may have accidentally put the first person to make him feel like family in immense emotional conflict

There'd probably be some family conflict either during the coworkers visit (prompting them to leave) or after they're already gone. Mostly about Darius and Hunter being not totally honest and kinda Weird the whole night, and the Nocedas unprocessed grief that they've both been refusing to deal with for a while.

Then however the hypothetical fic would resolve is up to you! Do Darius and Camila actually get together? Does one catch feelings but the other is still hung up/hesitant? Do they just stay friends and confidants? It's all up to the imagination baby

Anyway, sorry for the terrible wait on this answer anon, I've had several funks/episodes in the interim between starting and finishing this ask, hence why it got delayed lol. It's probably not as polished as it could be, and is really just a functional ramble about things I don't think I'll ever write, but it was definitely a fun ride lol

[luvring]

HI THIS IS THE ANON WHO SAID SHE LOVED UR POST AND i just realised u also write for cove holden ilysm do u have any romance visual novel recs?? so far i've only done cove's one & two demo ones (a celtic mythology one whose name i cannot remember & touchstarved the loml)

have the bestest day and thNk u

was the celtic one the good people (na daoine maithe) because i played that one too 👩🏻‍💻🫶 RLLY GOOD in typical nia fashion when my Type type isn't there i'm going 4 keagan and flannan

i saw u say error 143 in ur other ask UR REAL!!! ofc i must recommend blooming panic if u haven't played. xyx and toasty r genuinely just. Funny. i rlly liked toasty's va they did a great job. FIRST TIME I HEARD HIS LAUGH I WAS LIKE WOAH. i rlly liked how nightowl's route went w. Anger. u don't see it a lot and i appreciate it i was like WOWWW? AT ME? he's real. robo has answered a Lot of asks on tumblr so u can get loads of content after u finish!

https://gbpatch.itch.io/our-life-nf ... :) No words. Demo. i will build the audience for the 2nd game myself.

DEMO obscura is also vry good,, i haven't played in a Long time but i keep up w reading tumblr asks abt the LIs LOL. love the art and vibes. he isn't my type but iirc cirrus offers a rlly interesting dark romance route + aftercare/safe word system :)

DEMO online @ the perfect time is just,, i love the vibes and concept so far I LOVE WHEN CHARAS R FUNNY. HAVE MY HUMOR. rlly excited to see where it goes it's quite short so far BUT I WANT PPL TO PAY ATTENTION 4 THE FUTURE. PLEASE!

cryptid coffeehouse IS SOOO CUTE I LOVE ARTEMIS ☹️☹️ queer slowburn coffee shop romance BE SERIOUS no one fucking TALKS ABOUT MY ARTEMIS. WHY. so so many cute moments i was kicking my feet and giggling like WOWW

3 seasons is also VRY vry cute i don't usually play games w an mc visual but ivy is so pretty so IDC!!! u can play all the routes pretty easily they're all lovely like... it isn't super often i come out liking all the LIs pretty much on the same lvl. mamma mia!

....the persona 5 vn. IMCRYING I'm so fucking serious like. the characterization is REAL it's super well made. i'd like to say u could enjoy without playing p5 but um. probably not to the full extent. i played out of principle as a p5 enjoyer and for goro bc he's one of summer's fav charas ever and his route was so awesome actually. Epic Major Spoilers obvi. akira slayed also (my good ending completionist side..☹️)i won't say much abt him bc i'll ramble on and on but summer after finding out i had a crush on him yrs ago was like Yeah that makes a lot of sense he is so loz link.. like man

$30 gilded shadows (free demo) which i need to play again I WAS SUPPOSED TO FINISH ARI'S ROUTE MONTHS AGO rika said he was so my type and i trust them fundamentally. caissa my beloved. like the world building + charas it's just,, well done y'know

$12 when the night comes haven't played but rika rlly likes it so i'm putting it here anyways. LOL

NOT VNs. they are IFs...like there's Literally no visuals. read in browser. but i stand by the night market (1st book finished!) which i've rb'ed a bit + speaker . both fantasy,, love both casts i love everything they're doing i'm genuinely so so excited to see where they go!!! PLEASE!!!

YANDERE DEMOS separated for if they aren't ur thing which is obvi Valid. i erm. went down a bit of a rabbit hole. pls read their warnings! always read game warnings. but like. ok anyways

DEMO 14 days with you yeah. ren. i like when mc notes that smth is Off abt him. lots of asks answered on the tumblr! I can fix him.

DEMO something's wrong with sunny day jack jesus Christ . some of the best vn va work i have ever come across like Genuinely wtf. and the concept is rlly cool. was put off for a long time bc of.. jack's appearance.. sowwy. but wow it is just. really well done.

bitter/sweet blythe orange masc blythe va ?? did such a good job?? like srsly what. sorry wow that's the main thing i just rlly wanted to applaud them a bit. also I LOVE THE PARTIAL OST??? i want it so bad i was humming it for a couple hours after like

DEMO our dollhouse I'm so serious when i say i didn't realize it was for yanjam so when i came to my own realization of Oh Shit He's Sus and checked i was like FUCKCKDJ 😭😭 OBVIOUSLY... but srsly love the art and i'm excited to see how mc figures it out and what happens. did a good job at making a pretty Understandably oblivious(??) mc. like yeah i can see why u wouldn't expect him.

DEMO favor Z Intrigues Me. had to try so hard for the secret ending but now i am more intrigued like OKAYYY WHAT HAPPENED BROTHER 🤨 i like the tail animation also. also when u say u like possession horrors woah hey. hey. pal

[dameronology]

finn relationship alphabet

a - actions. what sort of things do they do to show they love their s.o?

hugs!! just hugs. also, finn has a jar that he writes sweet things on every time he has a thought about how important you are and sometimes, just sometimes, he lets you read it.

b - beginnings. how did the relationship begin? how has it changed?

it'll be probably be refreshingly simple. because of his upbringing, relationships weren't much of a worry, so in finn's mind, there's no previous bad experiences of rejection or anything. so, he just said it how it was.

c - comfortable. how comfy are they with each other? peeing with the door open close, or would they rather keep the mystery?

finn is very easy to be comfortable around. he has such a warm presence that you can't help but be yourself.

d - dates. do they consider dates to be important? what kind do they prefer?

he's like...the king of pinterest dates. and his creativity is impressive, bc pinterest doesn't even exist in the star wars universe. i'm talking pillow forts & movie nights, and scenic hikes through the forest for a picnic.

e - engagement. how would they propose? who would even pop the question?

i think it would be quite traditional, but also private? so he'd take you out for dinner and you'd have a really special evening, then when you were back in the privacy of your home, he'd pop the question - but finn is absolutely not opposed to you being the one who proposes.

f - fundamental. for them, what is the most fundamental part of a relationship?

mutual love & support - it's a simple one, but it's so fucking important. he needs someone who will love him, and someone who he can love right back. someone who won't mind being protected, but also someone who would fight his corner when he needs it.

g - gratitude. how do they show their appreciation for you?

he's an acts of service kinda guy. finn goes out his way to make sure you're okay & that you don't need anything - and if you do, he's usually on it before you even realise it

h - home. a random domestic headcanon.

his favourite past time is cooking. when he started out, he was awful, but now he's basically gordon ramsay

i - infinite. do they believe their love is endless, or is there something that could break it?

finn's love for you is just as important as his cause. you are everything to him, but so is fighting for a better galaxy. if you had fundamentally different morals, or fought on opposite sides, that would be enough for him to withdraw himself from you.

j - jokes. who's the funny one?

he actually has a really good sense of humour, so it's probably a tie

k - kiss. how do they kiss? favourite type?

finn loses it when you kiss him on the nose. he'll try to keep calm and. not completely scream, but his success rate so far is...zero.

as for his kisses, they're always warm and soft. the ones before & after missions are usually a little deeper, but when he's holding you, it feels like the safest place in the galaxy

l - longing. who's the clingy one? how are they with long distance?

finn isn't clingy, just because of how clinical the first order was, but it's a different story in the mornings. he will wrap his limps around you and hold you captive in bed til he's ready to wake up.

m - marriage. do they wanna get married?

i think finn will do whatever you want to do. he's dedicated to you no matter what, ring or no rings, vows or no vows, so if you're not that fussed about marriage, he's perfectly fine with the status quo. but, if you really do want to get married, he's also down for that too.

n - nicknames. what ones do they like?

his favourites are honey and babe.

o - over the top. are they ever ott? or are they more low-key?

finn is more low-key. he prefers intimacy & closeness between just the two of you, rather than grand events in public, or with other people.

p - picture. what's their favourite picture of them and their s.o?

there's one of the two of you sat in the cockpit of the millenium falcon that rey took - it's on his bedside table, in his wallet, and in his locker. favourite place, favourite person.

q - quintessential. what is one they would refuse to compromise in their relationship? what's a deal-breaker for them?

moral & political fundamentals. finn is extremely driven to help the resistance, and to fight for the hope and light in the galaxy - he couldn't be with someone who didn't think the same way, or someone who tried to reason with the empire of first order.

t - tattoo. would they ever get matching tattoos with their s.o, or a tattoo for them?

i think finn is too sensible for matching tattoos, tbh. he has all the faith in the world for your relationship to succeed but it's never 100% guaranteed - and if something does go wrong, he doesn't wanna be stuck with that reminder.

u - understanding. how understanding are they? or are they a little difficult?

the most understanding person ever. EVER. he is extremely empathetic & emotionally mature, so finn is amazing at reasoning and rationalising things.

v - vases. do they buy flowers?

yes!! he loves randomly surprising you with them

w - wandering. do they wanna travel? or immediately settle down?

finn has an innate desire to travel; he's seen so little of the galaxy, and the bit's he has seen, he did so through the lens of a storm trooper helmet. he'll want to see as many planets and systems as he can, with you by his side - but the minute you get tired and want to settle down, he's coming right with you

x - ex. how many exes do they have? any horror stories?

none! he's not exactly had the chance to have any.

y - you. favourite thing about their partner?

he likes your passion & your drive; it brings out his, and inspires him to work hard and put his values first in the way that you do. after being surrounded by so many other troopers who were conditioned into being docile, having someone who encourages his causes and his individuality means everything to him.

z - zeal. how excitable are they? who's the calm one?

finn is a balance of both. he's really calm when it comes to mission strategies and work - he's patient and cautious, in fact. but when it comes to holochess and intergalactic monopoly? the man's a board flipper.

[frumfrumfroo]

I’m new here and couldn’t tell from the tone of some asks (sorry) but did you like what they did with Ben in TRoKR ? I saw the discussions abt him lacking agency in it and I 100% agree but did you personality agree w/ the passive, “things only happen to me” vibe they gave him? And second question: can u give examples of how soule’s writing was telegrsmed in TFA? Thank u for taking the time xx

Like I’ve said before, it’s exactly the kind of backstory I would have written for him/always imagined. I had expected to find out he didn’t kill the other students/fought them in self defence/it was some kind of accident or emotional overload incident in TLJ. That was where everything was pointing.

Someone this insecure and conflicted about what he’s doing, someone who prays for help to resist his loving nature and cries when he sees his dad, who is so uncomfortable with himself he is covered head to toe not even his voice unmasked, who immediately latches on to the protagonist as a kindred spirit in loneliness and needs her to know he’s not a creature and wants to help her rather than hurt her- that’s not a person who had an eyes-open, all-in fall to the dark side full of decisive action and unhindered agency.

Leia saying ‘it was Snoke’ told us from the get go we’re in a situation where he was haunted and manipulated. His subservience and rote, childish repetition of ‘the Supreme Leader is wise’ when Han tells him Snoke doesn’t care about him. The constant, ongoing contradiction of his behaviour and motives tell us he has no conviction in the cause he’s supposedly supporting. His self-harm and naked suffering in the face of his own actions, his recklessness and inability to commit to selfishness and lack of ambition tell us those aren’t qualities which drove him here. He is highly emotionally driven, there’s no tangible goal and he doesn’t have a vision of the future. So why is he on the dark side?

It’s not that things only happen to him or that he’s passive, it’s that Ben has never pursued or been comfortable with what darkness really is and that has always been obvious. He tries very, very hard and fights tooth and claw to cling to something good in the comic until all of it is in ashes- he’s not passive, but he can’t win. No one can hold out forever against that kind of relentless onslaught. That he was absolutely a victim doesn’t mean he has no agency in his later choices. He’s not absolved of responsibility. But his reluctance and victimhood only makes sense, anything else would be incongruous with TFA.

There was never pursuit of power for power’s sake from him- there’s nothing he wants that the dark side can give him, he is there literally because he felt he had nowhere else to go. I said this before TLJ even came out. He felt he could not escape it, both because of the fatalism his family unintentionally instilled in him and because Snoke convinced him none of them loved him, that he is only useful or valued as a tool. Ben is a person who doesn’t believe he has any inherent value just for himself- just Ben, he believes that he can’t be forgiven for the sin of being born a disappointment, and that everything is his fault because he’s wrong and bad no matter what he does. None of his choices feel to him like real choices, all of his options appear to have been taken from him, and he feels compelled to plunge forward on the only remaining path. The comic provided an emotionally and logically cogent explanation for exactly why he would feel that way which is completely consistent with all the implications about his past and his characterisation from the films.

As I’ve pointed out before, there’s a reason he says ‘it’s too late’ to coming home not ‘I don’t want to’. There’s a reason he says ‘what I have to do’ and ‘he (I) was weak and foolish’- there’s a reason he needs Han’s help to go through with killing his father. It’s not about what he wants (he wants to go home with his dad- he thinks he can’t), he has never felt free to make his own choices or that freedom is possible for him.

Even at his darkest he never became cruel, he never enjoyed killing or hurting people, and he totally fails to suppress his instinct to be compassionate. He has a highly developed conscience and an overflowing core of empathy he can’t seal off. That’s why he’s so miserable as he pushes himself to do things he finds abhorrent- but he thinks he has to, there’s no escape, it’s the only way. In the sequence which establishes this character, even before any layers are stripped away or the investment we naturally have in him because of who he is is revealed, one of the first things we see him do is have compassion for F/nn. Those two characters are connected and a comparison is invited- this is visual storytelling showing you that they have something in common (it will be made clear later on that Ben saw himself in F/nn and that’s why he takes his actions so personally- cognitive dissonance).

F/nn was a good person trapped in the mask of the stormtrooper by circumstances beyond his control, but he is able to reject it and reclaim his identity. Ben is a good person hounded into the mask of Kylo Ren by his family’s failure to reconcile with Vader. The crushing weight of their expectations and their total lack of faith in him combined with their lies and Snoke’s manipulation convinces him there is ‘too much Vader in him’ and that Ben Solo isn’t and never will be good enough for anyone. That his love, compassion, and selflessness are all weaknesses which will only cause both him and the galaxy further suffering.

He is the most morally sensitive person in the new gen, he is the most outward-orientated and loving. His impulse is to be selfless and helpful, but that impulse has been relentlessly punished until he mistrusts it and thinks he must repress his wrong instincts and serve a ‘greater order’ guided by someone stronger than him. He has an acute sense of the impact of his actions and he considers it (even when he loses control of his emotions, he overwhelmingly targets things rather than people and his angry threats are empty).

In contrast, Anakin (who was committed on the dark side and successfully cut himself off from his empathy for many years) was all in on the pursuit of power even when he still had good intentions. Anakin also knew that power was the foundation of the dark side and he and Palpatine would always be at odds, that some day he would overthrow him and take his place. Ben only values power out of fear, and solely primal fear not more abstract, possessive fear like Anakin’s, he wants safety. He doesn’t go to Snoke thinking he’s ever going to take his place or gain his power- he wants Snoke to give him belonging and acceptance. He’s then convinced that the ends justify the means and doing things he knows are wrong and which cause him pain are necessary because his whole life and Snoke’s machinations have set him up to believe that. He is still trying to create safety and doing what he’s convinced must be done and will be done one way or another.

Ben is a beautiful compassionate person and always has been and that is why he’s in such constant, excruciating pain trying to shut himself off from love and vulnerability. He is following Snoke’s demands and trying to kill his past to stop the pain, to kill this vulnerability and need and weakness in himself. Connection was always what he wanted most and he is trying to cut off and cauterise all of the broken, abandoned bonds of love his family has left him with. And even here, he still wants Snoke’s acceptance, Snoke’s validation and esteem. He is still pouring himself out for an other, giving everything to please someone else, the last person left who tells him it’s possible he can achieve value.

He latched on to Rey instantly when he realised they were alike and did everything possible to lift her up and spare her what he went through. He only rejected Han and Rey’s offers to come with them because he thinks their love is conditional and that small, dirty, broken Ben Solo will never be able to meet the conditions. He thinks he is a tool or an obligation to them and it’s easy to understand why he thinks that. Han couldn’t wipe away a lifetime of baggage in a few words. Rey pretends it’s about the cause, she doesn’t tell him she loves him.

He thinks he must ‘become who he was meant to be’ and that his destiny is to become a new Vader. Everyone told him that. Whether with their fear or directly with words. When he finds out the truth about his grandfather, it’s a complete confirmation of what Snoke has told him and how his parents have treated him. Luke deciding he can’t be allowed to live because it’s that inevitable is the nail in the coffin in Ben believing there’s any place for him with his family. There is nowhere for him to exist as himself, he has to be someone else, someone less weak. And in running away from himself, his legacy, and his identity he puts himself under Snoke’s thumb and Snoke can finish inculcating his worldview.

Being able to love is freedom to Ben. He is an immensely loving person who feels like he is not worthy or allowed to love people, that his love has done nothing but make things worse for everyone. The tension and repression of trying not to need or care about people is what makes him so emotionally unstable. Kylo Ren is a mask and a shield and a prison built by Ben’s hurt and anxiety but equally built by Snoke out of his boyhood fancies to control him and shape him into an instrument of pain. Ben could never have conviction in it because it is so alien to his nature. He is so fundamentally unselfish that he never coveted like Anakin eventually did, his love never became possessive or jealous, he never sold his soul for a boon, the only way he could be selfish enough to murder is out of animal fear and pain. Wanting the hurting to stop. Rationalising it post-facto with the philosophy that the ends justify the means.

He pours himself out for Snoke because there is no one else left. All he wants is the safety and acceptance that he has literally never had anywhere. Anakin received unconditional love from his mother, Obi-wan, and Padmé and was warped from giving compassion into selfishness by his fear of loss and need for control. Covetousness became his tragic flaw and thus his fall culminates in trying to kill Padmé rather than lose her. Control became so important that others ceased to matter and love became possession. Anakin (despite also being a victim of manipulation and Jedi hubris) got to make real choices, he had real options, and thus he was a villain with conviction. Ben’s attempts to take control of his life are unfocussed and mostly involve abnegation, he pushes people away instead of trying to clutch them close; his response to loss is to isolate himself not seize power to recover the lost thing by force. Ben never received unconditional love until Han’s sacrifice on the bridge and the experience immediately shatters him from his already tenuous position in the dark. The only thing keeping him from coming home after that is sunk cost and the idea that he can never be forgiven. That it was too late.

He just needed someone to show him it wasn’t.

[sapphic-sasuke]

So i was reading a fanfic that started off with the shippuden beginning and started to fiil in the space between some of the blank periods of that time in wich sasuke and naruto bumped into each other continuously like after that time they met at orochimaru’s hide out they meet again a second time in wich sasuke saves naruto after he gets poisoned by a snake and fall into a river(lmao dumbass) anyway we go along till the end of the war where things started to get wonky after sasuke is released from the prison he starts to act like complete jerk in wich he cheats,lies acts like an asshole to naruto and naruto is the abused friend who had to get the short end of the stick each time ,it’s strating to became so much more irritating as the story progresses and literally nothing comes out of it but I quite liked it cuz it started off so good so i make a comment at the end of the story saying I enjoy the strory up until now but at the moment everyone just started to get so ooc especially sasuke and tried to explain how sasuke was like literally the most honest person in the anime wouldn’t lie to himself or others and i was really polite while doing it I emphasized my appreciation like two times

And they were like so aggressive and defensive for no reason and then called me arrogant and that i have no right to ‘shit on their work’ and tell them how to write their own thing, Lmao what

So this was kinda long sorry, i saw that u said u liked reading long stuff but still- anyway i wanted to ask you cause you are a writer,like should we just ignore and completely stop engaging the things that the writer/artist makes when we feel like we don’t enjoy them anymore or like are we allowed to criticize it and if we are, to wich extent cause i go to art school so I know i’m gonna be criticized at some point in my career but what kinda criticism is constructive criticism and not “shitting on work, just ignore if u don’t like it I spent hours on this damn thing” I want to take criticism but i also don’t want to be insulted under my nose so anyway I rambled to much, the point is does me saying that the characters in their story are so ooc and not right at all was insulting somehow? Cuz I always believed that whatever work u do and post it online will be criticized no matter what even if u tell em to just ignore it there will always be people who won’t so I’m pretty confused right now were they justified being angry at me because i pointed out some flaws I thought wasn’t really right? should i have ignored it like I always did? what do you think?

hey, this is an interesting question don’t apologise hahaha

so personally, criticism does make make me anxious because i’ve spent so much time working on something and knowing that it isn’t received well can be saddening. however, ive noticed that criticism does usually help me improve. for example, i was once criticised on my pacing—something i didn’t even realise was an issue—and ever since then i paid extra attention to the pacing of my story and i felt like it really helped.

from what you’ve said about the fic, i’d have to agree that it’s very ooc of sasuke and strange. some writers do only write for validation and praise which isn’t a bad thing but can make them very upset when they get a reaction that’s different to what they desire (what we honestly all desire, you know?) if i’m to take your word on what you said and you were respectful in your comment, then their reaction was unnecessary.

i feel like because there’s so much of the story that you didn’t like, quietly leaving it would have been a better alternative. from the direction the story was going, it seemed like the criticism wouldn’t have really changed the writer’s direction, or helped them improve (i mean, no offence but making sasuke an abuser? how do you mischaracterise him that badly?) and so their reaction isn’t surprising either.

while i do understand that criticism isn’t always about helping the writer, because of fanfiction being a hobby, something that’s done out of free time etc etc criticism of any sort, especially on that scale would hurt more, no matter how politely or eloquently you put it. some people just can’t handle it at all. and their reaction, rude and in bad taste, was probably just a defence mechanism because fanfiction takes a long ass time

i don’t think you were in the wrong at all but long criticism on something as fundamental as characterisation will always hurt. writers can seem unflappable but we’re really not. there will be some writers who would accept criticism (like me) and others who will immediately classify it as attacking. furthermore, because your criticism was more centred around characterisation, which is subjective, they can simply see it as you disagreeing with their interpretation and attacking it, if that makes sense. because characterisation with someone as controversial and misunderstood as sasuke they wouldn’t see it as valid criticism because it doesn’t align with their beliefs. in that case, the hostility makes sense. (still wrong ofc

all in all, criticism isn’t bad. it depends on the writer. and it’s always a risk you’re gonna have to be willing to take it you do decide to do it. i don’t think you were just shitting on their work. you’re not in the wrong when you criticise but a reasonable reaction is never guaranteed. you definitely aren’t arrogant (because let’s be real, that was blatant character butchering) especially if you were complimenting their work in the review as well. the writer is just immature and can’t handle criticism which if not then don’t fucking post your work on a public platform with comments open and unmoderated and unfairly lashed out at you. i’m sorry you had to receive such a rude, entitled response.

[sunshinesukuna]

hogwarts school of sorcery and sweethearts

✨pairing : magic!kuroo x magic!reader ✨genre: angst then fluff ✨tw: light swearing, bullying ✨ insp: night changes — 1D, 18 — 1D, Somebody to You — The Vamps, The Gifted (if y’all watch ep 5 and 7 y’all know what i’m gonna write abt) ✨ wc: 6.5k i rlly don’t know how it got to be this long it just... did. lest those plot holes come for my ass. ✨ uwu i officially graduated last week. they leech rally made us sit in front of our computers and graduate like? so damn cringy tho. but now it’s school admission season and you know what that means? a lotta stress as my grades try to get into a good school. TT

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢: 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲 (𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧) | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐢𝐢: 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧) | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐢: 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 (𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧)

Sorceress Saeko’s Guide To Potent Potions: 

The Babbling Potion is an extremely inebriating potion that, as stated in its name, causes the consumer to spout lies. Each and every statement said by the user under this potion’s effect is a complete and utter lie — according to the user’s knowledge of course. It is said that the Muggle tale of Pinnochio was inspired by a wizard who accidentally poured several drops of the potion onto an enchanted doll. 

Effects last for 72 hours, or until an Antidote is administered. For safety reasons, ingredients are kept confidential unless under emergency. Recipe for the Antidote is as below:

(For one person)

5 leech stomachs

Petals of the Laughing LIly (crushed finely)

Ginger ale

Root of Bubotuber Plant

Mandrake shavings

MIx together in a cauldron for two hours until brilliant orange. Stir with your wand counterclockwise for one hour, then set to simmer. When done, it should resemble the scent and taste of Pumpkin Juice. 

Kuroo always marched into the war armored to the teeth with plans. Every action he did always had a clear intention behind it and was well thought out, with all the consequences and alternatives mapped out. Even the most trivial of things. Kuroo wouldn’t argue that the situation in question was as far from trivial as it could get, but he digresses. Which is what landed Bokuto, Akaashi, and Kenma standing over a fretting Kuroo. 

“If you like (Y/N) so much, just say it to (Y/N)’s face, Kuroo!” Bokuto said. Kuroo gives him a sour look. Kuroo’s normally calm and suave front was reduced to a boy fiddling with his wan with pursed lips. Occasionally, bright red sparks popped out from the end of his wand, nearly obliterating a vase on top of the fireplace. 

“Heh. You go up to that pretty third-year you saw last week and tell her that you like her, go on,” Kuroo egged. 

“Well now that you put it that way…” Bokuto’s hair deflated along with his ego. 

“Then what’s the point of you making these…” Akaashi gestured to the wads of parchment over the covers of Kuroos’ four poster. Some of them were complete with the red circles and arrows unique to Gryffindor Quidditch captains. They flitted around the parchment, akin to the moving pictures that were the norm in the wizarding world. “Battle plans?” 

Kuroo chuckled. “Battle plans,” he muttered. “You’re right there, Akaashi.” 

“Bokuto has a point though, Kuroo,” Akaashi said. He looked at a piece of parchment and threw it away in disgust. 

“I do?” Bokuto asked. His eyes became starry again. The hair that once laid low with shame and insecurity now promptly stood proudly again. 

“No use making it long and complicated if she’s just going to reject you in the end,” Akaashi said. His tone made Kuroo’s heart clench a bit at how honest Akaashi was being. 

“Well yes, but when we’re dating, I don’t want to hear (Y/N) complaining about how un-thought out it was!” Kuroo said. 

“Now you’re just thinking too far,” Kenma piped up from his spot on the chair. “You’ve been friends for six months Kuroo,” he went back to his book, “stay in your lane.”

Kuroo scoffed defensively. “We’re quite good friends, I’ll say!” Bokuto stifled a laugh, while Akashi snorted openly next to Bokuto. 

“Go to sleep, you all.” Kuroo swiped all of the strewn parchment from the bed and stacked it onto his nightstand. “I need to think about this by myself.”

Kuroo laid on his four poster, mind amuck with thoughts and complications. Both the dark outside and the dark in his mind left him more confused than ever. Now that he had become better friends with you, he had a slightly closer view of all your thought processes, all your likes and dislikes. 

You liked Herbology and magical plants. Should he do it in the greenhouse? No, you had been there too many times for it to have any special meaning to you. Not to mention that he wouldn’t want to do it while soiled in Mandrake piss. Kuroo shuddered at the thought.

The common room? Too many people that could walk in. An empty classroom? Too suggestive. 

Kuroo sat up on his bed. Everyone had fallen fast asleep, Bokuto snoring the loudest out of the four. Kuroo slumped back down on the bed before catching sight of the bulletin board in his room. Besides the parchment of Quidditch moves and formations, there was a moving photo of the four of them. 

Crude mustaches were drawn over their magical lips. A magical doodle of a flying Bokuto was scribbled in the corner, flying around the photo’s sky. Even the pictures were asleep. Not Kuroo’s. His was still awake. 

Kuroo’s photo looked at the real version of him. The photo couldn’t talk, but Photo Kuroo looked at real Kuroo expectantly. Kind of like he was asking ‘What are you going to do now?’ 

Not bearing to lock eyes with the photo, Kuroo found himself looking at the schedule he had for tomorrow. Potions first thing in the morning. Ugh, he had to deal with Snape again. After Slytherin’s defeat against Gryffindor a few days ago, their head of house would be even more bitter than he already was toward the innocent Gryffindors.  There were even rumors that next morning’s pumpkin juice would be laced with Draught of the Living Death or Babbling Potion. Kuroo shuddered. 

Potions was followed by History of Magic, Arithmancy, Charms, and Astronomy. His mind went silent for a little while, concocting an all-new plan.

Maybe something could be arranged.

Kuroo walked into breakfast the day after that with a spring in his step, the hair on his head finally seeming to bend to his will. The rest of the Gryffindors gagged at the 180 his appearance had taken on.. Had their mouths been anymore agape, they would have been the gargoyles that stood proudly on Hogwarts front gates.

“Top of the morning to you all, fine gentlemen,” Kuroo said. Akaashi and Kenma exchanged a look. 

“Game day, huh?” Akaashi asked. Kuroo nodded, grinning from ear to ear. Kenma pursed his lips.

“Astronomy Tower, right after classes.” 

“Really? Good luck, bro!” Bokuto says. He clapped Kuroo on the back. 

From the tip of his wand, Kuroo conjured a sticky white liquid and proceeded to slather it all over his hair. It was hair gel, Kenma realised. The morning sunlight streaming through the windows made it shimmer in Kuroo’s onyx locks. “I look fine, right?” Kuroo asked. Kenma could only nod half-heartedly. 

Kuroo tapped his fingers on the wooden tables. He gritted his teeth. “You’re going to be fine, Kuroo,” Kenma says. He smiles a little at his friend's concern over confessing.

“Yeah, I think (Y/N) has a thing for you too Kuroo,” Bokuto says. Kuroo furrowed his eyebrows.

“You sure?” 

“Don’t let those battle plans go to waste, man.” Kuroo laughs at the support his friends are giving him. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of his head that something, something is just going to go wrong. Then again, he gets that feeling every time he has a game. But they’ve won a majority of those games, so he chalks it up to nerves. 

Kuroo reached for a pitcher of pumpkin juice that no one had touched before. He took a sniff before furrowing his eyebrows.  “Does the pumpkin juice smell a little off to you today?” Kenma shrugged. Kuroo poured some in his goblet anyways.  

Kenma was the first one to see it coming. He was sitting opposite the Slytherin Quidditch team, so he had a bird’s eye view of their actions. A glint in Miya Atsumu’s eyes, Daishou’s curl of the lips, and the scent from the pitcher akin to unicorn poop; sickly sweet but could kill a man if inhaled directly. 

“Don’t drink—” Kenma started, but the gulp in Kuroo’s throat makes any of his actions futile. Kenma is half-standing, one arm raised to keep the goblet from touching his lips, but it’s too late. Akaashi and Bokuto look at Kenma like he’s swallowed a hedge of Gillyweed.

“The pumpkin juice today tastes amazing, doesn’t it?” Kuroo said. He set the goblet down like nothing was wrong.  “Do you guys have any plans for later? I’m free tonight, so let’s all sneak out to Hogsmeade if you—” 

Kenma snatches the goblet from Kuroo and puts it to his nose. The scents of Bubotuber pus and lily roots sting his nose. A waterfall of regret and shock crashes over the rocks that are Kenma’s heart. He shoves the goblet toward Akaashi, who does the same thing. They exchange grave looks before looking at Kuroo. 

“Guys?” Kuroo and Bokuto ask in unison. Kenma spots Miya Atsumu and Daishou Suguru giving each other claps on the back from his seat. ‘Slytherin’, he mouths to Akaashi. Akaashi rolls his eyes. The audacity! Akaashi takes the first plunge. 

“U-um Kuroo?” Akaashi asks. Kuroo looks at his friend, the confusion on his face now replaced with blank indifference.  “Don’t you have to meet (Y/N) later today?” Akaashi asks, prompting his memory.

“That ugly shrew? I’ll pass, thanks.” 

There are always going to be variables that are impossible to factor in an equation. Not all equations have rational results either. That was fundamental in Arithmancy. And as a student of Advanced Arithmancy of two years, Kuroo should probably have that ingrained into his mind right now. It was something that Professor Vector always berated him on. That he never left room for unknown variables that could come up in another problem in his equations.

Kuroo would have never thought that he would encounter one in a situation like this.

“Not cool, man!” Bokuto cried. An insult to Bokuto’s friends was an insult to Bokuto himself. But when one of Bokuto’s friends insulted Bokuto’s other friends...

Kuroo shrugged and took another sip of the pumpkin juice. “Just saying.” Akaashi and Kenma were still standing agape at the words tumbling out of Kuroo’s mouth. One minute he was fawning over you, fussing over every detail. Out of everyone, how could Kuroo have the audacity to say something like that about you? 

“Anyway, what are you all off to? Anyone want to join me on the pitch during Arithmancy?”

Kenma choked back a gulp of air. “You’re skipping class?”

“Yeah.” Seeing his friend's dumbstruck expressions, Kuroo threw his head back, laughing. “What’s the old hag gonna do?” He waved his fingers around his head in imitation of the innocent Professor Vector. “Oo, you have blundered in the ancient arts of the numbers! Prepare to die!” he said mockingly. 

In an instant, his smile dispersed in favour of a scowl that made itself at home on Kuroo’s face like a parasite on an unsuspecting plant.  “Like hell am I going to do that.”

Kuroo started packing his bags. “You guys aren’t coming with me, huh?”

“Well unlike you,” Akaashi started, “we actually care about our grades.” Kuroo raised an eyebrow.

“Suit yourself. I’ll be in the Astronomy Tower after class if you need me.” 

Enter a happy you trotting over to where the quartet were sitting. It seemed like you had just come back from the greenhouses, as evident from the leaf in your hair. You brushed it away. 

“Hi guys! Hi Kuroo!” you greeted. You sat yourself down next to Kuroo, but he suddenly scooted away from you like you were the plague. He grimaced before looking you up and down. He might have muttered something under his breath, but you didn’t catch a word. You could hear, however, that it was said in a venom-laced tone that could kill a bear with just a word. 

“I’m off,” he said curtly. Kuroo slung his bag over the shoulder and walked out of the Great Hall. You pursed your lips as you look at his retreating form. Something was up with him today. 

“What’s up with him?” you ask, taking a piece of toast from a tray.

“He’s just feeling a little under the weather today�� yeah!” Bokuto answered. His eyes looked to Akaashi for help. Either Akaashi didn’t get the hint or just decided to ignore Bokuto altogether. “That’s it! Kuroo’s just a little… sick!” 

“Poor him. Why isn’t he off at Madam Pomfrey’s?” You pouted. He promised to help you harvest Bubotuber Pus later today. But he could take a break from helping you all the time, you supposed. 

“Well, you see—” Bokuto said. You set your food down on the plate abruptly. 

“Never mind, I should stop by later to give him a healing potion or something.” At this, Akaashi and Kenma looked at one another with baffled faces and parted lips.

“We… really think you shouldn’t—” Kenma said.

“He said he would be in the Astronomy Tower later after class!” Bokuto suddenly blurted. Akaashi sighed and put his head in his hands, the cereal in front of him taking the brunt of his frustration.

“Oh, okay then. Thanks!” you said. Not having much of an appetite, you grabbed another piece of toast and pranced off to your next class.

Classes went by as usual. You didn’t catch a glimpse of a certain black-haired Keeper that day. Kuroo would have been good at this, you think, as the goblet in front of you squawks in distress. You wave your wand, reverting it back to its original form as a crow before proceeding to try again. 

What do people say again? If you tell someone you can’t have it, they want it even more? Usual classroom days with Kuroo would have never left you wanting for friends or platonic affection. But now as Professor Binns drolled on, you found yourself missing the occasional paper airplanes Kuroo would send your way during times like these. Or the inside jokes you shared about Professor Trelawney, who he hated with a burning passion, even though he didn’t attend Divination.

Once classes were over, you decided to help Kuroo get a little better. Since you often stopped by the infirmary to drop off medicinal magical plants, you could say that you knew your way around here. Madam Pomfrey trusted you enough that you would mind your own business. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t pull in a few favours from time to time.

Your reflection stared back at you from the cabinet marked ‘Healing Potions.’ The frontmost bottle always freaked you out a little. Why couldn’t the makers of Skele-Gro taken a design class or two? Putting a skeleton on the cap of a medicinal potion surely couldn’t have been the best way to attract customers. 

Other potions bubbled in their flasks as you shoved them away. Draught of the Living Death, was engraved on a bottle. Sleeping potion; use only in cases of extreme pain. Yikes. Was the red bottle to its side the one you were looking for? Babbling Potion Antidote. Use in large doses for immediate effect. Not this one either. 

The blue bottle on the very end was probably the one. You pushed past the other bottles, some with disturbing symptoms described on them. A jolly cupid with rosy cheeks flew around the blue glass, fit as a fiddle. On the cork was engraved ‘Pepperup Potion.’ Exactly what you were looking for.

You pocketed the bottle in your bag and made your way across the hall. Classes were finally finished, judging from the sea of black robes engulfing the hall. You hopped over a trick step on the stairs and looked up. The Astronomy Tower should be empty by now. Professor Sinistra should be enjoying a hearty meal down at supper. You trudged up the winding staircases.

You opened the topmost door to be rewarded by a gust of fresh air. The balcony above was empty save for a figure sitting on the ledge. His red Gryffindor robes were draped over the stone walls. A parchment peacock preened over by the empty tables as two tabby cats chased a crumpled rat around the chairs. Monkeys slung their way around the chandelier as sparrows nested in the mahogany shelves. It was a zoo, brought alive by the lazy swishing of Kuroo’s wand. 

“Kuroo,” you said. His head lolled over to where you were standing. Kuroo blinked slowly— exactly like a cat, you noted, and raised an eyebrow.

“What are you doing here?” 

You shuffled around in your bag. “Bokuto told me you were up here, and I thought that...”

“Ha?” Kuroo looked at you with a gelid distaste that stopped the vocal cords in your throat from working right then and there. He never looked at you like that. Did he have a problem with you? ‘He’s always stared at you like that when you aren’t looking, you know?’ egged the voice in the back of your head. That’s why he’s called you here. He hates you and wants you to bugger off. 

“What the hell would I want with someone,” his eyes looked you up and down, “like you?” 

“‘Like me?” Your mind stopped all other body processes as all your energy went to processing the words you had heard just now. “Are you implying something?”

“That you’re a half-witted witch,” he snarled. Kuroo hopped off the ledge to make his way over to you, “that couldn’t survive at Hogwarts even if I shoved all the books in the library down your big pie-hole?” Each word was interpolated by a languid step in your direction, backing you down to the cold walls that held the Tower up.

“I—” Kuroo leans on the wall, supported by an arm that pins you below his glare. Your muscles are held captive by his pernicious slights and the sheer denial that someone that treats, treated, you as nicely as Kuroo did could say things like this to you.

“I don’t even know why Hogwarts let people like you in.” He wrinkled his nose. “Hell, first time I saw you I thought you came in to replace Filch, the old bugger.” Okay, now this was just getting to be too much.

“What’s gotten into you?” you ask. Your brain wants it to come out as somewhat of a polite query, but your voice betrays your brain and lets it loose with the same shrill naivety a child would scream at their mother with. It almost cracks in the middle, but you push forward. 

“What’s gotten into me? Honey, that’s what McGonagall was thinking when she sent the letter of acceptance to you.” Kuroo puts his hands on his hips and leans back — as if that would let him throw more insults with better finesse. 

“No one likes you, see? That’s why you only go to those plants for comfort.”

“Shut up!” you screech. How could he say that with such nonchalance? It looked like he was being possessed by Peeves. How hard the poltergeist would laugh when he caught wind of this. You put your hands on his chest and push him away with the remaining strength in your arms. Kuroo staggers back, but quickly regains his balance. Out of your peripheral vision, you spot shards of red glass from the bottle. You don’t bother to clean it up as you try to distance yourself as far away as you can from the monster in front of you.

The Astronomy Tower, true to its name, towered over the rest of Hogwarts. Everything below lay in its gargantuan shadow, being a great place for picnics on hot summer days. It was even tall enough to shield the students from the rain, if you were unlucky enough to not know a Rain-Repelling Charm. The only thing that was collectively despised from it was its long, winding stairs. 

The same ones you were stooped over right now. You could feel tears making their way over your eyelids, but then again, what did you have to cry for? It wasn’t like you were exceptionally close to Kuroo  like he was with Kenma or something. You deserve to cry, you thought. He said all those horrible things; it was okay for you to feel insulted. Especially coming from him. 

You gulped down another lump in your throat. One of his enchanted paper animals had hung onto your robes as you were making your way down, and was now perching on your knees. The cat with scribbled on whiskers and eyes lounged on your lap, unaware of the turmoil going on inside you. You clicked your tongue. If this was how Kuroo was going to humiliate you even further... 

Then he could have a taste of his own medicine! You ripped up the innocent cat, setting it aflame for good measure. The smoke drifted out the vents above. Blood trickled from a cut on your index figure onto the stone stairs. 

“Look what we have here,” a scratchy voice crooned. The blood and emotions hammering in your head inhibit your senses. With the right honeyed tone, you would have thought the voice in front of you belonged to the very man who spurned you moments ago.

“Go— go away, Kuroo!” You stand up, moving to go back to the dorms when a face that fills you with dread blocks your way.

“Kuroo? Well, well, well, who would’ve thought that Princess Plant Prick would have had a…” Peeves pokes his cheek with his finger.  “Boy toy?” You’re able to at least shoot him a dirty look, but you stay in place in case anything happens. Who knows what fishy pranks he has up his sleeves? 

“No?” He twirls around you in a flurry of ghostly white. “I’m guessing… crush?” 

Peeves’s childish insulting was almost soothing. Different from those from Kuroo, Peeves’s jabs were more like one from a little sibling to another one. Rough on the outside, but well meaning on the inside. The tears seemed to stop their torrent a little, and your knees find themselves buckling back down on the stairs.

“Neither. Please leave me alone.” You take a handkerchief from your bag and wipe the mess on your face with it. 

“You sure, Princess Plant Prick? I’m not sure someone in your state is in any condition to be left alone.” The poltergeist moved to take a seat on the window ledge beside you. The previously bright corridor darkened a little bit with the new obstruction.

“Certain—certainly” you choked, “not with anyone like you.”

“Oh? And you would prefer it if I was, say…” Peeves leaned in closer to you. You could almost see the mosaic through the pale film of his skin. “Kuroo?” You rolled your eyes at the poltergeist. 

“See, I even made a wig to impersonate him if the occasion called for it!” With a snap of his fingers, he conjured a mop of what seemed to be black rooster feathers. Peeves set it on his head and smiled in imitation of Kuroo. You allowed yourself a small smile.

“Could have fooled me,” you said.

“And what if I did? If you thought that it was actually Kuroo here in my place?” You turned your head away, avoiding the question. “Assuming the previous events didn’t happen,” Peeves added hastily. 

“We wouldn’t do anything, if that’s what you mean.” Peeves gave you the side eye. 

You pondered a bit. What would you do if Kuroo was sitting here next to you? Would you push him away in fear of him making you hurt even more? No, Kuroo was the one to talk things through whenever there was a problem. So then why would he lash out at you when you didn’t do anything (as you remembered) wrong to him?

“I’m really starting to agree with him on your…” Peeves’s eyes raked your form up and down, “astuteness.”

“You heard us back there?”

“And on the Quidditch pitch.” Peeves lifted a finger. ”And in the greenhouses. And near the Fat Lady. And near that nasty painting of the raccoons on the third floor.” He held four fingers up. “And many more too.”

You tilted your head to the side. What did eavesdropping on conversations have to do with the situation? Seeing your confused expression, Peeves rolled his eyes and clapped his hands smack dab in front of your face.

“I have a bet with the other ghosts, darling! Snape’s diary is on the line here, so you better wisen up!” Now he was just leading you even further and further on from a simple answer. Peeves stood up from where he was sitting and floated back up the stairs, stopping a flight just above you. A trail of mist followed him. 

“And you know, Princess Plant Prick,” Peeves called from upstairs, “he did reek of Babbling Potion, earlier today.”

“Babbling…” You sucked in a gust of air. The haze in your head finally cleared up, allowing you to see what you were missing the entire time. You pulled your mouth closed, not even realising that it had dropped to the floor in the first place. You tapped your feet vigorously on the stairs, formulating your next plan of action. 

Reinforcements were needed.

The Gryffindor common room was empty save for the trio of friends that looked a little out of place with the absence of the fourth. Three pairs of shaky eyes met yours as you stood in front of the table where they were all huddled. Kenma gulped. “You met Kuroo, didn’t you?”

You grimaced, but tried as hard as you could to look at the fireplace on the other side of the room. “I did.” 

“How bad did it hurt?”Akaashi asked. The edges of your eyes stung as fresh tears pricked your eyeballs like needles on a pincushion. You wiped them away with your fingers and put your hands on your hips.

“Only a little. Now come on, Kenma.” You put a hand on Kenma’s wrist and yanked him out from his sitting position. He was the best one that could help you for a task like this. “We’re going to make him regret it.”

There was a potion supply available to students filled with harmless ingredients that wouldn’t harm a fly, but was enough for the potion you had in mind. Bokuto and Akaashi eventually started trailing behind you, and after enough explanation, they were on board with the plan that you had. 

After four gruelling hours of rotating between actually making the potion and keeping guard in the boys bathroom at 12 o’clock, the finished product was finally in your hands. With a swish of your wand, all trace of the four of you was gone. 

“Let’s do this again, shall we?” 

Kuroo walked into breakfast the day after that with a spring in his step, the hair on his head finally seeming to bend to his will. The rest of the Gryffindors gagged at the 180 his appearance had taken on.. Had their mouths been anymore agape, they would have been the gargoyles that stood proudly on Hogwarts front gates.

The boyish flouncing of the previous day, turned into an arrogant saunter the very next. Yesterday’s naive smile had soured like spoiled milk and turned into a shit-eating smirk that was fouler than Miya Atsumu’s when Slytherin won a game. The potion still hadn’t worn off, Kenma noted. It must have been potent. Luckily, he and (Y/N) had been prepared for this, with a little help from Bokuto and Akaashi. 

Kuroo gives a curt nod in Bokuto and Akaashi’s direction on the other side of the table as he moves to sit down next to Kenma. He doesn’t take his eyes off of the scrumptious feast laid in front of him. 

“So,” he says as he piles eggs and toast onto his plate, “anyone finally coming to skip with me today?” No one answers at first. Then, being the brave soul he is, Bokuto replies to his friend’s question.

“I don’t know man,” Bokuto says. “You got a lot of flak from Flitwick yesterday after you skipped. You’re lucky your grades from last week saved you.” 

“Did they, now?” Kuroo drawls. He swills the juice in his goblet a few times before downing it one gulp. The goblet magically refills itself as Kuroo sets it down. 

His mouth moves to make another brash statement, but contorts into a fanged scowl when you walk up the halls. Kenma and Akaashi don’t even have to look at you to know that it’s you coming down to sit next to them. 

“Fancy seeing you three here,” you say. Kuroo’s eyes twitch as you so blatantly ignore his presence. There are no signs of the pain he inflicted on you yesterday, and you seem as chipper as you can get. Frustration bubbles in his chest, at the thought of someone being so happy, even after he did all of those things to you. If you could just show an ounce of inconvenience at—

Something splashes in his face. The fiery undertones of fall and cinnamon tell him that it’s from his pumpkin juice. Kuroo draws his wand in reflex, but nothing else seems to be out for him. Worse still, the four people around him seem to pay him no attention. He catches Kenma giving you a short glance. Pearly droplets of orange liquid drip down your finger. 

“What did you put in my drink?” Kuroo mutters. You pay him no mind and go back to your cereal with your soggy fingers. 

“Hey.” Kuroo raps on the wooden table with his fist. “What did you put in my drink?” His volume has increased by now. So much so that the trio next to you has taken notice.

“Nothing,” you say.

“If she was actually trying to poison you, wouldn’t you think Dumbledore or McGonagall would have caught on sooner?” Kenma asked, trying to reason with his friend. 

Kuroo deflates a bit, leaning back before looking at the goblet in his hands. He takes a long sip from it, his eyes never leaving you the entire time. Perhaps he did see the drop you put into it, but he shows no signs that he knows you know. 

And then it happens. Kuroo slammed the now empty cup on the table. He clenched the golden material until his knuckles reddened, paled, and went back to his normal skin tone again. Something from the back of his throat sounded like it wanted to claw its way out of his mouth. People on each side of you were starting to look over. Any minute now, you think, biting your lip. You had read that the antidote’s effects could be a little painful, but you hadn’t prepared yourself for any of this.

Kuroo’s closing his eyes shut in pain. Every nerve in his throat has gotten ten times stronger, every breath next to him getting amplified by a hundred times. Ten thousand needles prick his throat as he gasps for air in the cramped space he is in right now. Kuroo forces an eye open to look into the eyes of his assailant: you.  

“You little—” he rasps. 

But just as he is about to force another curse word to come out of his mouth, all of the needles in him force their way out. His lungs suddenly fill with air as the pain in his neck and head dull to normal. His eyesight sharpens to its usual levels; which means he can feel the other eyes on him right now. 

Kuroo sits straight again as four pairs of eyes take in his current condition. They all have their lips slightly parted, eyebrows furrowed. The one in front of him looks the most expectant. Kuroo closes his eyes and shakes his head. He opens them again to be greeted by a sudden rush of light in his eyes and… your hesitant form in front of him. 

Orange droplets drip from your fingers, a remnant from his pumpkin juice. There is a paper cut you got from yesterday when...

“Hey, listen, I—” Kuroo starts. But your trembling lip and reddening eyes are too much for him to go on with his sentence. 

Your feelings also seem to be too much for yourself. Even though you’re in the middle of the Great Hall, where anyone could pick out drama even if it ran around in an Invisibility Cloak, ‘discrete’ is not something you have apparently mastered. 

“Hey!” he calls out after you. But by the time anyone can react, you’re out of the hall, face buried in your long, black, sleeve as you avoid the conflict. Kuroo is half-standing out of his seat. An arm raised that is lowered disappointedly as you make your way out.

The rest of the day goes on as usual. The sheer proximity of being in the same room with Kuroo is able to make your heart lurch in your ribcage. You want to have him so close by your side, so close that you can hear the steady thumping of one another’s hearts. So close that the very pheromones that make up his scent and self are etched into your mind as deep as they can possibly go. 

But at the same time, you hate being in his presence. His observant eyes that scan the room like a predator its prey linger a little too long on your back. If you could, you would put a thousand miles of distance between you two, until the mere memory of him is a speck of sand in the vast plains of the universe. Of course it’s not his fault for anything that happened, but still...

It’s only later during lunch when everything seems to be pulled back together. For a fleeting moment, you pass Kenma. He mutters a quick, “Meet him in the greenhouses after class,” before disappearing among the sea of black robes. You think to call after him, but you realise that Kuroo would have easily been the one that had sent him. And Kuroo always had a plan. 

So when you open the door to the greenhouse later, it doesn’t surprise you that there is absolutely no one there. Save for a certain Quidditch Captain. 

He’s playing with the lilies. Your lilies. The same ones that had made their way around your head the first time he had really approached you in the Great Hall that time. They snap up happily at the slightest brush of his fingers that easily retract back from the lethal petals. 

“You’ve made friends with the lilies,” you say. Kuroo stills in his seat on the stool. He turns to face you and blinks slowly, like a cat would. 

“If you don’t want to be here right now, then… I understand. I understand.” Kuroo stands up. He holds his arms out in a show of surrender. “So will you let me take up some of your time this afternoon?” 

You teeter between the balls of your feet. The words want to come out of your mouth so badly, but your heart seems to be keeping your lips shut. You count to five. 

“Go on,” you say. 

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I get it if you don’t forgive me, I said some really bad stuff back there. If you want to cut off all ties with me, feel free to, and—” You put a hand on one of his broad shoulders. 

“Kuroo.” He stops all his rambling and looks up at your eyes. “You were under a potion, it’s alright. I… I forgive you.”

“You do?”

“I do!” Your arms find their way around his neck. His jaw tickles your shoulder as the rumble of his laugh shakes your body.

“Thanks," you catch him whispering into your ear. None of you say anything as you dangle from his neck in the bone-splitting hug you give him. You linger for a while before peeling your arms back. Kuroo wants them back in their rightful place, his neck, so bad. “So are we back to normal, now?”

“Only if you’ll let me trash-talk you as revenge.” You both laugh in unison. 

“Hey, (Y/N)," Kuroo says. “Can I tell you something?”

“You can tell me anything, Kuroo. What’s up?”

He takes your fingers between his. You find yourself walking backwards and backwards in a twisted dance. And Kuroo holds the lead.

Your back makes contact with the wall behind you. Hot breath fans your neck. Kuroo holds out a hand to hold himself up, effectively trapping you between the wall and his tall body. You could just as easily whip out your wand and hex him where the sun doesn’t shine. But this was too good to be true. Didn’t all teenagers dream of someone doing this to them? 

Now that someone’s finally doing it to you, you can only freeze as your brain goes haywire.

“Kuroo! What are you—”

“I like you,” he says. It’s quick and simple, but smoother than a drawn out love letter from those horrible Cupids that Gilderoy Lockhart had sent that year. It makes your blood roar in your ears, yet the only sound that comes through to your brain are the three words that just came out of Kuroo’s mouth. 

“A lot.” The words come out of your mouth at the same time. Kuroo looks up, meeting a playful smile on your lips. He raises his eyebrows.

“How did you?” he asks. You cock a shoulder in his direction.

“I have my ways.”

Instead of pressing further, Kuroo just bows his head down between his arms, you may add, are still entrapping you. He laughs. “If you know only that much, then let me elaborate.” Your face suddenly feels very warm. 

‘Well of course, you would, it’s a greenhouse, (Y/N)!’ says Common Sense. The giddy teenager overtakes you and plays it off as Kuroo’s hot, and extremely close, breath.

“You’re really cute when you’re embarrassed, aren’t you?” He taps your nose. You want to swat his hand away, but remember that your arms are currently trapped under his much bigger ones. 

“You’re even cuter when you teach me Herbology at 3 in the morning. And way cuter when you have a milk mustache during breakfast.” Kuroo had removed his hands by now, but it still felt like there were invisible tacks pinning your arms to the wall behind you.

“Am I?” you asked. 

“Nope.” His sudden statement has you furrowing your eyebrows, but he quickly follows it up with a flick to your forehead. “Silly. Do you think I like you based on physical appearance alone?”

You manage a giggle. Kuroo leans back on the wall as he observes the greenhouse around him. You scoot closer to him and take his fingers into your hand. They're calloused after years of holding brooms, but they're soft and plump. He doesn't seem to mind when you wordlessly slip your hand into his.

Kuroo turns to look at you. He smiles. "We should spend more time in the greenhouses, you know?"

“Yeah, I think dates like this would be really good for our relationship," you say.

“Our… what?” 

“Our relationship.” You pull your hand away from his. “Do you not want to?”

Now the positions are switched. Your hands lock Kuroo from both sides as you pin him against the wall. His lips are inches from yours. 

"Can I?" you ask. Kuroo chuckles. He pulls your jaw closer to his, pressing both of your lips together in the process. 

"Well this didn't go as planned," he comments, before pulling you in for another kiss.

BONUS: 

Kenma passes Kuroo in their dorms. "You're welcome," he says. 

Kuroo is about to reply, but the blond Chaser has already settled into bed.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢: 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲 (𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧) | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐢𝐢: 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧) | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[friskarm]

the writing meme: nico!! ur nico has one of the most distinct voices ive ever read n i gotta.... deep inhale.. gotta kno ur thought process behind that. also maki if ur down for it, bc ur anime mack interp got me S h o ok td

hdsjfk okay u,wu i will talk abt Thos Kids....

nkmk are defs my favs out of all the love live kids....maki is rlly important to me for a whole host of reasosn that u will find out when i finally finish writing maki fic, and nico is just. god i love nico yazawa so much

the two of them make an incredibly potent pairing, and it’s honestly kinda tough to imagine any kind of canon-compliant situation where they’re not super important to each other!! even in AUs where they’re not paired together, i still find myself making them bffs at the very least ;;

so!! this got kinda long so heres the Read More

i’m actually gonna start with maki bc she’s by far the easiest to sum up

- for one, maki is actually...pretty kid-like. for all the “maturity” she tries to give off, it is very much something she constructs and not something she naturally exudes. maki is pretty idealistic, despite trying to make herself come off as cynical? it’s difficult to write, but you know someone just Knows Her when they manage to frame her POV like she’s being cynical, but when you read what she’s actually saying it comes off idealistic!! yeah. she also has a tendency to get really excited!!!! and then pretend she isn’t. she’ll go and try really hard on her own but she gets suuuuper embarassed when people call her out on it

- which brings me to my next point - maki is really worried about how people see her! she works really hard to construct this persona of ~maturity~ and ~elegance~ and ~intelligence~ but when u talk to her for like .2 seconds u realise she’s kinda adorable? definitely this part of her comes from probably being around adults more than other kids when she was young - and she’d probably get praised for being mature and so naturally she’d think maturity was some kind of end goal. regardless, her facade drops when she finally feels comfortable with people, but it Does take a lot!! the sleepover episode in s1 did a lot for her but i don’t think maki had truly opened up until they sung snow halation in s2...at least from the anime timeline!

- maki’s love for music - i suppose this is kind of an obvious one, but it’s still entirely critical to her character. maki loves the Shit out of music!!! she wants to make people feel things, she wants to Move them with the things she composes. i don’t think she has a particular preference for any type of music, either. she does say she prefers classical + jazz, but keep in mind maki has a Persona to uphold. she sings aishiteru banzai with all her heart when she thinks she’s alone - i think she deeply appreciates any type of music.

- extending on that point abt maki’s persona - her pursuit for “maturity”, if you could call it that, goes beyond that. she genuinely believes she should be trying to be more mature, and i definitely think this part of her is a huge reason why she conflicts with nico a lot! regardless, maki has a tendency to deny herself things she likes based on the premise that it’s immature. she’ll isolate herself in order to prevent participation in activities that seem immature, but because she still actually does want to participate, she’ll just kinda satellite around it. she also kinda wants to grow up as fast as possible, i think.

- maki gets really attached to her friends!! i like to think that bc of a strict up-bringing, maki never had the opportunity to make all that many friends, so being in high school with muse is such a good experience!! she’s the one who pushes to assert her friendship with rinpana in episode 4 season 1, and despite getting embarassed over it, she really does care for them!!! i can imagine not being after school navigators was hurtful for her bc it’s literally her three best friends....she was probably placated by the fact she got to be in the ~cool hot~ group solge but still, y’know?

- i could go on and on but the rule said 5 max so :ccccc

anyways niconii time!!

- nico is super, duper passionate about becoming an idol. this deep-rooted passion and desire to succeed is at the root of her character, and really, if your nico isn’t gunning with all her might for a particular goal, you’re not writing nico right!! being an idol, to nico, is probably the most important thing to her after her family. most importantly, as long as she thinks she has even a .1% chance to succeed, she’ll go for it with everything she’s got. i think that’s really important

- nico is very family orientated, too!! she loves her mum and siblings (and probably her dad, too, wherever he is) with all her heart! a lot of people felt conflicted abt nico’s episode in s2, but i think it showed the extent she’s willing to go in order to protect her family!! nico doesn’t come from money - a single mother with four kids is going to be incredibly difficult to live with. in order to give them something to hope for, she constructed a persona for herself in which she lives as a super idol - probably so that her little siblings have something to hope for!! or smtn. idk the gravity of nico’s situation is definitely dependent on ur preferences but regardless niconii loves her fam a Ton

- nico is also pretty mature, actually. this is kind of a weird one bc nico acts like honorin for the most part, and even maki calls her out on being immature (which is hilarious, honestly). the thing is, nico has had to look after her siblings for a Long time - which probably meant she didn’t have all that much free time when she was young to go and...be a kid and do kid things?? and part of her realises that her time as a Kid in highschool is ending soon and that when she leaves she’s going to need to take on adult responsibilities...but for now, she can be a kid. so she does - she goofs off, acts like an idiot and a child because she can! nico is also very pragmatic!! for all everyone mocks her she really does have a good understanding of the way the idol world works (she’s just maybe in the wrong show bc honoka kousaka is actually a deity or smtn), and whilst she can sometimes be a bit cynical, she’s actually really good at acknowledging when she’s being shitty abt smtn, owning up to it and apologising and learnign from it. ya

- nico might be cynical but she’s actually kinda hopeful when she lets herself be? it’s not constructed necessarily, it’s a genuine lack of faith in the world, but it’s not so strong that she can’t deny it - especially being with muse and honoka even more so inspires her to just...have a little faith in fate again. or have a little faith in nozomi, both are good.

- also, nico has a potty mouth. sorry i don’t make the rules

and then there’s nkmk as a concept!!! dam i luv these kids. they’re kind of difficult to talk about bc the way they’d interact is almost entirely dependent on the situation, but i’ll try and speak generally!!

- nkmk conflict, fundamentally. nico and maki have so many contrasting personality traits, they’re awful. but they’re also really similar in a lot of aspects, and have a lot to relate to each other with, and a lot to learn from each other. before they hop the honesty fence, they’re probably just gonna fight a lot, after the hop the honesty fence, they’re probably gonna have a few minor disagreements every now and then but generally get along really well! when they’re sitting on the honesty fence? well, thats the interesting part!!

- nico is somebody who acts childish but is probably mature on the inside. maki is somebody who acts mature but is probably childish on the inside. personally i feel like this is a big thing they’d come into conflict with each other about - they have different values and come from entirely different places so it takes a lot of work for them to understand each other!!

- nozomi annoys the shit out of both of them. she’s a meddler and stick her nose into places she shouldn’t. they love her, and also love to hate her.

- they’re both very driven people, but different things get in the way of them achieving their goals!! nico, i think, tends to have external obstacles - physical or otherwise something outside of herself!! maki tends to have internal obstacles - preconceptions or mental obstacles that prevent her from achieving her goals.

- it’s 2:30am and i need to sleep but hopefully this is what u wanted...thank for reading if u made it this far wao i wrote a ton...