#(so I guess it's time to move these over to a different border that treats me better)

[hoaxwings]

Got a secret? Don't keep it, it'll take you to the grave.

Good evening, residents of McKinley. If you’ll please find your assigned seats, we have a special treat in store for you tonight. As you take your seats, you’ll notice a place card in front of you with one simple instruction, “confess thy secrets or sacrifice thy neighbor to earn entry to leave.”. Go on now, look to your left and to your right. Is your secret worth your neighbor's life? No, no. Don’t try to leave – you can’t. See, we had this planned far ahead. As soon as you took your seats, you were spelled to them until you either sacrificed your neighbor's life or confessed a dark secret. You didn’t think this was going to be a cheery holiday dinner did you? There’s been far too many secrets and not enough lives falling victim for the abundance of supernatural beings here. One way or another, the night will end in our favor. Secrets or blood spilled - it’s your choice. So? Go on now, confess your secret or sacrifice your neighbor. We’ll be watching.

The man scanned the table, there was no way he was getting up without telling a secret. In one table alone they had managed to put his twin, cousin, and not just one but two of his chargers. So his little date with the elders would have to be postponed for another day. So far there was a suicide secret, then a family reunion that didn’t go as well, an individual creating barriers, someone with an inferior complex, and so on. It was not till his family members started to talk that he pinched his nose bridge. His cousin's words were the ones that caught his attention. His entire downhill had started off in a familiar way but he didn’t see the same energy from him. Then it was Fallon’s — in a way he understood why she has his charger was going to be the most complicated one. There was no hope after done what she had. He had been there — except his time out had been in limbo. Till he had managed to capture the elder’s attention for one reason or another.

Quickly, the attention came back to him. What was his move? It was not as if he was going to offer up the knowledge of what he was. Not when he didn’t know everyone's agenda. He knew that eventually, he would have to cross the border with his family members, as he reckon that seeing him sitting there brought just a couple of questions regarding his living status. Disclosing that he was a murderer in front of a mixed crowd didn’t seem like a smart move either. Sev was going to have to give something up.

He leaned back against the chair, letting a sigh out as his mind quickly went through his secrets. Who would’ve guessed he had so many? Once upon a time he had been a quiet simple man trying to get through the priesthood and now he was living a double life — or was it triple? Who was keeping count at this point? It seemed like the most personal thing he had left was going to be the least damaging one to give up. Of course, it would be. It made complete sense. Then when she met his eyes and finished it off, Sev spilled his own, “I hate my parents — and my uncle doesn’t fall too far behind — for disowning me and tossing me aside as quickly as they did. Everyone assumed I went mad and lost my marbles but neither of them ever looked deeper or gave me a second chance. I became trash right away.” It was generic for most, but it his the key elements that had been asked. It was deep and not something he was proud of. The only two people that would know what he meant were his family. How quickly his parents had legally disowned him, moved his body from its proper burial over to lay with criminals. Just like that — one time that he hadn’t fallen in line and been the good perfect alter boy he was tossed. Granter his one time had been a rather dramatic one but Jesus even a serial killer’s parents had stood by them longer than his own. It did little to no difference whether they were his biological ones or not. End of the day the people that had raised him loved him — just made him disappear. “But when it’s time to listen to why they did what they did — I should show grace.”

#muse: sev o'connell #event: thanksgiving

[ayamturd]

kid│technoblade

summary: (requested) an errand run forces techno out of the house; he meets an interesting kid in return

warnings: brief injury description, hinted abandonment, light angst and fluff

pairing: in-game platonic!technoblade

a/n: i took this request and ran so far with it lol. pls enjoy, i loved the reader’s dynamic with techno sm

wc: (4.0k) - m.list

It was hot, the day smothering in the summer heat as the village offered little coverage to the harsh sun. From exploring the lands of the Arctic to walking in the crowded space on the sweltering landscape, Technoblade let out a sigh from how his layered clothing stuck to him; his regal attire was more than slightly uncomfortable and was arguably only for looks then and there. 

Glancing down to the list in his hands once more, he grumbled from the tasks, supplies and ingredients he still needed, openly irritated from being forced on the supply run. Real funny Phil. Hilarious.

He scratched his head, lost to the busy market place as many shoved past him in the busy rush. Technoblade was a warrior, the Blood God, he was someone to be feared and feel threatened by, yet at that very moment he couldn’t be anything less than a lost tourist. 

Technoblade rarely ventured to extremely public places, but he knew he couldn’t return empty handed, the underwhelming mockery he would receive would be just plain annoying. 

With a final sigh of defeat, he decided it best to take each task step by step, that starting with the blacksmith. Now, make no question that Technoblade and Phil weren’t not capable of crafting their own weapon, but at times, the cost of another’s opinion did more help than that of personalized wants. 

It was even hotter once he entered the open store, the burning furnace emitting an almost intolerable intensity that rivaled the burning cold of the Arctic. Rolling his neck, he approached the front desk and unsheathed both Phil’s and his long swords, tossing a small pouch with a chink as payment for restorations and commendations.

Speaking few words in the villager’s tongue, the worker immediately began his assessment when taking the weapons in hand. Techno knew little in the different language, but he understood when the man explained the necessary works and time expectancy. 

He sighed for what felt to be his 15th time that afternoon, but complied when leaning against the counter for the next few minutes; he refused to leave his best weaponry in the hands of a stranger, and would do with the wait until then. 

Picking on the crusted mud that hardened on his fur coat, he jumped when someone slammed into the wood he leaned against, eyes dropping to meet the height of a young adolescent.

Unlike himself, they seemed dressed for the sweltering heat. Their cloak hung loosely from their shoulders, but was bare and thin, either from time or was purposeful from the climate, it was his guess. While they seemed as energetic as someone their age should be, he could tell from experience of the way they stood tall with their chin held high that they were a fighter, someone who seemed cautious of their surroundings by the constant shift in their eyes. 

He also knew they noticed him but was purposefully choosing to ignore him for whatever reason, he couldn’t tell. Coughing, he went back to his useless fiddling. 

They tapped anxiously, their fingers twitching while they looked longingly to the nearest axes, an overwhelming sense of excitement filling the stuffy air. While he tried to ignore them considering how little they could stand still irritated him, he couldn’t deny that they intrigued him. 

“Helloooooooo?” they called out, jumping above the counter and holding themself up with their arms stiff in strength. Techno waited a brief moment while they began yelling louder before rolling his eyes to interrupt them.

“They’re busy right now. Give it a minute, will you?”

His monotoned voice caused them to freeze, and as they slowly turned to meet the sight of him, a huge grin grew on their face. It made his frown grow in return. 

“A minute can be so long in silence, I’m only making it go faster.” Techno scoffed at their words and fully turned his body towards them. His genetics made him tower over them even when slouched, yet while he knew others would cower, the child in front of tilted their head in amusement. 

“By what logic does that make any sense?”

The mischievous teenager followed Technoblade’s posture, mimicking his stance with crossed arms. They jutted their chin out proudly, though it was obvious they were only messing with him further.

“My logic, obviously.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s yours, doesn’t make it right.”

With an annoying quirk of a smile, the small human smirked with feigned innocent eyes.

“Says who?”

Knowing full well that it would a battle in vain, Techno conceded and faced the front desk again, his arms resting against the table as he hung his head down with a huff of air. 

His considered defeat made the young stranger laugh lightly, and they copied his position, but instead held their head in their palms with a small hum. Staring at him intensely, their head rocked in thought for some time before they spoke up. 

“You look miserable.”

It took Techno a large amount of willpower to prevent himself from glaring in their direction, something the child took as a challenge. They filled the silence when Techno left it unattended, leaning closer to him while still in place. 

“I mean, the outfit is sick, I won’t lie. But you just look awful right now. How many layers do you have on anyway?”

Once more, he had to clench his fist tightly to drown out their bothersome questions. The child, as he now deemed it considering how persistent it could be, noted his subtle tensing and bit their lip to smother another coming giggle. 

“Is your crown real? Are you actually royalty? Am I expected to bow in honor or respect? I’m terrible with conversation-“

“So I’ve noticed.” Techno dryly stated, his hand coming to rub the back of his head, exasperated, with a shake. They completely disregard his side comment like he never spoke. 

“-but I never though I’d live to see the day I interact with royalty.”

“I’m not royal, I’m anythin’ but.” Techno’s voice dropped when considering the matter, his narrowed eyes in concentration against his constant fight for Anarchy and destruction. 

His seriousness created a beat of silence in the shop, though without fail, the teenager overlooked his internal monologue.

“Do you have a long, fancy name with numbers and stuff? Like ‘King George the First' or ‘Their majesty, Alas-’”

“No."

“But what about-”

Techno’s groan cut their next range of questions off, and he pushed himself up to stare them down tiredly. 

“You’re a pretty annoyin’ kid, you know that?”

Sitting up when he did, the teen jumped onto the counter backwards, swinging their legs on the edge while gripping the border tightly. They rested their chin on their shoulder with an eased smile as they now matched his height. 

“So I’ve been told.”

The approaching footsteps from the back entry caused the both of them to turn their heads, the young stranger facing to him while Techno’s gaze still remained. 

“But you can’t deny it, I made time go faster.”

Hopping off before they could be scolded, the blacksmith returned with the weapons’ adjustments and the requested engravings Phil asked for, drawing Techno’s attention away from the young stranger. He opened the cloth the worker brought the swords out in, and lifted his own while gripping the grained handle tightly.

Stepping away from the counter, he swung the blade in front of him, tossing it briefly as to adjust to its weight and consider its balance. The wind it generated in the slices of air brought a dark smile to his face. Satisfied with the result, Techno inspected the finer details up close a final time before sheathing it to his side. 

As he went to grab Phil’s, he caught the teen’s awed gape. He chuckled from their open amazement and moved to walk towards the displayed axes behind them. 

“What’s your name, kid?” With his back to them, he reached his hand outward to the various blade sizes, hovering over the edges with careful pressure. 

His question visibly threw them off, and they stuttered before gathering themself. 

“What’s yours?” they asked, eyebrows raised in defense. Techno felt the corner of his mouth lift from their faltering. 

“Technoblade.” He was patient as they swallowed before responding. 

“Y/n.”

Unclasping a light, yet deadly thin battle-blade axe from the wall, Techno eventually turned around to meet them again.  

“No last name?” 

While they smiled, it didn’t reach their eyes as they glanced away with a careless shrug. No origin or proper upbringing, he assumed.

“Never came up with one. Never needed one.”

“Hmm.”

Lifting the axe in hand, Techno gestured to the empty baldric that wrapped tightly around their chest. By their longing stares and stance as a fighter, it didn’t take much to make the connection that they were someone who fought with an axe. 

“What happened to the last one?”

Surprised by his close observation, they brought their hands to the bare hold as if they were searching for it. Unlike the past few minutes in his company, they suddenly became shy and spoke with a guilty smile. 

“O-oh. I, uh, chipped the blade. Wore it down. It’s been a while since I was able to treat myself, I thought it was finally worth the wait to get a new one.”

Shifting on their feet, they grasped one of their arms awkwardly. Despite their previously loud, outward energy, Techno sighed once he saw them as the kid they were; they were someone alone that was forced to survive in the big world, someone he could relate and understand. 

After a moment passed, Techno faced the worker. They had been watching their interaction the entire time and seemed as uncomfortable as they were bored. Without asking for a price, he wordlessly pulled out a handful of emeralds from his drop leg pouch and slammed them on the table surface. 

The blacksmith made sounds of gurgled delight, gathering the gems into his opens hands with furious nods in thanks. Techno only rolled his eyes and shoved the purchased axe forwards, leaving it open in his outreached hands to the child. 

“Save your money. It’s not worth any price they try to sell.”

Switching their sights from the weapon and Technoblade in disbelief, they breathlessly giggled when carefully lifting it from his hold. 

Twirling it easily before striking near the ground, the pulled the new beauty to their chest gratefully. They were at a loss for words, to say the least, and Techno laughed from their frozen shock.

His laughter died down and he decided to take his leave in quick steps. While the teen tried to shout to him in thanks, they were still dazed and couldn’t form words to yell. 

Techno paused at the entrance and dipped his head back, his hand bordering the door frame. He grinned slightly to the point where his sharper canines were visible, and called out to them in departure.

“See you around, kid.”

Bow raised, arrow drawn, Techno crept low on the forest ground with cautious and calculated steps. 

The overgrown leaves above provided a gentle shading that shielded the majority of the sunlight, only few splotches breaking through. It had been too long since Techno went hunting, the sport lost to him since his recent adventures and scenery in the very south. 

As he had been traveling for days on end to meet with his brothers’ call, he thought to gather food and see through with his lost skill; he had devoted a majority of his time in peaceful solitude to farming and raising cattle, he wasn’t as skillful as he used to be. 

Keeping that in mind, as his eyes narrowed from the close rustling of a bush before him and he approached meaningfully, he failed to noticed the grown roots that broke through the dirt. 

With a small yelp, his foot became stuck and he fell hard onto his face.

A small rabbit hopped out of the shrubbery and stopped briefly near him as if in mockery to his embarrassing failure before bouncing away. 

Technoblade groaned, both from pain and the circumstances, and gave up any hope for moving in shame when the voices began to mock him. 

“Well that wasn’t very royal of you.”

While his memory failed him more often than not, he recognized the voice specifically over the chaos that reigned in his ears. Contemplating the next-least humiliating course of actions, he settled on pretending nothing happened. 

“Like I said the last time,” he sighed while pushing himself up, “I’m not royalty.”

Brushing off the dirt that stained his clothes and skin, Techno turned to the child’s voice and jerked startled when their entertained countenance was closer than what he expected. They were hanging upside down with their legs hooked on a low, but sturdy branch. 

Face smug, they crossed their arms and openly snickered. 

“Agreed, you are far less graceful than what I expect them to be.”

Techno shook his head and searched for his bow, the old relic more traditional and practical in comparison to his crossbow for hunting. He hummed when spotting it and tried to shift the conversation. 

“What are you doin’ out here, kid?”

Pulling themself up in a sitting position, they swung their feet wildly and looked around the woodlands with a shrug. 

“I live here.”

Freezing mid crouch with his bow in hand, Techno’s words were slow following after. 

“Out here?”

“Mhmm.”

There was a pause as Techno looked at them confused. His brows furrowed fro their vague input. 

“In the trees?”

“Sometimes,” they sang. Leaping forward, they landed smoothly onto their feet and raised their eyes to the sky. “It depends on my mood, and whether or not I want to see the stars.”

“Ah.”

With that, Techno turned and started to walk away. His hunting attempt was a mistake that cost him a bullying teenager that apparently lived in the woods and was homeless, the voices adding onto his internal torment; he wanted to leave as fast as he could.

Racing their steps ahead of him, y/n began to walk backwards to address him directly. 

“Why are you here? I assume you don’t live near here since you dress like an old, aristocratic woman with modesty insecurities.”

Techno looked ahead without faltering considering their playful jab, and they tried for an answer again. 

“Plus you haven’t been around for weeks.”

Steps slowing, Techno was genuinely surprised to hear their observation and glanced at them with an inclined head tilt. 

“You looked for me?”

Caught in their own web, y/n timorously avoided his stare. 

“The town’s always busy with newcomers, travelers, royalty,” they emphasized with a pointed look at him, “trust me when I say you stick out like a sore thumb. Your turn.”

Nodding from their reasonable, but untrue explanation, it was Techno’s turn to glance away while formulating a response. 

“I’ve been… uh, explorin’, you could say.”

In a paralleling manner, they copied his previous nod despite their skepticism. 

“I see. And now?”

“Now I’m visitin’ an old friend, old relations.”

“Ahhh. Girlfriend?”

Technoblade stopped walking altogether and incredulity gawked at them. 

“What?”

“Boyfriend?” y/n continued, now turning with their back facing him. Techno rushed to meet there stride and spoke down to them.

“No, stop it.”

Hand to their chin, they pretended to reach another revelation with wide eyes. 

“Ohh I get it now, distant family.”

“You can be quiet now,” Techno grumbled. Smacking his forehead, he rubbed it exasperated while their joy became evident in their cheerful tone.  

“Are they misunderstanding?” the teen asked, their cheeks flushed excitedly from his apparent discomfort. “Is it the person-friend they don’t approve of?”

“I’m leaving now.” Techno hurried his pace as to leave the forest ground.

“They rude? Unbearable? Selfish? Annoying?”

“You know what,” he stated, spinning to them to clarify since they had stopped walking entirely behind him, “yes.”

“Ooo which one?”

“Annoyin’, and you remind me so much of them.”

The trees were now clear as the plains had become more visible during their trek. Strapping the long, recurve barbow over his head and around his chest, Techno thought the exchange done and allowed the sun to bask over him. 

Before he could make his way to his camp, their voice yelled out to him. 

“Aww that’s sweet!”

Perplexed to how anything of what he said could be seen as ‘sweet’, his curiosity got the better of him and he turned again. 

“You consider me like family? I’m touched!”

Eyes narrowed, Techno bowed his head it defeat once again. He could never win with them, could he?

“‘kay, I’m done with this. Goodbye.”

Y/n waved avidly with a wide grin in spite of him not looking. 

“See you around, Sir Blade!”

“You should consider yourself lucky.”

The stillness was deafening. Regardless of the wind that howled outside and forced the shudders to rattle upon constant impact, or the fire the lit the room bright in heat and warm tone color, the quiet was tense when y/n awoke in Techno’s house. 

“I saw the smoke burn miles out. Had the wind changed its course, I would have never noticed.”

As his back was turned to them, Techno pulled the cork from his most recent regeneration brew and poured it briskly into a small mug, its small rippling sound overtaking the room. With a plate of bread he prepared beforehand, he finally addressed them with the sustenance in hand. 

Y/n was completely engulfed in the large bedding they rested in, Techno’s bedding. Their arms were wrapped tightly with gauze that covered their forearms all the way to their chest. Eyes sunken and dark, they squinted heavily from recently awakening with ashen hair that matted to their face. 

“Is everyone alright?” they asked, voice faint yet rough from the intense smoke inhalation and damage they sustained in the event. Coughing from speaking for the first time, Techno was quick to hand them the potion. 

They downed the drink voraciously, and he decided to speak while they ate. 

“Everyone that managed to escape, probably. But those that did fled long before I arrived.”

Glancing at down at them, Techno could only sigh at the sight. They were so small under his gaze, and he shifted his attention to the nearest wall with crossed arms. 

“It’s one thing to help others, it’s another when takin’ on a raid by yourself.”

His pointed comment caused them to snap and try to defend themself, however, they moved to suddenly and winced from the slight movement. Despite his frown, Techno’s hands were raised gently with concerned eyes from their evident pain. 

Breathing in and out harshly, they were still hunched over when they glared up at him in anguish. 

“You didn’t hear them scream, you didn’t hear them yell for mercy. You weren’t there, but I was. I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.” Their voice cracked near the end, and with vast tears that escaped, a broken sob filled the space as they hid their face ashamed. 

Techno was at a loss when comforting others, but he wasn’t a jerk to ignore someone after surviving a tragic incident, one they tried to fight yet lost to. 

Slowly, he moved to sit on the bed side. He clenched his fist shut in hesitance, but steadily, he hovered his hand over them before stroking their back reassuringly. 

“Listen, kid,” pausing, Techno caught himself and cleared his throat, “Y/n, I know you barely know anything about me but trust me. I understand how it feels, how it must’ve felt then to be overwhelmed by sudden cries that surround you to the point that you make rash decisions. Trust me when I say I get it.”

Their cries died down from his words, and he spoke earnestly as they listened more closely in smothered hiccups. 

“I respect what you tried to do in the end, but you have to be self aware that you’re still just a kid.”

His blunt statement made them freeze, and when the fully processed what he said, they dropped their hands to scowl at him incredulously. Their red eyes are hard and made him laugh from his lack of explanation to his true meaning. 

“Hey, I never said it was the age that was at fault.”

Pulling his arms away, he grasped his hands together and rested his elbows to his knees, though his focus was still on them. 

“You’re young, and young means inexperienced. Give yourself some leeway and accept your limits that come with time.”

They looked down from his attentive eyes, but still nodded when understanding his perspective. 

Rubbing the bottom of his chin with the back of his hand, Techno attempted to further the conversation amiably. He was out of his depth socially, but he was trying for their sake. 

“Besides all that, I have to say you can definitely fight.” Their eyes shot up to meet his, the acclaim unexpected. Their face was too emotionally soft for Techno to look at, so he turned away before speaking with a joking smirk. 

“Though I’m not too sure about your close combat.”

Gawking at the audacity, y/n lightly smacked his arm and scoffed. A smile crept on their face as they shook their head from the backhanded compliment. 

“You try training with a tree, they don’t always fight back.”

His snicker grew from their weak justification, and eventually, they joined his laughing fit. Helpless giggles replaced the once solemn air. While it soon died down, the elation of each other’s company still remained. 

Techno rose from the soft mattress and crossed his arms loosely in thought. With a single nod, his monotoned voice encouraged them considerately.

“Get some rest, we can talk later.”

Like his past departures, his steps were fast and large as he moved to exit. His hand pulled the door with him, but a shy call of his name stopped him from closing it fully shut.

“Technoblade.”

His head peaked from behind the wooden door and was met with soft eyes that expressed more gratitude than words could convey. 

“Thank you.”

“No thanks needed, kid.”

Bonus:

Shutting the door gently, Techno walked into the kitchen space with a sigh. He rubbed his eyes from the hours he spent watching them unconscious after tending to them, and heeded the voices’ command for food (real food for once, not blood).

He leisurely approached the pantry, and without turning to address him, spoke lowly.

“Not a single, word.”

Phil lowered the book in his hand and raised a hand defensively with a shrug. He was sat in the living room, obscured in the large armchair from the kitchen; Techno was aware of his presence, however, and knew of his routine.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Phil called out, though Techno was quick to respond. 

“Phil, you are the least stealthy person on this planet.”

“No, no, I’m serious. I have nothing to say.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Techno murmured a sure and moved to the front door, an apple in one hand and bag full of produce tucked in his other arm. He stated that he was going check on the animals and slammed the door close harshly.

Moments passed as Phil sat in silence, save for the crackling fire that roared beside him, before speaking as if he could still hear him. 

“To think, I sent you to the store and you brought back a kid.”

#mcyt x reader #mcyt x you #mcyt fanfiction #dream smp x reader #dream smp x you #dsmp x reader #technoblade imagines #technoblade x gn!reader #technoblade x reader #technoblade x you #father!technoblade x reader #platonic!technoblade x reader

[yarrowleef]

Listened to an audio book of River, posting live rambly thoughts below the cut as I went. spoilers of course!

*I think it’s sweet how Rootspring greeted Ivypool aaa

*Ok I am fine with the "change" of doing a trial before you switch clans. but again, this isn't really a change. I talked about before how they are treating this as if there is actually an easy fix to this problem, and there isn’t. Abandoning your family for a rival is always going to upset cats, regardless of the rules. Someone pointed out what if you feel pressured to make a huge decision and then find you don't like living with your mate after all, and for once the random shouting npc has a point (that isn't responded to). That’s always been my biggest problem with the idea of changing clans for a mate. Living in a clan means caring for everyone in that clan, and if your loyalty literally hinges on one cat, what happens if you break up? what happens if that cat dies? Are you going back home? sometimes someone points something like that out, but it still hasn’t been addressed. I hope it will, we will see. I’m sure this new rule will work out and solve everything if the authors decide it will work, but if i were to imagine a world where people act realistically like people, this isnt going to change anything because rules dont stop individuals from feeling hurt. Is your family really not going to shame you for leaving them just because its not illegal?? as if cats have never been upset by things that aren't technically against the rules before?? the only thing it does is prevent starclan from trying to arbitrarily damn you to cat hell for it, i suppose. Well, given their behavior last arc i guess thats reason enough (although afaik no one has ever been dark forested for a cross clan romance before?? so. )

And on the second note, i certainly dont think the other leaders should have ANY say over deposing a different clan leader, why in the world should they? just make your 3/4 vote and head to the moon pool. This actually ties into why I dont like some of the implications of the cross clans rule. Look, if I was a cat living in this world, I absolutely would advocate removing the borders and just have everyone live as one with different clans no different then neighboring villages with rivalries no more serious then school sports rivalries. It’s the only sensible thing with how they set up the world since the clans are barely different. Since they decided to make it a RULE that they HAVE to help each other and make sure every clan is thriving, it makes even less sense to be separate. But I am not a cat living in this world, I am a reader, and I hate that rule and I hate that the clans just annoyingly bicker to solve every problem. I want the clans to be separate. I want them to fight. Constantly using the other clans as consultants for problems removed even more of their individuality. Every problem the past few series is solved the same way. The clans come together as one to face a big problem. Except since you made it a rule that they HAVE to do that, there is no tension or stakes with it anymore. it’s just an obligation. idk. don’t care for it. I don’t think the clans should have to constantly consult each other about their internal problems, we know no issue a clan faces is ever a big deal because they can always rely on their neighbors to help them out of it. No worries, the code says you have to. I don’t think it should be No Big Deal to switch clans. The more you erode the tension between clans the more boring things get. you might say “but we’ve already done plots with clans fighting, this will force them to come up with new plots!” no it won’t, the set up of the world was never the thing preventing warriors from having new interesting plots. I see fics come up with new interesting conflicts between hostile untrusting clans all the time. anyway I feel like i’ve gone off topic at the very start this is supposed to be a book reaction moving on

*I get unreasonably excited every time new warriors are named. I just think names are fun. Myrtlebloom is pretty. Were there people complaining about Bay and Myrtle’s names before?? personally I think they need to incorporate more weird plants. There are so many to choose from.

*Rip all the tortie Flamepaw designs. They are pretty but with such an emphasis on how he doesn’t look at all like Firestar, I expect we’ll see less of them. Don’t let that discourage anyone from trans headcanons though, he is having an identity crisis after all. Though as someone who DOES agonize a lot over whether all my OCs appropriately ‘look’ like their name, Flamepaw is probably the only canon cat who has ever noticed that he does not suit his name. You and so many others my guy.

*OH MY GOD. OH MYASDHJCDJRGFTG I CANNOT BELIEVE. MISTYSTAR JUST KEELED OVER OFF THE HIGH ROCK. THATS HOW SHES GOING OUT????? THAT IS SO FKCING FUNNY. also why are you doing cpr on a cat that is already breathing. girl that is not what cpr is for????

anyway rip to my “Frostpaw does a weekend at bernie’s on Mistystar to the rest of the clan” theory it would have been hilarious

oh Reedwhisker is going to conk his head on a rock and drown on that hunting patrol isn't he. calling it now.

*why does curlfeather feel suspicious? i dont really have a good reason but i do think it would be cool

*I both find Sunbeam very cute and its very funny that she just. is having a nickelodeon teen romcom off in the corner. I hope this cute boy likes me. Uh oh my boss scolded me and me and the bestie and I are having drama :( its so profoundly cheesy, i mean in kind of an endearing way, and also very funny beside frostpaw’s horrible situation. Oh and Flamepaw exists too I guess. y’all need to stop bringing up blood when you KNOW the entire clan is related to firestar, mostly thanks to lionblaze

Also shout out to Sunbeam for actually being nice to Shadowsight

*Dude bro I hope they are implying that Lightleap accidentally murdered Reedwhisker LMAO PLEASE

*I hope “how many cats like ashfur could there be” is foreshadowing somehow. Its probably not. Also Squirrelflight and Bramblestar are arguing again, who could have thunk it (why is it even when the authors make a big deal about how they are A Good Couple Actually, they still never write them getting along outside of emergencies??) I hope Bramblestar being weird again means he is dying, and that short convo with Flamepaw was implying that he is still really damaged from the possession incident. New leaders now pleas

*Flamepaw’s mom angst is the only interesting thing about him. After Alderheart-Rootspring- now him how many times can we do “apprentice who just wants to be good sucks at everything and keeps failing tests :(”

*so that sign was definitely planted. idk side eyeing curlfeather 

*RiverClan is doing really good at keeping secrets. Waltzing into every clans camp like

 literally everyone they talk to after two seconds is like “hm. well something sure is going on there.” 

*Flamepaw you are so annoying holy sh*t <3 however I am very interested in the idea that ThunderClan is traumatized from Ashfur, and I’m glad Bramblestar is actually feeling consequences emotionally. This is the most I’ve been interested in Bramblestar ever. I hope he steps down that'd be interesting

*AJSDWHFEBRGEFSR IS LIGHTLEAP TRYIN TO STEAL HER MAN OH NO THIS TEEN ROMCOM IS HEATING UP oh and Reedwhisker might have been murdered and fallen into hell or something but more importantly, WHO is Sunbeam going to take to the prom now!!!?? 😔

*Lol yeah rip in pieces Reedwhisker. and ok, again, why does Curlfeather feel so suspicious. She’s so insistent that there’s nothing odd about his death, and she was on the patrol. I cannot think of a good reason why she would be suspicious but like??? am i thinking too hard about it?? does she want to be leader or something????? Does she want her daughter to be in charge so she will want to choose her mother as leader?? is that too interesting for them to go for?? I mean, every single RiverClan cat is a blank slate nobody, so any of them could turn out to be sus. I certainly don’t have a leader preference because I don't know any of these people. 

*I actually like how Sunbeam’s concern for the rules was instilled in her from her mother who is carrying major regrets from leaving ShadowClan with the “rules are for losers” bunch. It’s a small moment, but its nice to explore the thought

*Flamepaw does not have a single thought that isn’t whining oh my gooooood I hope he has a villain arc otherwise I want to punt him into a hole

*Wait hang on, are leaders of other clans FORCED to accept new cats?? cause leafstar and harestar just announced it seemingly without even asking the other leaders??? thats??? incredibly weird? I mean they’d be expected to say yes, but it really brings up the question what if the leader or the rest of the clan really doesn’t like a certain cat for whatever reason. Surely a leader isn’t obligated to keep any cat in their clan, what in the world is this rule. I just thought there would be a curtesy conversation or something. It’s not breaking the code to fall in love anymore sure, but thats a whole different matter from “you are forced to accept any strange cat at any time with NO WARNING APPARENTLY??”

Also I am not liking Flamepaw’s “I wonder if I would ever like a cat enough to do that” because I don’t want to deal with him falling for either Frostpaw or Sunbeam and that line was pointed enough to feel like foreshadowing, and he has been nonstop whining about hating ThunderClan. It would be surprising if they DIDN’T make one of their protagonists use this new “rule” though. Also hang on, that was Sunbeam who spoke to him at the last gathering??? you mean...when she was supposed to be still injured and confined to the medicine den?? Which she was complaining about on her next chapter??--OH NO HE’S TALKING TO SUNBEAM WHO IS GREIVING AND IN PRIME CONDITION FOR A REBOUND, NO STOP STOP DONT DO THIS AHHHHHH YOU’RE REALLY GOING TO BRISTLEROOT 2.0 ME?????? STOP TALKING AT ONCE am i rly in a position where I am rooting for the protags not speak to each other?? I wish i didnt have to worry about it devolving into flirting--jfc Flamepaw why did you feel the need to note how you’re relived that she isn’t “fussing over you like a mother”. aaaaaaaaaaaagh this is going exactly in the direction I think it is isn’t it

*Well I think Frostpaw should get to talk to Redscar, that was one of my favorite field guide stories. Also I think RiverClan warriors should start eating each other alive--WAIT OH MY GOD A CURLY FEATHER I am CALLING this is planted somehow no she is so suspicious. oh please let Mothwing talk about what it was that first started her disillusionment with StarClan--fake planted signs. AAAAAHHH omg let Curl-whatsit have a villain arc and then they have to use their new shiny “depose a bad leader” rule. as long as its a GOOD villain arc. I think it would be fun for a cat who loves their parent to be manipulated by them, even if they have good intentions. often with evil parents they are obviously bad and don’t care about their kid ala Tigerstar/Bramble but Curlfeather clearly DOES care about Frostpaw, think of the drama

oh she IS bringing up the moths wing sign!! excellent. Oh wait now Frostpaw is having a real vision. Maybe curlfeather is just a normal cat who is meant to be the normal leader. Boring way to resolve this all if true :/ whatever. 

*I think it is very cute how all the young ShadowClan cats are hyping up Fringewhisker

*OH BOY I hope they name him Flameheart it would be so funny i hope he has a public meltdown over it.

AAAAAAAAAAAH HAHAHhHHHAHAHAHAHA THEY DID IT OH MY GOD.

nevermind,  Nightheart sounds like a name i'd come up with for my elementary school OCs, and i mean that affectionately. I actually like it, even if -heart has become a tad overused. Flamesong would have been a v pretty name, but I get that getting rid of Flame was more important to him (and song doesn't feel like it suits him). Love how him casually thinking about how gorgeous Nightcloud is set up this lmao.

*ok Mothwings suspicions are making me feel validated in my "Curlfeather is sus" vibes. Shes probably gonna make Duskfur deputy right?

i desperately desperately want Curlfeather to become a villain who murdered Reedwhisker. It will be fun. but then why did Frostpaw have the vision--is what I would ask if i didn’t know that starclan wasn't a bunch of wishy washy weirdos. Remember when Spottedleaf told Leafpool to “follow her heart” which obviously implied she should go with crowfeather, and then later she was like “noooo thats not what i meant, even though I absolutely let you believe that.” i’d buy that they’d pull some nonsense and say that feather storm was actually a sign of chaos and doom......but then we'll have to have yet another question of "why would starclan give them 9 lives after that"

*oh. well nevermind all that, Curlfeather just got eaten by random dogs. rip wild villain arc, i hardly knew you. what does "trust no cat" mean. i mean reedwhisker definitely had cat claw marks on him yes? like. she surely knew SOMETHING

Ah I see so that dream was actually a warning about how curlfeather was going to get exploded by dogs. You ever see that video of a bird that got hit with a baseball and it exploded into a cloud of feathers? like that. Very nice StarClan, thank u for your helpful wisdom as always

*what do you mean you found her body and brought it back???

it sure is nice of the dogs in this series to just kind of lightly chew on the bodies they catch and never like. you know. eat it?? someone must have informed them of the pg-13 rating they have to abide by.

* I thought Frostpaw cuddling with her siblings was very cute!!! but that was maybe the second time they had been mentioned that book? i almost forgot they existed entirely before they came into her den in that scene. Wish we got to know who they are. maybe next book ig

All in all not the most eventful book, but first books are usually just a lot of slow set up. Frostpaw was the only one who felt like she had...idk a real plot with stakes going on, and then you have these other two that are just having fairly inconsequential teen drama. I of course really like character internal conflicts and don't need interesting plots to be all doom and life-or-death situations, but unfortunately Flamepaw was very annoying and Sunbeam...just didn’t have much going on.  Nightheart at least kind of had a conclusion to his little “conflict.” Sunbeam didn’t have any I don’t think, hers was probably the least eventful.

#yarrow speaks #a starless clan #asc #a starless clan river #asc river #river spoilers #a starless clan spoilers #asc spoilers #this arcs very vague titles are gonna be hard to search for huh #wc criticisms

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s Spreading Wings Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 展翼之约, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

It is very important to read his birthday R&S before this!

[ This was released on 24 July 2021 ]

[ PROLOGUE ]

While heading home after work, I receive a call from Eli.

I’m guessing there’s information regarding the matter I asked of him from before.

MC: Hello? Captain Eli? Since you suddenly called, does this mean there’s a solution to what I asked about the other time?

Eli: That’s right. I personally made a trip to the municipal administration last week and retrieved the item for you. I’ve already asked City Express to send it over to you.

MC: That’s great! Thanks, Captain Eli!

Eli: It’s no problem. Although it took a little effort, it was retrieved eventually.

MC: I really have to thank Captain Eli. This item is pretty important to me, so you’ve helped me out big time.

Eli: Ah, it’s nothing. Oh yes, the STF is leaving tonight. Gavin just left the bureau and should be heading towards your place now. I shan’t disturb the both of you. I’ll hang up now. Watch out for the delivery.

MC: Mm, I’ve got it. I’ve troubled Captain Eli this time. When our TV station has a matchmaking show in the future, I’ll definitely recommend you!

I hang up. Sure enough, I receive a parcel from the STF not long after reaching home.

Tearing open the packaging, I see a dark coloured square box with the municipal administration’s logo engraved on it.

After removing the cover, a badge sits quietly among the flannel.

A cold light glints on the surface of the coiled design. The flag and peace dove clearly declare the rules of justice and protection.

It silently conveys a certain dignity that can make one hold their breath.

During an awards ceremony organised by the municipal government a few months ago, Gavin wasn’t able to attend in person. As a result, they didn’t manage to give him an honorary badge.

Although the municipal administration made several calls, the STF has been busy with missions, and Gavin hasn’t had the time to collect it.

This matter is something which I’ve always kept in my heart.

I feel that this honour, which represents an “acknowledgement”, shouldn’t be treated so flippantly and hastily.

Hence, while preparing for Gavin’s birthday, I asked Eli way in advance to retrieve this from the municipal administration using the name of STF.

This is an “acknowledgement” which belongs to him, and I wish to hand it to him personally.

All of a sudden, there are knocks at the door. Knowing that the person outside is Gavin, I quickly hide the badge and the box into a cupboard before opening the door.

Then, the person outside wraps me in a full embrace. His scent overtakes my senses.

MC: Are you leaving tonight?

Gavin responds with a “mm”. After nuzzling his head gently in the crook of my neck, he releases his hold on me.

In the short span of half a minute, he seems to have already derived all the strength he needs, and the light in his eyes is very bright.

MC: There’s no need to worry about me, but you have to take care of your safety.

Gavin: I’ll do my best to rush back. Don't worry.

The both of us speak at the same time. Gavin can’t help but laugh. Taking my hand, he pulls me outside.

Gavin: Let’s go and have dinner. We’ll eat outside today.

MC: Okay!

-

Walking along the street, I look at Gavin’s calm and resolute figure. Recalling the badge which is sitting quietly at home, I secretly purse my lips into a smile.

This year, my birthday plan is a secret which Gavin doesn’t know about. I’m looking forward to the day the secret is revealed, along with his reactions.

[ DATE ]

The faraway snow-capped mountains are reminiscent of a fog coloured outline. They stand at the end of the horizon, faraway and reticent.

On a road not too far from the border, I disembark from the car, standing underneath a street sign while staring ahead.

Approximately half a month ago, Gavin was sent to this city for a mission. Today is the day he wraps up the mission.

It’s also his birthday.

At this moment, my phone rings. I answer it quickly.

Eli: MC, have you reached the location I gave you?

MC: Mm, I’ve reached. Captain Eli, when will you guys be dismissed?

Eli: We’ve already been dismissed and are heading your way. Just stay where you are, and you’ll definitely cross paths with Gavin. Don’t worry.

MC: That’s great. I’ll thank Captain Eli in advance then~

After hanging up, I tap open my memo and verify its contents once more.

MC: The aviation park, guesthouse, cake, and presents. Mm, no problem at all!

I turn my phone off, thinking about how aside from celebrating Gavin’s birthday, I’m also shouldering a very “heavy responsibility”.

Since Gavin wasn’t personally present for the awards ceremony conducted by the municipal government, there’s a medal which has yet to be given to him.

After learning about this piece of news not too long ago, I’ve remembered it in my heart, and specially asked Eli to retrieve this medal from the municipal government in the name of STF.

With a really huge and hidden personal motive, I wish to personally hand this important honour to Gavin on this most special day.

The sudden chirping of birds pulls my train of thought back to reality.

I look at the time. It’s still very early, and the first glimmer of light has just appeared in the sky.

After waiting for a while longer, I spot a group of uniformed men appearing at the end of the road. My heart, which had been dangling in the air, immediately settles.

The person leading the group is wearing a combat uniform. Strands of brown hair curl up in the breeze, and he currently has his head turned towards a squad mate behind him as he says something.

Although they appear to have experienced a fierce battle, the atmosphere is very light-hearted.

Looks like this mission successfully reached its end.

Likely sensing my gaze, he suddenly turns his head, staring afar off towards my direction.

After he getting a clear view of my figure, those amber eyes suddenly freeze. The strands atop his head curl up in a silly manner, as though he doesn’t know how to react.

The early morning mist has not yet dissipated. The world is enveloped in a tender and pale greenish blue, and the chirping of birds occasionally grows faint and near.

The whirring of a helicopter drifts from overhead as it circles in the sky. It’s the aircraft which is here to send them back.

Seeing that Gavin is slightly at a loss, I can’t help but chuckle, waving at him.

Gavin immediately walks over to me, his pace much faster than before. The squad mates follow behind him in a leisurely manner, not planning to disrupt this early morning meeting.

Gavin stands in front of me. He sweeps a glance over my white denim jacket, his gaze a little astonished.

MC: How is it? Does it look good?

Gavin nods, responding in a straightforward manner.

Gavin: Looks good.

MC: I specially prepared a matching set~

While speaking, I pass him the bag in my hands. Gavin receives it and takes a look. With a chuckle, he puts on the exact same jacket deftly. 

Although it’s just a simple white demin jacket, it makes him look refreshed and cool.

The early morning mist dyes his eyes, giving them a tender coolness. When his eyes meet mine, they instantly melt into a warm gaze.

At this point, Eli and other squad mates walk over as well. A rope ladder descends from the helicopter, and Eli arches a brow at us.

Eli: This rascal was so anxious to see you that he almost flew back to Loveland City directly. This is good. He doesn't have to fly now.

He pats Gavin on the shoulder.

Eli: Captain Gavin, enjoy your birthday vacation. We brothers will head off first.

One by one, they climb up the rope ladder and board the helicopter. Tang Chao whistles, and he’s grabbed through the hatch by Eli.

Gavin doesn’t bother about them. He removes his half finger gloves, revealing his dry yet soft finger pads. He entwines all ten fingers with mine.

He lifts his eyes to look at me, and they are filled with an insuppressible brightness. He asks a question that he clearly knows the answer to.

Gavin: Why did you come here?

The helicopter circles into the distance, accompanied by a deafening roar. I grin while bringing my left hand to my mouth, curving it into the shape of a trumpet.

MC: It’s clearly to... wish you a happy birthday!

-

The public bus brings us to the entrance of a park in the outskirts of the city. I pull Gavin off the bus, and we stand at the entrance of the park together.

Turning my head, I scrape Gavin’s palm.

MC: May I know if Mr Birthday Boy is ready to spend a day of surprises with me?

The hand that’s intertwined with Gavin’s moves forward decisively. The smile in his voice is unambiguously clear.

Gavin: Of course.

When I was planning the birthday route a few days ago, I unintentionally chanced upon information pertaining to this park.

As compared to other parks, there doesn’t seem to be anything special about this aviation park.

It’s just another slow-paced venue to relax in within the city. It has a pond which can’t be considered large, and a few willow trees grow along it.

Magazines are displayed on the counter of a small stall, and a child is standing on his tiptoes, selecting a popsicle from the freezer beside it.

If I had to mention the biggest difference, it would be that this park was transformed from an airbase.

In order to remember that it was once an airbase, there’s a white statute of an aircraft in the middle of the park.

Similarly, in order to be in line with the theme of “aviation”, all the shops in the park display miniature aircraft models.

Akin to colourful birds, they carry a yearning for the unconstrained sky.

Perhaps due to it being the summer vacation, a teacher has brought children to visit this ex-airbase.

The children wear yellow hats while chattering away. They surround the aircraft models, debating on which one looks the best.

Gavin and I walk along the shade of trees unhurriedly. When passing by the aircraft statue, he suddenly asks me a question.

Gavin: Did you bring me here because this used to be an airbase?

His gaze flits past the aircraft statue, then pauses on my face.

I nod in acknowledgement.

MC: I heard that this used to be one of the first airbases. In the past, many aircrafts were studied here. It’s a place with lots of commemorative value, and bears the weight of the years when people headed into the sky. Since I’m celebrating your birthday in this city, I felt that I should pick a location which is slightly more special. Otherwise, it wouldn’t leave much of an impression when we recollect it in the future.

Gavin chuckles, then reaches out to pinch my face.

Gavin: Seeing you appear early in the morning while dismissing the squad was already enough to leave a deep impression on me.

I laugh in embarrassment, then continue the earlier topic.

MC: But the airbase is only half of the reason.

I pause, my sentence ending on an upward lilt.

MC: There’s another half.

Gavin arches his brows, as though wondering what other surprises I could have hidden in this small park.

Tugging on his hand, we turn into a small path on the left, a confident smile on my face.

MC: Come with me.

The small path extends forward, and the sound of our footsteps mingles with the rustling of leaves.

After making a turn, everything becomes clear.

Before us, there’s a spacious and empty patch of land. Green grass grows wildly, covering the runway which was once used for aircrafts.

The wreckage of a plane remains on the ground, the rust on its body akin to a brown coloured decorative pattern.

Everything reveals the creases of time, but certain lingering aspirations can still be felt from it.

Gavin: Is this the other half of the reason?

He looks at me, his brows arched slightly.

MC: This was the original location of the airbase. I heard that this abandoned plane used to have the most excellent workmanship. I felt that if you knew about such a place, you’d want to take a look. Also, this is quite a nice place for a hidden scenery~

Gavin suddenly reaches out to brush dust off the body of the aircraft, revealing a series of numbers.

Gavin: Y2251. This used to be an air freighter.

Gavin pauses for a moment. As though he grasped at a fragment from his memories, his eyelashes stir gently in slight disbelief.

Gavin: A very long time ago, I made an aircraft model. This was the aircraft I referenced and modelled it after.

MC: ?!

I’m stunned for half a second. When I see myself in Gavin’s calm and composed eyes, I can’t help but chuckle.

MC: I suddenly feel as though this world might actually operate in a circle. We might move and turn around, but there will come a day when we become part of the circle.

Gavin responds with a “mm”. He gazes fixedly at the set of numbers, as though patching up fragments of memories bit by bit.

Gavin: I used it to participate in a competition and won a prize. Back then, the officer who gave out the award came from this base.

MC: What kind of a competition was it?

Gavin: An aeromodelling competition. The prize was a small aviator badge.

We walk past the propeller of the aircraft wreckage with very light footsteps.

In my mind, a face even younger than the one right now surfaces before my eyes, along with a pair of clear amber eyes.

MC: Wow, that sounds really incredible!

I suddenly see the introductory plate next to the plane, which has a picture of how it formally looked like.

Smooth contours, blue wings, floating cloud patterns on its tail... just like a beautiful flying bird.

MC: How pretty. When you referenced this plane, did you make an exact replica?

Gavin nods. He looks at the plate, his gaze very serious.

Gavin: It was more or less the same as this.

He hesitates slightly, then adds on.

Gavin: Erm... it didn’t look as good. But it was very practical and could fly.

He gestures with his hands, pointing towards a faraway ginkgo tree.

Gavin: Around here to over there - the distance of half a field.

We walk over to that ginkgo tree. Its leaves are luxuriant as it stands next to the side gate of the park.

Since it’s summer, the leaves are lush and green.

A swing is swaying gently and quietly under the tree, and a few ginkgo leaves have fallen onto the wooden seat.

Tugging Gavin over to the swing, we continue our earlier conversation.

MC: We probably walked around 500 metres to get here. An aircraft model which is able to fly 500 metres is so incredible! You must have really liked it in the past in order to do such an amazing job.

Gavin holds the rope of the swing. He nods after hearing this, and his voice is certain.

Gavin: I did like it very much.

Seeing from my expression that I’m about to burst from curiosity, he can’t help but chuckle before going along with me and speaking.

Gavin: Back then, I bought many atlases related to planes. While studying them slowly, I conducted test flights too. I spent almost half of my summer vacation on this. Although the process was very fulfilling, there were times when I faced setbacks. Once, I got into a huff and tossed all the spare parts into my drawer and went to bed. 

MC: What happened next?

A nostalgic smile flashes in Gavin’s eyes.

Gavin: I couldn’t fall asleep, so I got up and took all of them out of the drawer. I fumbled around and managed to construct the extending and retracting mechanism of the wings. The next day, I slept till late in the afternoon... My mom didn’t wake me up.

MC: Pfft.

I can almost envision a youth who is sound asleep under the covers, a prototype plane laying quietly on the table.

A breeze enters through the curtains. It’s tender and light-hearted.

MC: Looks like it really isn’t easy to construct an aircraft model successfully.

I’m a little awed.

MC: I remember when we were doing handicrafts in school, the teacher would always say that the final step is to engrave our names as a marker. If I were you, I’d definitely paint my own name at the most conspicuous spot, and tell everyone how incredible I am.

Gavin gives this some thought before he shakes his head.

Gavin: I didn’t engrave my name back then. It was on the small aviator badge, but it got lost after I sent it to my father’s squad.

The way he says this so naturally causes my slightly flinched expression to reveal complicated emotions.

Gavin: Now that I think about it, it wasn’t anything special.

He chuckles, his tone as light as a breeze.

Gavin: They’re all in the past.

He narrates this calmly, as though these memories have long since been shut behind a dusty door.

I think of a 14 year old Gavin. I think of that aircraft model he made personally. I think of the past he had to experience...

A sense of discontent rises from my heart, and I wish to smoothen these regrets.

I stand up, and Gavin lifts his head towards me in slight puzzlement.

Gavin: What’s wrong?

MC: How could we not eat popsicles in a park during summer? I saw a stall selling popsicles earlier. I’ll buy two sticks.

Gavin nods. Just as he’s about to stand up and follow me, I press him back onto the swing.

MC: I’ll buy it. You can just wait for me here.

Gavin arches his brows slightly as he looks at me. As though seeing through my thoughts, he nods.

MC: What flavour do you want?

Gavin: I’ll go with whatever you like.

I nod. Just as I prepare to leave, someone grips my fingers.

I turn around to see that Gavin is looking at me.

Gavin: Be safe.

After a pause, he continues.

Gavin: I’ll be waiting for you here.

MC: Mm, I’ve got it.

I nod, giving him a smile.

-

I’m standing at a shop near the entrance of the park. Numerous aircraft models of various styles are displayed on the counter.

However, I instantly spot one particular style exhibited in the middle. With its white body and blue wings, it looks exactly like the plane in the original picture from earlier.

When the boss sees me staring at it, he enthusiastically introduces it to me from the side.

Boss: This is a bestseller from our shop. It’s a replica of the plane in the park, built in a 1:400 ratio. This is the only piece left today.

Without hesitation, I purchase it.

Even before waiting for the boss to package it in a box, I pick up the miniature plane and store it into my bag. Then, I quickly jog into the park.

When I hurriedly weave through the crowd and make a turn at the small path, I suddenly halt in my footsteps when I spot Gavin.

He’s sitting on the swing in the park, sunlight from the summer afternoon filtering through the crevices of leaves and descending on him in specks.

A few ginkgo leaves have fallen, scattering at his feet. A few bellflowers are suddenly blown by the wind, releasing a clear and rippling sound.

Gavin watches the bellflowers quietly, and all his sharpness has been retracted.

In an instant, along with the descending ginkgo leaves, I think I see the youth who is encased and hidden by layers of solid armour.

It’s as though he has found a wound which has yet to heal completely but was forgotten with time. When he faces that scar, he waits in quiet solitude.

Akin to an instinctive reaction, I sprint towards him and take his hand.

The moment Gavin lifts his head and looks at me, I see brilliant rays lighting up his eyes.

It seems that he has grown accustomed to waiting. But this time, the person he’s waiting for has arrived as planned.

MC: Sorry, I had to queue for a long time to get the popsicles.

Gavin shakes his head, his brows arched into a smile.

Gavin: It wasn’t very long.

I stretch out my hand, waving the two popsicle sticks in my hand.

MC: Here. The other flavours were sold out, so there’s only lychee left. Give it a try.

Gavin takes one stick. I sit beside him and take a bite of the popsicle, the clear and sweet taste spreading from the tip of my tongue.

I turn my head and ask Gavin a question.

MC: Why aren’t you asking me about what gifts I prepared for you this year?

Gavin: If I said that your appearance here is already the best gift, you definitely wouldn’t be satisfied with this response.

He pauses, his tone bringing with it an unhurried upward lilt.

Gavin: So... what did you prepare for me this year?

Heading out of the park via the side gate, we make a turn at a sloping path. In front, there’s a pretty large lake.

The source of water from this lake comes from the faraway snow-capped mountains. Since there aren’t many tourists, the water in the lake is clean and pure blue.

This patch of blue is reminiscent of a gigantic jewel. It’s deep and tender, adding radiance and beauty to the snow-capped mountain, as though extending to the horizon.

There’s a tranquil guesthouse next to the lake. Gavin and I push open the gate of the courtyard together.

There’s a gigantic tree in the courtyard. July happens to be its flowering season, and the tree is layered with cloud-like petals.

I guide Gavin to the second storey. After lifting the portiere made of colourful cloth, a meticulously decorated room appears before our eyes.

Sprigs of a blossoming plant have been inserted into a vase, and a simple and unsophisticated wind chime hangs by the window.

A birthday cake stored in a transparent box is displayed on the table, and there’s a blue ribbon on it which has been tied into a bow.

Ever since we entered, I've been secretly observing Gavin’s reaction, wanting to know if he fancies such a surprise.

He doesn’t say anything. He simply looks at everything quietly, as though he doesn’t want to miss out on anything.

Then, he walks over to the window, fiddling with the wind chime gently. He sits at the edge of the window casually, and stretches out his hand towards me.

Understanding this immediately, I walk over, placing my hand in his unfurled palm. Sunlight from outside the window envelops this square inch world, and it is tender and tranquil.

Gavin: A very long time ago, somebody told me that I can’t be unhappy on my birthday. 

Gavin: Because this day doesn’t just belong to me. It also belongs to everyone who loves me, and the people who have prepared and looked forward to this day for a very long time. 

Gavin: Celebrating my birthday with you for the fourth time, I think I truly understand the meaning in those words.

He lifts his eyes, looking at me quietly.

Gavin: I’m very happy. Not because it’s my birthday, but because there’s someone who wishes for me to be happy.

The wind chime that I hung up at the window jingles, akin to a song with an unknown melody.

I had prepared many, many things that I wanted to tell him at this moment. But right now, I swallow these words back.

MC: The person who told you that must have been looking forward to this day very much, just like me. Looking forward to giving you well wishes, and looking forward to you being happy because of the surprises I prepared.

I wink.

MC: Since the atmosphere is just right, it’s time to unwrap your gift.

Very carefully, I retrieve the miniature plane that I purchased earlier from my bag, handing it to Gavin under his watchful gaze.

MC: This aircraft model is a belated gift from MC to 14 year old Gavin. I hope he remembers to engrave his name on it when he receives the gift.

Gavin brushes the body of the plane with a finger pad. He suddenly releases a muffled chuckle, then reaches out to draw me into his arms.

His voice enters my ear, mingling with the rustling of leaves outside the window. It’s very soft, and very close by.

Gavin: If 14 year old Gavin received this gift, he’d have definitely remembered to say thank you on that day.

I wrap my arms around his waist, feeling our overlapping breaths in this moment. After a long time passes, I speak up.

MC: Each time I celebrated my birthday when I was small, I always loved to make many wishes. 

MC: Thinking back, many of those wishes were really childish and even greedy. 

MC: After growing up, I experienced many regrets, and faced many situations where I had to compromise and give up. 

MC: Gradually, my birthday wishes became smaller and simpler. It’s as if I no longer had the same courage as before. 

MC: But you’re different. No matter what I want, you’ve always been willing to fulfil them all. 

MC: You made me realise that if I’m properly loved by someone, my wishes can be fulfilled no matter how childish they are.

MC: So no matter what Little Gav’s wishes are, I want to fulfil them for him.

Gavin embraces me, and he doesn’t say anything for a long time.

I pat him on the back gently, chuckling as I continue speaking.

MC: Okay, since Little Gav’s present has already been received, it’s time for yours.

I leave from Gavin’s arms, reaching out to cover his eyes. His eyelashes flutter in my palm, and it’s ticklish.

MC: You’re not allowed to open your eyes in secret.

With the greatest of care, I retrieve the honorary badge belonging to the Commander of STF from my breast pocket, putting it in front of his chest personally.

Gavin doesn’t open his eyes. Rays of sunlight outline his face and figure, immersing his entire self in brightness.

Sunlight lands on the badge, and the golden rays reflected off it give a brief summary of the storms and severe winters in this person’s past.

MC: You didn’t participate in the awards ceremony the previous time, so this medal couldn’t be passed to you. Now, I can finally hand it to its owner.

I observe how it looks on Gavin’s chest, and my voice is very soft.

MC: This is also the most important gift of today.

Gavin: The most important gift?

The entire room is filled with a tender glow. Lifting my head, I meet Gavin’s quiet gaze as he stares at me.

MC: Because I’m a witness to every single reason that resulted in you obtaining it.

I’ve personally witnessed how he has used his own body to block off all sorts of dangers, and can clearly remember how many injuries he has sustained.

But he also experiences pain. When he doesn’t sleep for several days and nights, he also gets fatigued.

It’s only today that I vaguely surmise that the reason why he never mentions anything is because since a very long time ago, he learnt that he shouldn’t anticipate any reciprocation from others.

That aviation badge which was forgotten in a corner had once sustained the weight of a youth’s pure gaze.

Afterwards, it was covered by a thick layer of dust. Nobody held it with a heart filled with anticipation ever again. Just like that, it vanished into the depths of time.

Later on, the youth grew up and decided on a correct flight path. He stepped on dark shadows, walking on the path of justice.

He saved so many people, but the only thing he didn’t know how to do was to allow himself to receive a little reciprocation.

Fortunately, I can now stand before him and take his hand. I can tell him that he has done very well, and that he’s the Gavin I like the most.

I wish to give him the most resolute response.

MC: Gavin, you’re worthy of all the honour. You’re worthy of all the recognition. I... am extremely convinced about this.

After hearing this, Gavin blinks slowly. He lifts his hand and touches the badge on his chest.

I lean forward slightly to take his hand. Looking directly into his eyes, I recite the words that I’ve drafted multiple times in my mind.

MC: There’s someone I’ve known for a really long time.

MC: I’ve seen his valiant and heroic side, and have also seen his fierce and decisive side.

MC: He always doesn’t care about how many injuries he sustains, but gets anxious and blames himself whenever I get hurt.

MC: He has brought me to see many magnificent sights, and enabled me to appreciate many stories that I wouldn’t have been able to experience on my own.

MC: He has handed his gentlest side to me without holding anything back. But he doesn’t ask for me to reciprocate in any way.

MC: I wish to keep looking at him like this.

And I also wish to... have him forever and ever.

A breeze from outside the window brings with it a floral fragrance. I watch as Gavin stares at me without blinking, his gaze blooming with tenderness.

Gavin: MC, I remember everything that we’ve experienced together. These experiences are so wonderful, and they’ve filled this space.

He points at his heart.

Gavin: Because this space is full, I can continue to walk on the path that I want to with resoluteness, and do the things that I want.

He pauses, his tone wilful.

Gavin: I’ve decided on today’s wish.

He draws closer to me, and I'm able to catch a whiff of his breath.

Gavin: MC, you are the one who gave 14 year old me a gift. You are also the one who grabbed the hands of both Gavin from the past and the Gavin of right now.

Gavin: You’re the person I was waiting for.

Gavin: So your wishes are also my wishes.

Gavin: From now onwards, keep looking at me. 

A floral fragrance fills the room. I stare into his bright eyes, as feel as though I’m embracing the warmth of an entire midsummer.

✈️ Epilogue: here

✈️ Video call: here

✈️ Phone call: here

✈️ Moments and Text: here

✈️ Support the cafe by dropping by the tip jar!

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc gavin

[ichayalovesyou]

Why Bones & Spock NEED Each Other (Grief)

So over my tenure in this fandom I’ve seen some one sided stuff about Bones being mean to Spock, and vice versa and I’m like

Thing is y’all: You’re both right, but you’re also both wrong!

Bones is mean to Spock you’re right! But you know what? That’s a good thing!

Spock is mean to Bones because of course he is! And guess what? That’s also a good thing!

They both need it, and they can only get it (safely) from each other! What they have is (in a weird way) healthy! But it’s only healthy for these two specifically because they understand each other so well!

Prime examples? Somebody has died or gone missing (usually Jim)!

Let’s talk about how Spock & Bones grieve!

Let’s address how each character (generally) moves through the 5 stages of grief

Bones: Anger, Denial, Depression, Bargaining, Acceptance

Spock: Bargaining, Denial, Depression, Anger, Acceptance

They are each individually perfectly equipped to handle each other’s grief (or refusal to grieve)!

Bones initial reaction to death is usually Anger, he blames himself and anyone in proximity. Quickly followed by a weird form of denial, in which he doesn’t deny someone is dead, but he denies that other people think the person is gone and that they felt it when it happened because he’s dunked so hard under his own grief his usually high empathy has switched off.

Now, Bones is highly familiar with grief as a medical professional (and having lost his father). He establishes how important and deeply believes in that process in And The Children Shall Lead.

I think Bones is acutely aware of how he grieves, and is equally aware that throwing these feelings out at just anybody could really hurt them.

But Spock isn’t just anybody, he’s a (half) Vulcan, it’s like shouting at a brick wall, Bones knows Spock can take it. I also believe Spock understands that this state is temporary, which is why he handles it with such grace.

What happens when Bones isn’t able to go off at (not truly “on”) Spock is that Bones keeps that anger to himself and gets bordering-on-suicidal (Depression phase of grief). It happens in Miri (self injection), For The World is Hollow & I Have Touched The Sky (trying to stay behind), and The Empath (the whole freakin episode). Jim is good for comfort, but Spock is good for a slap in the face reality check.

They both know that. It’s why they’re still friends despite how much shit they throw at each other

Not only that, but Bones (almost) ALWAYS apologizes, from their worst fights I can rattle off:

“They were wrong, and I was wrong I’m sorry” (Paradise Syndrome)

“Pawns huh? Well if it makes any difference, this pawn is extremely sorry.” (Day of The Dove)

“Spock I- I’m sorry, it does hurt doesn’t it?” (The Tholian Web)

And that’s not including implied/non-verbal apologies.

Bones needs Spock to help him grieve because otherwise he’s gonna take an emotional nosedive toward attempted Martyrdom. Spock’s stoicism punctured by occasional genuiness helps Bones move to the Bargaining stage (making peace with Spock and everything that’s happened) and later Acceptance.

The inverse of this is also true so let’s address how Bones uses his belligerent nature to jump start Spock’s healthy grieving process!

Bones grieving style (and his confrontational nature in general) is uniquely suited to make Spock honor his Human side, his emotions in the matter. Because we know a softer touch (like Jim’s) while more comfortable for Spock, seldom cracks open that wall of emotional repression unless Jim’s in danger.

Bones doesn’t give a shit, and that ultimately a good thing! Both he and Spock constantly need to be directly shoved against their default reactions to interpret things in a balanced way, which is why they’re perfect for each other.

Without Bones, Spock would never let himself grieve, ever. We also know that, more deeply than Spock, Bones understands grief and how to move through it, he’s familiar with loss (which is why I think he’s so quick to accept someone is dead whenever it happens, it’s the reaction of someone whose had to lose a lot of people and is more comfortable grieving than hoping). There’s a lot of evidence for this in Gamesters of Triskellion & Return To Tomorrow.

He also honors Spock’s human half a lot more than Spock does, it’s one of the fundamental power sources for Bones & Spock’s “the racism’s mutual” banter. And it is mutual, I feel like people forget how often Spock compares modern humans to the worst examples of their/his ancestors and treats them as inferior out of internalized hatred and the general xenophobic attitudes of Vulcan culture. Bones of course responds in kind, usually in cockamamy insults, he’s not as well versed in Vulcan history as Spock is in Human. Although I admit Bones does start it a lot, I think arguing accounts as a love language for him lmao.

So when Bones sees Spock trying to stunt and stifle his grieving process, especially since Bones knows he’s at least partly human and it is affecting Spock’s judgement, it hits literally ALL of Bones nerves.

Bones uses reverse psychology to get Spock to admit he is human and he has feelings ALL THE TIME especially where Jim is concerned. Bread & Circuses, The Immunity Syndrome, The Tholian Web & Requiem for Methuselah!

Spock will absolutely refuse to grieve or at least move on from the self-destructive bargaining/denial loop he gets trapped in unless Bones smacks him around a little. Just like how Bones will get self-destructive unless Spock recenters him via logic.

Again, I think on a subconscious level they both know that, and it’s why they never take each other’s smack downs to heart.

An excellent example, Chekov’s “death” in Spectre of The Gun:

Spock isn’t grieving, but everyone else is, Spock was close to Pavel but isn’t letting himself feel it, which could later backfire. Bones is currently grieving, but there’s no time to grieve because they’re all gonna die in 20 minutes if they don’t find a solution to their dilemma.

Transcript & Breakdown:

Bones: You talk about another man’s [Jim’s] feelings? What do you feel Spock?!

Are you grieving? He was like son to you you’re not acknowledging it, again.

Spock: My feelings are not subject for discussion Doctor.

No, and I’m not going to, leave me alone.

Bones: Because there are are no feelings to discuss!

Well I’m grieving! And I’m gonna reverse psychology your Vulcan ass until you start your grieving process so that I can move on!

Scotty: Mr. Spock Chekov is dead! I say it now and I can hardly believe it, but you worked closely with him! That deserves some memorial!

Bones: Spock will have no truck with grief Scotty, it’s human.

Alright, that first comment didn’t work, maybe “insulting” him will get that thick head of his to acknowledge his feelings.

Jim: Bones! Scotty!

Spock: It’s quite alright Captain, they forget I am half human.

Fine, yes I am grieving for Pavel in my own way. Are you satisfied Dr. McCoy?

Bones: [looks surprised and thoughtful, satisfied with Spock’s answer]

Wow, you said you were human without any disgust this time... huh... good job.

Scotty:[looks ashamed]

The 5 o’clock duel bell rings.

#star trek #star trek tos #spock #bones #spones #grief #tw suicidal thoughts #tos #the tholian web #spectre of the gun #the Empath #Miri #for the world is hollow and i have touched the sky #bread and circuses #the paradise syndrome #day of the dove #meta thoughts #meta #meta analysis

[myelocin]

ij(y)&m | miya a., akaashi k.

synopsis: love is enough, until you think that it isn’t. to love and to lose; then whether to dive into the sea of ocean eyes or look into the skies in search of the sun.

genre: hurt/comfort, slice of life, longfic, happy ending, love triangle

wc: 17,500+

characters: miya atsumu, akaashi keiji

a/n: this is a commissioned piece by @23soong | i still can’t believe u trusted me w this giant fic but ilu i guezz

commissions | ko-fi

(April 16, 2021 | New York City.)

You like to eat cake.

The color lilac, ocean eyes, and the sky. The lyrics to Ayahuasca, and the hidden metaphors where the poem you uncover always looks like a different scenario than the next person. You know what you like, and it’s only this and that. Other days, when your reasoning is a little swayed, you suppose you can afford to think that you like this plus that.

It was a difference only you understood.

(—understand, you mean.)

(You always know what you understand.)

You like cake because you enjoy sweets, and that one shade of violet that borders right in between periwinkle and lilac, because it never looked like it was too much. It didn’t blend into the background like some of the warmer colors, nor make too much of a bold presence like the depth of scarlet. You suppose you like where you’ve always been, after all.

Being content with your own security had always been one of your stronger suits. There wasn’t a wall, nor a fortress around you, but even when you’re out in the open you felt okay. The shade in between lilac and periwinkle was enough because it was you.

Chocolate over cheesecake, because you’ve never been much of a fan, and that bakery down the end of street fifteen minutes away instead of the one right across where you lived. The windows were always tinted in the shade that gave away its age, but you suppose it was its charm. The old auntie who sits by the counter always wears her apron, even if all the pastries to be sold for the day were already prebaked and arranged on the front for display.

There’s an old comfort found in that auntie’s bakery, you think. You still don’t know her name, and you know she only smiles at you because you’re probably a regular by now. You know the pen she’d had clipped to her apron is the same one from eight months ago, probably never used, because the seal’s still intact by the cap. There wasn’t a table that you could call yours, nor a spot in the fall you would stare at and daydream on your rougher days. There was no music, to dull out the sounds of the world outside—but now that you actually give it a little more thought—that’s what gave you the most comfort.

It’s a known fact that when people tend to slip into a state of reclusion, they would search for a space in a world that they can cocoon themselves in. External factors, there, but ignored. Phone often switched to silent, where the spot they stared at along the cracks of the wall would show them a world they could live in—momentarily.

(And that was the problem—at least you think.)

A safe space, they say. And it had always been valid. When your sister would talk about the boy in her dreams who loved her under the rain, you can tell that she felt safe. Sometimes she looked a little farther away despite physically being with you in the moment, but she always looked warm—so you would just choose to sit shoulder to shoulder beside her, and let her be.

People worked differently; a simple this or that situation, and it’s always going to be like that.

Your comfort is just this.

Auntie’s bakery fifteen minutes away, where you’re some random seat inside because in all the years you’ve been coming here, you could never really pick a spot. The table by the window was nice, as was the one by the shelves. The AC hit you in the way you appreciate the most wherever you chose to settle, anyway.

A slice of chocolate cake on Mondays, then maybe again on Wednesdays, but Saturdays could also mean red velvet if you were feeling like it. The bells by the door sound out your entrance every time too, but even if one day there were gone, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. Having a constant was okay, but not necessary. You’re here because you liked their selection better than the one closer to your place, and that was that.

Auntie’s bakery wasn’t your cocoon that kept you away from the world, but you liked it that way.

You found comfort in taking a seat in one of the ten tables inside, and setting your bag on the chair beside you as you got comfortable. You liked moving your hair to the other side, and slumping your shoulders because you know you'd enjoy this little break you decided to give yourself.

You had chocolate two days ago, and even if there was a new option for carrot cake today, you still bought chocolate again. You can hear the conversation from the group of teenagers outside the window every time the doors would open and the sounds of the world outside would filter in. The sound of traffic and life was dulled by the walls, but not muted. There’s still no music in the bakery, and you can sometimes hear every time the auntie behind the counter would shift and tap away at her phone.

This was your slice of comfort.

You didn’t escape the world, but you find yourself still. There was an underlying of connection that you found with the world when you’d have your one slice of cake after a job well done.

So you like to eat cake, because you deserve cake.

You finish the schedule you’d set for yourself, written in bullet points from top to bottom—additional notes scribbled in the margins so you wouldn’t forget, and spreadsheets written so that you keep yourself in line.

You like to eat cake, because it’s a reminder that you’re doing your part as a little cog in the machine that is this world. It’s not escaping that gives you comfort, but rather, the reminder that you’re still in this world, and you’re doing just fine.

(So you deserve your cake.)

-

Until some days where you feel like you don’t.

-

Your childhood looked something like this:

Air conditioned rooms, sniffling instead of crying, and the lilac blooms outside your window. There’s a sky, infinite as she’s always been, that watches. Sometimes she cries, but in your corner of the world, it’s more common to see her smile. Sometimes you wonder what she smiles about, but 7 year old you liked to think that she smiled for the same reasons you do.

A cool breeze in the summer, and paper kites folded every sunset. Your dreams of ocean eyes every time you’re close to the shore, as if it’s a foreshadow to the future still to come, but you’d always only stand by the edge and watch—never wading too far in.

It wasn’t a fear of the water, nor the depth, but you just always had a nagging thought behind your head that the waves would never truly be for you. You loved the sun, and the sky too much to give in to the waves.

Perhaps it’s a metaphor for something later on in life; perhaps it isn’t. You’ve never been curious enough to try to think much about it.

Ever since you were young, your idea of love never changed much from your initial thoughts.

Love felt like it should just be what’s written under the bullet points of your life schedule. Love, supposedly, looked like ocean eyes and dark roots for hair. He’d be a little more on the reserved side, and would conquer the world with you.

People always tell you that love should conquer the world for you, but it felt like too much of a selfish dream. Your whole life, you moved with a sense of purpose in mind. You buy cake after a job well done, because you know you’ll only deserve it by then. You do things only because you’ve done certain things, and it’s always been as black and white as that.

(It works.)

You’re in high school and you sit next to your best friend’s boyfriend from seven to five. You have a circle that loves you as much as you do them, and you still treat yourself to slices of chocolate cake from a bakery down the street. Their cake has a generic taste, you think, but it could be better.

Still, you settle. Settling is okay.

The idea that things would always be just okay in the black and white was okay. Your everyday life, and routine, looked like this. The people around you act like this, and you—in return, feel like this.

You laugh when things are funny, then cry when they aren’t. You appreciate the notes you’d find in your locker: the doodles and scribbled reminders alike. The difference in the handwriting and color choice of the sticky notes only reminds you that you’re part of something that isn’t just you.

You will always love your shade of lavender, or lilac, or periwinkle, but you found sentimentality and love in shades of peaches, scarlet, greys, and serenity blue too.

Routine is the kind that looks more lax than rigid, because bursts of serendipity still find you anyway.

-

(March 13, 2015) Hyogo

Because it’s in your final year of highschool, where the idea of what it initially was is thrown right out the window.

Miya Atsumu.

Brown eyes that are the complete opposite of every hue of the ocean, and his god awful piss yellow hair.

When you meet him, there’s not much to romanticize about it. He sat a few seats away from where you are, and parked his bike purposely close to your sister’s by the gate. He raised his hand to the questions he didn’t know the answer to and would drag his chair beside your desk to say hello even when you’d turn away to focus on your paper during breaks.

Love was an abstract sort of thing, so you could guess that his peculiarity fits.

You were all the shades of lilac while he offered you the pale yellow of every sunshine you found solace in ever since you were young. The color on the opposite end of the color wheel, Miya Atsumu truly was your contrast.

He ate cheesecake and didn’t hide his face when he sneezed. He’d roll up his sleeves and fight the next person without thinking to talk it out first and scribbled his ideas from the center of the paper instead of listing them out from top to bottom, or left to right like you always did.

But he was the start.

“Hi, Len.” he said instead of the standard “hi, hello; what’s your name?” greeting, and it even if it baffles you how he got your name before you even had the chance to introduce yourself—you didn’t think you had it in you to be mad about it.

Third year highschool Miya Atsumu with the god awful piss yellow hair and black undercut smiled in the way that had the left corner of his mouth rising just a little higher than the right, and you were fucking hooked.

You didn’t show it at first, but you were hooked. He had the kind of lilt in his voice that you always thought was more endearing than attractive, and would often lean back in his seat with one arm slung over the back of his chair as he waited for you to finish up with your review for the day. He liked all the things you thought were okay at best, but he was who stayed.

Libraries were for those who found a little comfort and familiarity in the silence, and he was a wildfire. He fell asleep waiting for you as you studied, but would always have a whole lunchbox of soft snacks for you to munch on while you did your thing, checking off the bullet points of your list.

On Saturdays, he was the person waiting for you at the bleachers by the track field with a towel and water bottle, cheering you on as if he understood the sport. When you’d pass him, he’d wave, and holler at you like you just won even if you’ve just been running laps for warmup.

He was never a hello, because he was a whirlwind that caught you off guard straight from the start. Some would say this is like serendipity, and perhaps it is—he is—but you like to think that maybe he’s just part of the black and white of your life. You liked what you liked, whether it correlated with your plans or not, and it really was as simple as just that.

-

In high school you always liked to eat cake after exams. You liked chocolate because it was sweet, and you’ve always been the person who had a sweet tooth.

You write left to right, from top to bottom and keep your letters beside to eachother in print, because it makes sense.

Miya Atsumu, the boy who was the pale yellow to your lilac, was the one who offered you a pen when you’d misplace yours, even if he only had one with him in his bag.

And you liked him, you suppose, because you just do.

-

(March 13, 2020) | Tokyo

Miya Atsumu was blunt, and freeing.

He was the sky, and not the sea, but love—later on, became the realization that you’re just freefalling.

After the initial introductions, there wasn’t a point where either of you felt like you were still supposed to be somewhere else. Like something you didn’t know had even been out of place sliding into it, instead of clicking. The skies would open, not just for you but for him as well.

While you saw all the colors of the sun and of the golden hour, Atsumu saw the shades of lilac in the earth.

What becomes is the love that’s felt in the silence, and on the way home.

It’s your voice that he hears chastise him to put down the donut and share it with Osamu when he’d been planning to leave him a third of the last at best. It’s the four letters of your name that he scribbles in the corners of receipts mindlessly, but would still fucking deny it every time he’d get caught.

Atsumu and his bike rides to school, along with his habit of catching up to you just to get off and walk beside you if he sees you nearing the gates.

A silent sort of company in the morning beside someone who was basically known at the most perfect personification of what noise would look like if it were to be redesigned into human form.

True love, and serendipity he thinks, is this. It’s you and all the witty remarks you’d make towards him, telling him to go away, that he never ends up taking seriously because you’d be blushing red before he even gets a chance to react.

The reaction he comes is delayed, but the epiphany that it’s you who becomes the face to love, isn’t.

You were the who when it came to answering the who, what, when, where, why, and how of love.

The what was answered love. The when, is yesterday, when you spilled a little bit of your chocolate milk on your desk and cursed in the way he never would have figured you saying, and today, when you looked out at the skies and smiled your private sort of smile towards the palette of the sunset.

The where was everywhere. Love, as you, in the sidewalks leading up to the gates, and on that desk on the row ahead, diagonal to him.

The why, was this. (It was everything.) (Running, then leaping. Flying, then soaring.) (Everything.)

He finally finds truth to the poems he usually tended to ignore in love songs, but it was great.

And the how, finally, was answered with a shrug.

How did he love you? Atsumu would always shrug because he just does.

Always, always does.

-

Along with the high, comes facing the reality that you must also fall. For the longest while, you’re climbing, climbing, climbing¸ until eventually, there’s nowhere else to go but down. The real face of love looked somewhat like that.

It’s one foot after the other, and steps towards the sky. There’s no staircase with a solid ground leading up, nor wings clasped behind you to lift you up even with through the absence of a breeze. (But love had you flying.)

It’s seeing the sights you’ve seen your whole life not with a new set of eyes, but a new vantage point. Atsumu’s the sun, all the while you still felt as if you were the child forever glancing up towards it. They tell you to never look at light straight on, but his glow never had you blinded.

Atsumu gave you clarity, showcased on a silver platter.

You understood all the priorly misunderstood parts of your life, where it felt like a new kind of exhilarating. Like having knowledge at the palm of your head, the world became as infinite as it became yours.

(And yours alone.)

Your hands that only grabbed just what was yours were suddenly reaching too far in the cookie jar. Greediness has never really been you, but eventually the fall—your fall—from the high looked like crumbs on your hands and shirt, and the absence of what once was where it should still be.

Atsumu never said a word, because it never was that way.

Still, you closed your eyes while still in the air. The view was right there, and Atsumu was beside you through the climb, the high, and the period where you just glide, telling you to open your eyes and look but you only did—for just a fraction of a second.

It’s the heaven that sits above the clouds that terrify you, you think. The unspoken truth that was kept as a hush is suddenly right in your ear screaming.

“He’s holding you to the clouds,” it taunts, then continues, “—But what have you given him in return?”

Atsumu’s never heard the demons in your head, nor was aware of its presence in the first place, but he always seemed to just have a way of knowing what to say, exactly when to say it.

Like now.

He’s sat in the bleachers, high on life, while you’re high on adrenaline. Six thirty in the summers meant the sun was just beginning to set, so he smiles, knowing that you’ve always thought of this moment as yours.

(And his, he adds mentally, a whisper to himself—a validation that you are his as much as he is yours.)

Truly.

“Hi Lena,” he grins; one side quirked up higher than the other, and under the bloom of scarlet and amber, he’s beautiful. “What’s your name?”

You’re laughing, as if you don’t carry the weight of all your demons on your shoulders. Amber against your deep brown eyes, and he’s caught. Like always. Fucking entranced, like always.

“Hi ‘Tsumu,” you voice back, leaning close and laughing at the way he scrunches his eyes close at your sudden display of brevity. It catches him off guard every time. He loves it, as much as he does you—but he’s still a boy inside.

You laugh anyway, pressing a kiss on his eyelids when he keeps his eyes closed, and you smile, softly, when you notice the way his shoulders relax.

“What’s your name?” you echo, then you’re both laughing at the inside jokes that you admittedly could never get sick of.

“I really don’t know,” he stretches further, enjoying the ay the moment became not just yours, but also truly his, with just a couple of words and some laughs. “I just can’t remember, Lena, but what’s your name?”

You laugh, throwing your hair up in a quick bun, before taking the seat beside him.”Atsumu we sound stupid.”

You don’t turn to return his stare, but you feel his eyes on your profile before he even tries to make something off of it. He smiles, and you feel that too.

You’re beautiful, he thinks to himself. A thought that comes to him more frequent than remembering the kanji for his own name, and Atsumu knows he’s rooted himself way too deep to even try to think of letting go.

“Fuck the status quo or whatever that shit says babe,” you hear him laugh in return.

You’re both sat shoulder to shoulder, eyes towards the sun, and the world feels like it only exists to be yours. (and his.)

A moment, where in your eyes, it feels like it’s just (him) and you.

Just him.

Love, as just Atsumu, because he has a way of being your forever anything and everything. A whirlwind of some sorts; a spontaneous wildfire wrapped with the pretty shades of serendipity, and it feels so right.

It’s quiet, but it’s the nice kind of quiet. The demons in your head are hushed, but if you know they’re probably just slumbering, you’re still overwhelmed with a newfound sense of comfort. The source feels like it’s meant to flow infinitely, and you smile—until you don’t. You remind yourself the virtue of never taking more than you can bother to use, so as you turn your head, watching him soak in the light once again, it takes so much inside you to remember that and fight back the urge.

“Don’t you have practice tonight?” you ask, curious.

His sports bag was placed beside him, and it takes you a little while to notice that he’s decked out in his training gear. The time on your clock tells you it’s six forty five, and you’ve always known that practice started at five.

“I do,” he hums.

You turn in response, poking his cheek before pinching it. “Then go.”

Atsumu sighs, in a too-dramatic-voice for a man who was well beyond those years, but you suppose that that was just one of his charms. “Wanna stay actually,” he pouts leaning his weight against yours, to which you’re quick to groan at, nudging your shoulder to try to get him away.

His chin settles on your shoulder anyway, but his other arm is quick to anchor you around the other side, making sure that he’s still holding you up, more than you holding him up. Atsumu’s face is close to yours, as is yours. It’s a position he’s always liked. When he looks at you, he can see the little dots on your face that other people never could get to see unless they were this close. When you blink, you do it slow, like you’re savoring the sight in front of you, and his heart thrums in a tender sort of happiness because even if you never looked much like the sentimental type, he knows you well enough to know that you really are that.

Atsumu juts his bottom lip, like he’s tired, and you laugh.

“Tsumu, go.”

“Tsumu,” he counters. “—stay.”

“Actually,” he corrects himself, shaking his head. “Lena,” he smiles. “Stay.”

-

“You don’t have to do anything,” he adds. “Just stay.”

His words hit you before you could even try to pull your walls back up, knowing that it’ll hit a spot you aren’t exactly keen on confronting just yet.

Just stay, his words echo in your ear, and you suppose that that’s really all you could do. Moments like this where love overwhelm you the most has you fearing love the most, if you were being honest with yourself. There was a fear that comes with love, because at the root of it all, love will always just be a risk.

The higher the climb, the harder the fall they say. The more you give, the more the world will take. You look at Atsumu, who faces you with his pouted lips and sunset painted across two pools of baby brown. He closes his eyes and leans forward, knowing that you’ll kiss his eyelids before you even say it. Like the earth letting itself pulled by gravity, you’re beckoned towards the sun, falling into orbit as time—the human concept of it anyway—begins to move slow and all you can do is spin in circles and marvel at the being that is the light.

“I love you,” he says, and he’s honest.

What terrifies you is the honesty in your voice too, when you reply with an “I love you,” of your own.

The higher the climb, the more painful the fall, you think. When Atsumu opens his eyes and allows for the silence to remain and blanket the piece of the world that is yours and his, you see that you’ve already made it to the highest summit.

The more you give, the more the world will take.

But the thing is, you don’t know what you’ve given him. Your hands are empty beside his, but he holds them anyway. You’re so fucking in love and it terrifies you because what is the earth next to the sun? It stays in a distance so it doesn’t burn, but now, even as you’re face to face with the being that embodies the essence of the light and life itself—you aren’t burning.

Then it hits you.

He is your everything.

You gave yours, so what else could the world take other than him?

-

And because love also wields the power to make you more fearful than you are in love, you admit to yourself that you’re fucking scared. Atsumu says “I love you,” again, and holds your empty hands in his that holds nothing but still feels all the ways full at the same time. It’s suddenly hard to swallow, and you’re cold.

The summit is beautiful, but you are cold.

You close your eyes, walk forward, lose your footing, then just freefall.

The scary part is, even if you do that, you know Atsumu will just think of it as an adventure and jump right after you—riding the current with you, even though you’re venturing into what’s unknown.

Still, you close your eyes.

You pull the parachute first, imagining that you’ve hit the ground before the winds would even get to you.

-

(March 13, 2021)

The funny thing about heartbreak is, Atsumu thinks, is that you recognize its presence before you see its face.

He felt you fading.

Fading from something, but it never fathomed to him that it was from him. You never pulled away when he held his hands, because he made it a point to consciously remind himself to wipe them clean beforehand every time so he supposes it wasn’t that.

“Are we okay?” he asks anyway, when you’re in his car, staring out the street that’s a couple ways from your house. Six-thirty’s already passed, and the skies are in shades of grey instead of the marmalade and amber the sunset always brings.

Atsumu’s voice is a break in the atmosphere, that you think wasn’t tense, but the way his voice quivers in the way only you can point out has you thinking otherwise.

You swallow.

“We are.”

Atsumu exhales, and at the way his voice seems to sound a little more amplified than usual, you realize that the engine’s turned off. Regardless of the nagging voice in your head to stop dragging this out, you turn away anyway.

You love him, and love to love him. You love kissing his eyelids when he naps on your thighs and associating him with the little things just because.

(You turn away, prolonging the inevitable, because you don’t want to associate him with the end—just yet.)

You think to yourself that you don’t deserve this—him—because he deserves better, but you want to have just one more bite. Fists clenched in the pocket of his hoodie you wear that still smells like him, and you want to cry.

Atsumu sighs again, tired. When you look at him, he’s already staring at you, for god knows how long now, and you wince because he looks exhausted.

“Are we?” he asks again, and when you open your mouth to try to find a couple words to string together as a reply, nothing comes out.

“Lena,” he says, and his voice is loud.

He’s only been whispering this whole time, and you’re aware of that, but it’s still loud. His car’s in park; the engine’s off, and when you shift your position from side to side to try to find your place, you can hear the fabric ruffle against each other.

“Len,” you hear again. “Lena.”

“Talk to me,” Atsumu says, and you’re baffled at the way that his voice sounds like a plea.

“I am talking to you,” you mumble. You shift again, but you’re still not comfortable; you don’t want to look at him. You don’t think that you deserve to look at him.

But his voice still comes to you, soft. He’s saying your name; again and again, but it still sounds like a fucking plea. Your shoulders shake, but you still it before he notices. The bullet points that come after the list you write left to right, from the top going to the bottom doesn’t give you an answer as to why he’s fucking pleading.

“Please look at me,” he’s whispering now. (Still loud.)

What is there to plead for?

“What’s wrong, Tsumu?”

“Babe, you gotta talk to me.”

The zipper drags across the plastic of the door, and makes a sound. Internally, you flinch right as you shift your position again because you’re still not fucking comfortable.

You look at him, then blink. He’s staring at you, desperate for words you don’t have, and suddenly your hands feel so empty.

What do I give you?

He shivers when a breeze floats in through the window, while you don’t. Then you blink again. Right, you think. This is his jacket that he gave you. He’s sitting beside you, at 23:10, half an hour away from his apartment, knowing full well there’s traffic in Tokyo regardless of the fucking hour.

Your thoughts, a battle between what can I even give you? and look at what you’ve given me.

“Tsumu I think this is it,” you suddenly whisper, the feeling of being so out of place finally dawning on you.

You keep shifting, uncomfortable in your position, because you’re not supposed to be here. You buy yourself a slice of cake after a job well done, but when you look at Atsumu—what have you done?

What have you given for you to receive so much?

His hoodie’s still warm, and your fingers clutch onto the fabric.

Atsumu stares at you, and even if you want to look away, you can’t. He holds your gaze like he’s held your heart for years now, and you know this won’t be a situation easy to break out of. His grip had always been solid despite the lack of bruises that tell the world of its presence.

“I think,” you sigh, swallowing down the urge to say it’s a joke, to take back your words.

“I think—“ you say again, but hesitate. Atsumu watches you nod your head, the look in your eye so far he doesn’t know if he can catch up by now. You’re whispering your words, the most of what you say phrases he can barely even understand, but he listens to you anyway.

You want to cry again, the tightness in your chest increasing tenfold, and the feeling of discomfort reminding you that you’re not supposed to be here. You don’t deserve this slice of cake, but you’re greedy.

Balled fists, hazy thoughts, and you’re cracking. You aren’t breaking, but you’re cracking.

The fallout is the same.

You nod your head again, and Atsumu watches, his eyebrows scrunched up and drawn together, as you seem to arrive at a conclusion without even letting him in the conversation. The haze clears from your eyes, and by the looks of it you’ve already rooted yourself someplace you don’t even want to stand in.

He tries to say your name, but you’re still shaking your head.

Then you’re shrugging off his jacket. Atsumu opens his mouth, still fucking confused because what are you doing?

You held his hand yesterday and kissed his eyelids goodnight three fucking hours ago.

“What are you doing?”

You hear him, but that’s all there is to it. You know you should be listening to him, but only the definition of the words register in your head. The meaning to be deciphered in the situation remains unseen, when the only thoughts in your head revolve around the fact that your hands are still so empty.

You think about what he says, though.

What are you doing, Lena?

He watches you unzip the zipper from the front, and hear the audible click when you unbuckle your seatbelt. He’s still watching, mouth parted in the silence in disbelief at what he thinks is the goodbye scenario he’s always avoided thinking about. You’re leaning forward, then it’s the left arm out before the right.

A breeze comes again, and even if your eyes are elsewhere, you catch a glimpse at him from your peripherals as he’s shivering—again. Frustration bubbles up in your chest, welling up into tears, but you don’t cry.

You remind yourself that you shouldn’t cry.

Balance was what kept the world in orbit, so therefore, you must only take, if you give.

Rewards are reserved for accomplishments, but what have you fucking offered?

Atsumu’s given you the world, but you still face him with empty hands and just an I love you.

Love was your certainty and your lifetime kind of truth, but what else is there? When Atsumu tells you he’s all yours, it’s enough, but when you do—why does it feel so little?

You take the risk, then the plunge, and look at him. When he blinks, and keeps his eyes shut just that while longer, you have to fight the urge to kiss his eyelids like you’ve always done. His hoodie’s folded on your lap now, but you still smell your honeydew on it.

How many times does he have to wash it to get the smell out? you think.

Atsumu swallows his words, his retaliations, because he knows you’ve anchored yourself before you even hit the water. If you had always been anything—other than the fact that you are always his everything—it was the fact that you are resolute.

So he lets you speak.

He already offers you his love even though he looks at heartbreak in the face.

And it’s your face he sees. Faraway eyes, your shoulders tense, and a shiver that makes your fingers tremble in the slightest. He sees every detail play out in slow motion, and even if his heart is hammering in his chest, just as yours probably is, he thinks to himself—you’re beautiful.

You, as the face of love from the hello, and still you, the face he puts to heartbreak as he listens to you say, “I think I have to let you go.”

‘Let what go?’ he thinks. When you let go of something, it’s to get rid of the bad—the dead weight.

Was he the dead weight?

“It’s for the best,” you say. (For your best, you think.)

“I don’t think we can keep doing this anymore.” (I don’t think I can keep doing this to you anymore.)

“I think this is the best for us.” (For you.)

“What—“

“Tsumu,” you say, cutting him off. Your voice doesn’t quiver but your hands hidden from his point of view clench then unclench.

“Atsumu,” you say again, this time with a smile. It isn’t forced, because you don’t think that you ever had to force a smile for him, but at the sight of him watching you, heartbreak written across his face, your heart can’t help but crack in the same pattern.

It runs a little deeper, you think. The kind of deep where you aren’t sure if even the scars will fade overtime.

“Lena—wait—“ he tries to interject, but you’re already opening the door and walking outside.

He knows your look when you’ve decided, and he knows that it looks something just like this. Still, he bites his lip, hoping that this would just blow off come daylight. He knew you had always been the type to feel the things that come, but never really dwell on it enough to process it. There was hesitance when you accepted things from others, and it never escapes his line of vision when you’d just duck your head a little lower when you didn’t have anything to offer back.

When he says I love you, he means it in both the verbal and in the silent way he tries to communicate with you.

Like leaving traces of himself in every little piece of everything, so that it’s there for you to have and just know.

“I love you,” he says again, and again.

In the silence, but you don’t hear it. On the walk home, you feel it but you turn away.

 -

This is the painful part of love, you think. You know that you’re frustrated, and that everything you hate which unfortunately comes with love is brewing so strong in your chest, that no words come out.

You tell yourself that you’re mad, but when you look at the mirror you turn away.

“My name is Lena,” you say, and you begin. In the world—or your world at least—chaos is swirling so in order to find organization for it, you close your eyes and center your thoughts on the first fact to keep you grounded.

“I like to eat cake, when I deserve it, because I still am victorious,” you say, then add, when a flash of pale yellow comes to mind, “—sometimes.”

“Yeah,” you say, then turn the corner to walk into the kitchen so sit at the table. You remember the slice of cake you bought this morning, meaning to save it for tonight, remembering that you just finished your exams after cramming for nearly two weeks.

In hindsight, you really should have expected it though. Your sister did mention that she just started her period the day before, and usually you never minded when she ate a couple of stuff that wasn’t yours—and you know this is isn’t the reason why you’re crumpled down on the kitchen floor with one fork in hand and no cake in the fridge, but you are.

You’re crying, and flustered, and the words that come out of your mouth sound more gibberish than coherent. You think that you’re saying Atsumu’s name, beside an apology, but truth be told you’re letting yourself go and blank out.

The cold air from the opened fridge hits you on your knees, and you really should be getting up by now to shut it close before your sister comes home and pokes at you for it, but you really can’t be bothered to think about caring.

This is the fall that comes with love, and what was taken was what you were given.

It’s you who gave him back, because the thoughts in your head are busy telling you that even if love was enough—was it really?

Were you enough was the ugly question you don’t face, so you close your eyes and convince yourself that you’re crying because of a fucking slice of cake and not because of the sun.

You ignore the memory of walking home, and still feeling Atsumu’s presence watch you with eagle eyes as he slowly drove with you down the sidewalk – “just so I know you’re home safe, at least give me that.”

-

Give, you think.

There was nothing that you had given him, and Atsumu had deserved something even greater than eternity itself.

-

It’s in the same hour of that same night where Miya Atsumu, who wore red eyes and slumped shoulders, that was standing outside the bakery an hour and fifteen minutes away from his place, wondering which kind of cake you’d like the most out of the thirteen in the display.

-

(September 13, 2021)

Time moves at a weird pace.

Yesterday feels like yesterday, and today feels just like today. It doesn’t move slow, because you know the clock keeps ticking, but still you move. Sunrise comes before sunset, but you stopped looking up and watching the in-betweens colors before that final stroke of marmalade, or even five thirty’s golden hour.

Gold reminded you of the sun, so you looked away. Love had you blinded, and you wanted to look at the world with the lens of practicality instead of the colored ones this time around.

Atsumu was still around, for the most part of it.

Graduation came, then summer, and you know even without you he kept blooming. Towards the end of the year, right before graduation, you still saw the posters on the wall, and heard his name in the announcements. There was always a congratulations right before, followed by a “we’re proud of you,” that never flew past your line of attention.

He deserved it, you think.

Miya Atsumu deserves the whole cake, and not just a slice, because he continuously still gives—his good deeds going well past just the title of a job well done.

You, on the other hand, both kept your distance and thoughts in order in the beginning.

He still said hello when you passed by him in the halls. The awkward timeframe right after a breakup didn’t spare either of you too. With you, opening your inbox and rereading the old messages; debating whether you should just archive the whole conversation or delete it altogether, then seeing Atsumu typing something for a whole five minutes before the indication stops and a message is never sent.

Where you’re stuck wondering what he could have said, because you know Atsumu’s always been the type to not only wear his heart on his sleeve, but rather, shout it out instead.

You never fit that bill, but you (love)d him anyway.

If you were being honest—at least to yourself—it took long, before Miya Atsumu became just the name of a contact in your phone, the text history buried at the bottom. Seven months’ worth of texts piled above his last, “hey, i’m outside,” that you never could bring yourself to delete.

For a while, you think, you deserved that slice of cake.

Just a slice, and not the whole thing, but for that while—it was all yours.

-

(December 2021)

Akaashi Keiji didn’t come into your life until another three months after you shut the book and pretended you never read its contents. You say you know the end, but really, you never flipped past page 223 despite the book ending at 416.

The end was a page that was skimmed over, and never really read through. A dog eared fold on the corner, instead of a bookmark, for the sake of it sitting on the shelf, looking finished. In the moment, you know it isn’t finished, and you’ll probably stumble upon the book again at some point, later down in time, but perhaps if you give yourself enough patience, you’ll forget that it was left to be unfinished in the first place.

Miya Atsumu was a story you started, where you read the start in a third person POV, then left it midway when you took the reins and rewrote what you think the ending would be from a first person perspective.

I am not enough for you, you said. I will take off this jacket and leave it here, because I haven’t offered you anything.

I will leave, and let you go because you deserve more.

(But it’s I love you, as the thought, that still will always remain.)

-

You have your books and bullet point notes, the days after today written in a list: from top to bottom with just a couple of scribbles along the margins. Akaashi met you like serendipity used to dictate, and this new book started like how it should have.

“Hello,” because that’s how it should start. Followed by a “how are you?” because that’s usually the next thing to say.

The conversation’s light before it dives deeper, and you think to yourself that you like it like that because it follows order. Atsumu gave you half his bento box two hours after you first met, while Akaashi offered you a napkin and his extra fork when yours fell.

Often, your friends would tell you that it probably wasn’t a good idea to compare the dynamic of the two, and you agree because if you were outside this situation you would be advising the exact same, but when you do things from first person, a lot of things become that much harder just because.

This wasn’t love, nor was this the replacement of love, but you can’t help but admit that Akaashi Keiji was the prince charming you wrote about in your diary when you were a kid. He was the ocean eyed prince charming every teenager dreamt of, and this was the slowburn kind of pace that love should be.

Atsumu barreled into you and made himself be known as the yellow in the color wheel opposite of your purple, and even if it didn’t clash, nor blend, it had a presence.

You think to yourself that Akaashi was all the shades of ocean blue, while you were that kind of purple right in between lavender and periwinkle.  You could stand next to him at the train station, or be squished next to eachother in the train during rush hour, and people would take one glance and assume you’re together.

Situating yourself beside the shade next to yours in the color wheel felt right. Blue to purple, or purple to blue. It worked. Neither of you had to jump far, or take a leap across the wheel, but only take a step and you’re right there.

He wasn’t love, but you didn’t let yourself think that he could be.

It’s two more years of this until your master’s is done, so you suppose reading a side story wouldn’t hurt much.

Only that this side story was getting a little more complicated than you initially just planned out. You jumped into this story without the thought of grabbing a bookmark, and Akaashi Keiji had been the type of person you knew hated dog eared bookmarks.

“What are your thoughts about this?” he asks you one day though, so completely out of the blue that it has you whipping your head to the side to stare at him, wide eyed. You’ve known him for a while now, and he was okay. Perhaps just the word great, at best, because whether you looked at this from a first person point of view or a third, your words would still be the same. Objective thoughts led you to thinking of coming to a conclusion based on the rubric of your childhood, and Akaashi fit the bill.

Maybe not your bill now, but he still fit it.

Akaashi Keiji was who your should have been prince charming looked like, with the ocean blue eyes and poetry for words.

Even though he asks you that now, when you’re seated in the passenger seat of his car parked outside your apartment building, you still can only bring yourself to just blink. You stay true to the fact that you are surprised, and you do admit that, but that’s all there is to it. Nothing feels like it’s leaping out of your chest, and there’s no flutter of anything in your stomach.

His words register in your head, but so does confusion.

“This?” you parrot, trying to find meaning through the limited context he provides.

Akaashi nods, hands still at 10 and 2 on the wheel, while his foot hovers over the brakes. You can see that the car’s in park, but he’s tense. He lets a couple more seconds pass—that felt like it was stretching a lot longer than what it really is—before inhaling and turning to face you.

“Yeah,” he nods, looking like he’s saying it to himself rather than towards you. “This,” he confirms, then after it looks like he convinced himself, he looks at you, and nods again.

You stare at two pools of the sea, that immediately has you wondering if it’s either the Atlantic or the Pacific. Your feet that had long been digging into the warmth of the sand on the shore are suddenly hit with the first cold kisses of the water, and you’re caught.

“This,” you sound out, and by now you’re already well aware of where the conversation’s headed. The both of you still skirt around the words anyway, the silence quickly settling in.

He’s breathing in and out, steady, and tapping his finger against the steering wheel—steady. You’re sat beside him wearing a jacket that’s always been yours, and the AC in his car is just the right kind of cold. When you shift, you’re not exactly comfortable enough to want to stay, but you aren’t uncomfortable to the point of wanting to leave right away either. The space between the both of you feel appropriate, and you know even if he leaves later, his place is only a ten minute drive away.

Convenience, you think; it’s an appropriate word to describe this.

So you turn to face him.

Ocean meets earth, and you’re aware of the cold waves touching your ankle now. You’re nodding your head when you hear the click of his seatbelt unbuckle, then keep your eyes on him when he leans close.

It’s like staying on the edge of the shore, hesitant for the long while, before the moon beyond the daylight loses patience and calls for the tide to favor the yearning of the sea as it grants the tips of its waves to reach further inland.

From your seat, you watch as the ocean comes to you.

Your hands are empty, still, but you did finish that paper two days early so you suppose a slice of something is okay.

“This is convenient,” he finally hears you say, and Akaashi wants to say something else, but he shuts himself up when he sees you finally look at him, like you found an answer to a question that’s boggled with your head for a while now.

He knows there was always something unanswered that bothered you, but he never had it in himself to breach past the boundary the both of you had situated right in the middle just for the sake of asking.

He was curious, but they did say that curiosity had its ways of killing the cat.

Akaashi doesn’t want to be killed—and because he didn’t want this to be killed either—he chose to keep his silence.

Still, he still has it in him to hesitate. The moon can only push the tides so much, and the water will only go so far to where it rarely ventures before it must recede back to where it should be come daylight.

It’s daylight that you yearn, and he sees that.

A faceless kind of sun—that he can only guess is the answer to all the questions he knows you still have.

What’s above the both of you is the gleam of moonlight now, he reasons, so he goes as far as he can and waits. You’re still standing by the shore—still sitting completely still—until he watches you break out of the hesitation laced with your thoughts, right as you move.

“What are we doing?” he hears you whisper, so Akaashi begs for the moon to push him forward just a little closer.

(He hopes you don’t pull away.)

“We’re doing what’s convenient,” he offers, a set of words strung together at the very last second that he knows is just a crafted lie, then prays for the best.

You’re nodding your head, and you give yourself just those few more seconds as you weigh your thoughts, deciding what’s still okay and what isn’t.

You think back to the bullet points of your journal, and mentally recite the facts written in an organized list.

You like to eat cake, and treat yourself a slice after a job well done, because that’s only when you deserve it. You (love)d Miya Atsumu for a whole novel of your life where the reason fell under just because instead of the specifics you try to fit in places for the sake of accuracy and detail. Miya Atsumu was the sun that was always with the sky, and you were never blinded even if you did always stare at him directly in the eye. (Next to that part is always a quickly scribbled why—but you don’t know the answer to it just yet.)

(You say you should really be getting back to it later, to fill in the blanks, and give it some closure—but you aren’t ready for a closure.)

(You aren’t ready to open page 223.)

Then next on the list is Akaashi Keiji. You had two classes with him and went to the same university for your masters and the most you know about him is that he likes his coffee with just a splash of caramel. He lives just a ten minute drive away from you, and he’s okay enough to share a laugh with on weekdays and breakfast with on weekends if you had class together that day. He’s okay with 7am lectures, even if he did have bags under his eyes, and he’s the type to always carry a bookmark with him or at least just a scrap of paper to fit in between the pages because he hated the idea of just folding the corners as substitute instead.

It’s not that he’s convenient, but rather this is convenient.

You got along well, and you suppose that you’re comfortable enough with the ocean to wade deep within it and still not drown.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to,” you hear him murmur, so you take a step and wade in a little deeper.

Ankle deep, and you’re unbuckling your seatbelt as you shift and fully face him.

Ocean blue, and the waves are swirling, swirling, swirling—you’re pulled in. Waist deep, and the water’s cold enough to wake you up and remind you that it’s fine. You’re fine, and you can breathe; you aren’t overwhelmed, and when you stretch your fingers and try to feel for the sand beneath the waves, you can still feel it. There’s a certain security found in being grounded, then you’re thinking to yourself that whatever this is, is okay.

You try to stare down, and face the waves, and will yourself to not think of the sky.

There’s no daylight, and the sun slumbers, so the waves around you heed to the call of the moon and move back and forth, in motion, but still, around your waist.

So it’s you who buckles your knees in waist deep water and pull yourself under.

It’s the feel of the water, cool and not exactly cold that greets you, as you push yourself forward, grabbing the collar of his shirt before pressing your lips against his.

Akaashi sighs against your lips, as if he’s already discovered the ending to a story he conceptualized himself but never really had the courage of writing out.

He’s kissing you right back, and it feels good—for the moment.

You try not to think of the nagging feeling that pokes at you again and again, saying that the warmth of the sand under the sun in daylight feels much more like home than the cool feel of the water.

-

You’ve always known to yourself that there was the undeniable contrast between Akaashi and Atsumu.

Comparing the two wasn’t a bright idea—it was stupid, if anything, and didn’t help with shit, honestly speaking. (You always were honest to yourself.)

Akaashi hummed his praises, and never was the type to really shout them out. He called you when he’d pull up to your building, instead of wait outside the door and surprise you with a couple pieces of chocolate and a cheesy grin that you swore to hell and back you hated to boot.

Atsumu was everything unpredictable and freeing, but Akaashi was predictable in the way that eventually grew sentimental. He, alone, had forever been great. You knew well that there was so many things he could take pride in, and never bothered to hide your compliments when it came to his achievements, because you knew he deserved the recognition.

Akaashi spoke to you in metaphors, while Atsumu told you like how it is. You admit to yourself, that even if there were some days where you liked the challenge of trying to understand what was written underneath the underneath—the days where you just wanted to hear it as it just is were just as equal.

For the next few months after the first, time still moved okay. Sixty minutes was still an hour, while twenty four hours was still one whole day. Whether Akaashi’s hand was on yours, or if his lips were on your neck in the car, time still just moved.

Your heart skipped a couple beats, when his thumb would always caress the corners of your lips before and after he kissed you, and your cheeks would bloom into all the shades of scarlet when he’d whisper your name in between the kisses that never felt rushed.

But it was just that.

You felt the rush of what love was supposed to be—the hype that it never failed to bring—in the car.

At 11PM, in the parking lot of your apartment building, the height of love thrived on the fumes of serendipity for an hour or two every couple of nights, and would trickle fast when you’d open the door and tell him goodnight.

Atsumu was goodnight, my love, with the cheesy smile and your montage of eye rolls but secret blushes when you’d turn your back and make your way inside your house. Akaashi, on the other hand, you think is just your goodnight, then go, because at the end of the day—because of convenience—the both of you are somehow dragging out the goodbye.

So you part from him, wipe your lips, and try to ignore the way his thumb lingers just a little longer on the corner of your lips. You turn away when the look in his eye turns softer, because it shouldn’t, and pretend like you didn’t just see the shift the both of you have been trying to get away from.

Just two years, then goodbye, you tell yourself.

This isn’t love, Akaashi thinks to himself, hand on the wheel and foot on the gas pedal instead of the brakes. He watches you walk past the hood of his car, the hand that was just balling up the collar of his shirt only moments ago raised to give him a goodnight wave as you walk past, and shit, he thinks.

He still smells honeydew even after you’ve shut the door, and he can’t help but notice how silent the car feels despite the low hum of the air conditioner blasting inside his car.

Akaashi sinks into his seat, forehead pressed to the steering wheel, before he sighs his deep exhale.

“Ah,” he mumbles. “Shit.”

This wasn’t supposed to be love.

-

If there was one thing he excelled at above the rest, and kept as a constant since day one, for Akaashi it was playing it safe.

This route was set to be the one he’d take when he’d drive home, because it was safe. Traffic was inevitable in the city, but this on had the least turns. A couple stoplights, and some convenience stores would be in every corner as well as a gas station at every couple of miles was convenient.

Safe, like choosing just plain vanilla for his cake flavors ever since he turned old enough to pick out his own cake, and safe, like just a splash of caramel in his coffee to lessen the bite of espresso.

You were what challenged him to walk a little ways outside the circle he’d always deemed as safe.

He didn’t run away from it, on the other hand, because he realizes that it’s curiosity that made him take the bait. You weren’t just the girl who shared a couple subjects with him and wrote her notes in the same order, the letters written in print instead of scribbled with questionable cursive.

Truth be told, it was before he even took the risk that night and begged for the moon to let him reach just a little further in the shore for him to unconsciously begin redesigning the face of love into the contours of your face.

You looked like love.

What it could just possibly be at the start, until he waded too far into the shore for that thought to turn into the beginnings of certainty.

And when Akaashi Keiji was certain, he took no time in looking for somewhere to bury his roots as deep as he can possibly go in.

It started with noticing that some weeks you prefer red velvet over chocolate mousse, then making a mental note to himself that you prefer the bakery on the east side of campus than the one on the west. You never made too much conversation with the teenagers that worked there part time, because he understands that there’s never really a point in doing that when you could just be on your way, but he took note of how you’d smile a little more towards the uncles that trimmed the hedges on the garden outside.  

In his eyes, not only did you look like the textbook definition of love, but you also looked like his dream of what love is supposed to be.

It’s supposed to be looking at someone, doing something so mundane, and realizing that having a name beside you written in a book that was supposed to just tell your journey wasn’t all that bad—at all.

And all it took was a Sunday morning, on the twenty first of some month he can’t quite recall in the moment, for him to catch a glimpse of you making your way to the library with a cup of what he knows is just boba in a coffee mug in hand. The sky behind you looks like it opens, as if there’s something with it that’s always been with you, and even though you’re at a distance—in his eyes, you’re glowing.

You smile at the uncle who’s trimming away at the hedges to your right, then right before you make a turn, you’re raising your hand as a good morning and giving him a smile.

And fuck, Akaashi thinks.

He holds a heart that beats, where for the moment it’s not because of the fact that he still needs to breathe.

He’s okay, and this is okay.

He thinks to himself that there’s a chance, because the both of you work. So it just means to say that this, can too.

“Okay,” he exhales, the whisper more as a reassurance to himself than to anyone else. The world covered in daylight slumbers at his words, and as he stands, his own schedule in place, he wishes for the blessing of the moon to push him with the tides back into the shore again.

“Tonight,” he texts you, instead.

“I’ll pick you up tonight.”

-

(March 13 2022)

In shades of grey, Akaashi Keiji loves you.

Grey car, oceanic yes that look grey under the stormy nights you’d always meet him in, and the rainclouds of tonight blending the skies into the muddled shades of one palette. Making out in his car, a couple times a week, because even if he wanted to hold your hand and kiss you out in the world—you always did pull back.

But he has this, and for an hour and some minutes, has you.

Your palms on his chest, where his breaths are huffed out and fucking heavy. There’s smoke out the engine, the air conditioner’s blasted in just the way he knows you like, but it’s those hazy eyes of yours he could never read that stare at him.

Or towards him, rather.

Akaashi thinks to himself that it’s always looked as if you mean to be staring at someone else other than him, living through the moment that was somewhere else but here. He knows love is meant to be screamed at the top of his lungs, so he tries to at least do that.

He’s never really thought the rest of the world should know, because all he really wants is for you to know.

Words don’t come out, and his hands are under your shirt before they even try to run through the skin of your neck like he usually does. Cold palms flat against the curve of your back, and you’re confused. Akaashi’s staring at you, breath held as he holds onto your smell of honeydew for as long as he can like it’s the lifeline he needs. Your eyes are even hazier, looking like you’re even more lost, and he’s frustrated.

He kisses you again, pulling you flush against him, until eventually you’re pushing at his chest when the center console begins to dig into your skin a little too much.

“We can go upstairs?” he usually tries to suggest, and now, looking at your red lips and mused hair, he wants to ask the same question again, but because he thinks he knows you like the back of his hand, he also knosws that you’ll just wave him off with a half hearted no chuckled out instead.

This is just a pit stop, and he knows. He is just your pit stop, and even if the agreement was the same on the flip side, it bothers him that he fucking knows.

“Someone will see us,” a thing you say, because he’s just your for now.

Akaashi Keiji, in your head, is going to be your almost mistake, almost enemy.

(And you don’t want to hate him. It’s not that his limbs have been too entangled with yours for you to come up with that decision, but rather, it was just how you just didn’t want to hate someone you shared slices of your truest you with.)

“Someone will see us, Keiji,” you warn again, ducking a little when a group of people make their way out of a building and head in the general direction of their car.

Akaashi knows that you’re aware of the tinted windows he had installed just two weeks before, and that they fucking worked, so why were you still hiding?

What is there to hide?

So it’s him saying, “I don’t care,” that lights a kind of flame in his gut. They travel up to the veins, reminding him of their existence.

It’s a risk, he thinks. He holds your face in between his hands, shaking. You allow yourself to finally tremble with him, because broken has been the only side of you that he’s ever known.

Akaashi’s frustrated, again, because watching you watch him in the dim—despite the haze of your dark brown, he still tries to jump at the chance that perhaps this could be love.

He wants to know what you look like in every shade in between black and white. There’s a lot of pastels and violet blended in with your choice of wardrobe, so it fits.

Akaashi wants to hear the sound of your voice at twenty three, and not just at a zero or a hundred. He knows your heart breaks a little more when October 5 around the calendar, but he wants to know why.

“Someone is going to fucking see,” you’re hissing now, but you still don’t pull away.

Akaashi knows he’s just the getaway car, but he still keeps his foot on the pedal, always ready to go when you are.

He sees the look in your eye and recognizes the tendrils of goodbye before it’s even completely thought out from your end, but he shuts his mouth, swallows his own doubts, and kisses you like you’re his.

(For tonight, you are.)

(Under the moonlight; away from daylight; within the waters, ever drowning in the depths—you’re his.)

So Akaashi locks his doors, starts the engine, and kisses you again and again and again and again like the world within this little space is all the world will ever be. He drowns out the voice in his head that tells him to pull away; to push you and himself away, because this isn’t okay—but tonight he is selfish.

“I don’t fucking care,” he repeats; in between the kisses and the façade.

“Lena I don’t care.”

You don’t understand, but at the same time you do.

You’re still kissing him anyway, and leaning into his touch. You only look at him when he opens his eyes, to pull yourself back into the water and away from the memory of daylight and sun and fucking sand because not yet—you think. You don’t want to think about the word deserve, just yet. There’s a fire that’s been lit in your veins, and the world feels like it’s kicking you off of somewhere again so you could just soar.

It’s not the same, the voice in your head cries.

And it’s not.

Love, is Miya Atsumu and daylight. He’s the whole tier of cake always put on display that you mean to buy, but never do because you feel like what you carry with you would never be enough. He’s the masterpiece against the skies, against the backdrop of your world, and he deserved nothing short of the greatness that he is too.

Akaashi’s lips are on your neck, where he mumbles your name, once, then twice, but never enough to feel like he’s endgame. There will never be a number to match to that what could be enough, you think, so you let it be and leave it at that.

Akaashi Keiji isn’t a secret, but you still shield whatever you have from something. You think you shield it from the sky, but some days has you feeling like it’s really meant to be understood as working like the other way around. He’s kissing you, still, then when his lips move to kiss the side of your forehead you still.

You know he means to leave a kiss on your eyelids, but you keep your eyes wide open—staring at him. It’s the ocean blue, but you’re not being pulled away, swept out to sea this time, because there’s no current. Within the depths, you see a reflection of the skies that always watch, and the clouds above look like they mean to weep.

Your toes hit the sand underneath the waves, and you take one step back—closer to the shore.

You’re not there, yet, but you’re headed there. Akaashi looks at you, looking a little more broken than whole, and while there’s an apology at the tips of your tongue, he beats you to the punch by saying “What’s wrong?”

He knows he’s asking a question he knows the answer to, and he probably shouldn’t be doing that, because it will only bring more harm than good at this point, but he says it anyway. At every chance that falls on his hands here he can at least try to make his presence be known, to root his name and him into the grounds of your earth, he’ll do it.

Pinpricks that poke and prod at his chest before they dig a little deeper, and a whole lot fucking deeper when you turn away from him and pull away, taking with you your traces of honeydew and love.

“Nothing,” you answer. A lie. You both know, but neither of you confront the clear sins of the other. “Nothing,” you say again, solidifying your answer.

The list comes reappears in your head, and the facts that you’ve been gathering lay themselves side by side beside you in the most cohesive order.

You like to eat cake when you did something worth celebrating for. Fact.

Your name is Lena, and there’s a lot about the lyrics to Ayahuasca that sends you spiraling. Fact.

Fruit tarts over cheesecake, because even if you didn’t mind cheese all that much, cheesecake felt weird. Fact.

Miya Atsumu, forever and always; spring to winter, will always be love. Fact.

You let him go because he deserved better. Fact.

You mark the pages of a book you haven’t finished reading by folding the corners of the pages into the little triangles resembling dog ears instead of buying an actual bookmark, while Akaashi Keiji, does the same. Fact.

Your truth is that even if he stares at you right now, with the eyes of a man in love, you know that the sinking feeling in your stomach is the fact that you think as if he’s just meant to be with you in the moment, but not after it passes.

“Keiji, I’m sorry.”

-

It’s the way you looked as you said the words instead of the words itself that sticks in Akaashi’s head the most. He’s up, awake at 2 in the morning, tossing and turning in bed, frustrated. There’s a misplaced sense of anger inside, but he knows it isn’t towards you.

He isn’t angry at himself, nor you, nor the two fucking words that sounds like a consolation prize if anything.

Akaashi sits up, back against the headboard and ponders to himself if this is the kind of extremity Bokuto had to face whenever he was going through the motions. It’s the kind of fire that bubbles up but never explodes. First, he remembers. Then, he’s angry. Next, he’s swallowing down the words he wants to say because the problem is—he doesn’t know who to say them to.

He could call you and ask what your fucking deal was, but he knows that’s out of pocket. Your deal had always been the black and the white. He knew you as someone who appreciated it most when things fell into what was in accordance to the list you always write in order. It’s always been either this, or that, and he should have drilled it into his head at the very least.

Then after those thoughts eventually settle into his head and accumulate into a pile in front of him, the anger that already had rose to the neck area suddenly simmers down.

Then, finally, Akaashi realizes, as the exact moment settles in—he’s just tired.

He’s a little sad, and tired. Slumped shoulders, tired eyes, and thoughts a whirlwind of just you, you, and you.

This wasn’t part of his norm, he thinks, but he thought you were. He thought all there was to you were boba or juice shoved in a coffee mug and friendly hellos to the uncles who trimmed the hedges. You were the color lilac despite having a love for all the shades found in the rainbow. There was probably a semblance of love, in your life, before him, but he knows that inn this part of your life—he was bound to meet someone who’ve had endings of their own.

He sighs again, realizing the truth that he doesn’t want you to be just an ending for him to reminisce over with a group of strangers some time later.

And of course, Akaashi Keiji was the type to demand answers, because it’s only minutes later here he finally makes up his mind, standing up in a rush and picking up his phone as he dials your number, the digits memorized despite your contact having been long saved.

You don’t pick up after the first ring, but it’s only two am and he sees your game activity on discord so he knows you’re up. He’s tapping his foot, a little impatient, but because tonight he made the abrupt decision to suddenly be selfish—just this once—he didn’t care.

The second ring still rings, but there’s silence. Your status changes from online to do not disturb, and by the third ring, he hangs up, and grabs his keys.

-

To be fair, you did count down from ten to one.

Akaashi’s at your door before you can even say hello. He doesn’t look like he’s lost much sleep, taking into consideration the fact that you already are well aware of how little he even sleeps, but it’s you who leans by your door and says hello anyway.

He shifts in his place, left leg supporting his whole weight before the other. You watch, somewhere between amused and indifferent as he parts his lips once or twice, shutting them close each time before he eventually just settles with looking away and murmuring, “Wanna go for a ride?”

“To make out?”

He looks at you, then sighs. “Just wanna talk.”

-

And to be fair on your end, even if he did say that, there really isn’t much talking going on. The both of you are only wearing your pyjamas, just a couple hops away from going to bed—until this—obviously. He’s driving around the street of the neighborhood park nearby in circles; the one with the two stoplights on either ends, and just one corner as the only way that lead to your house, while his route was the turn a couple more ways ahead.

He misses the turn to your home every time. It’s a fifteen minute walk at best, and truth be told, if you were already sick of this, you would have long gotten off and started walking already, but you suppose that tonight you were a little more patient.

There’s a lot of factors that have to deal with Akaashi being patient with you too, so you could guess that it’s safe to assume that this was just a give and take situation.

You give him your words, while he gives you his.

He gives you his time, then you give him his.

There’s a balance that needs to be maintained, so while he gives you silence, in return, you do the same.

Until he breaks it, saying, “What happened back there?”

“It is what is is, Keiji,” you hum, head turned to face the window to your right.  

“We were working out,” he reasons, and you widen your eyes, looking at him, baffled. “What are you talking about?”

“I thought we had an agreement, Ji,” you retaliate.

“We didn’t say anything, Lena,” he scoffs.

Scoffs, you think. Then it fucking dawns on you that he was actually already wading in the deep end, too fast, too hard.

You shake your head, always having been resolute with your decisions, as you were transparent with your intentions. Akaashi, on the other hand, seemed to just squint right through it and look at the mirage instead of the actual desert that was right there.

“But it was still said,” you tell him, and when he stops the car near the sidewalk just to gawk at you, it really fucking hits you that he was way too deep in something that was only waist deep in hindsight.

“That’s what you think,” Akaashi tells you, but he doesn’t sound angry. He doesn’t sound tired either, so it messes with you in a weird way to realize that this is just his truth.

“I can’t tell you what you can and can’t think just like how you can’t be putting words in my mouth that I never even said, Keiji,” you bite back, flustered and frankly a little appalled at the bluntness off his words. When you stare at him, you try to give it some reason that maybe he’s just tired, or maybe he just had a bad day and was spewing shit out of his mouth at best, because at the moment, absolutely nothing is making any fucking sense.

But then he’s sighing, tired. The back of his head thumps the car seat headrest when he leans back and loosens his grip on the wheel. The streetlights flicker, but stay, while the stoplight with the corner that has your turn on it signals yellow.

You bite the bullet and turn to him, but still slow yourself down.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean—“

From his peripherals, Akaashi sees the stoplight further up ahead that leads to his turn blink from green to red.

He pauses.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m—fuck. Fuck, okay,” he continues, pausing to rub his face with his hands. “I’m sorry, Len, I didn’t mean to go off like that.”

“I think,” you begin, exhaling, and frankly feeling a little more worn out. “I think we were looking at different stoplights this whole time.”

Akaashi laughs, finding it a little out of your character to be speaking in metaphors, especially knowing that that was always his sort of thing. He nods, anyway, a little past worn out, and just fucking tired at this point. It dawns on him that it is three in the morning, and he’s pulled you out of your apartment just to try to find a common ground in something that had been completely one sided from the start.

You’re yawning, in your spot just beside him, but you still look at him anyway with blinking eyes that look more sleepy than anything, but he supposes he’d rather take that kind of look over frustration or sadness.

He fights the urge to tuck in the strand of hair behind your ear, looking away when you blink a little too long, because he knows that his lips will never find a home against the skin of your eyelids he knows he’ll still periodically think about from time to time when nostalgia decides to visit him a little later down the road.

He remembers his stoplight’s at red.

“This kinda feels like a breakup,” he laughs anyway, giving himself this little bit to stay in the moment and pretend like car rides with him, and you, will still be an okay thing for tomorrow.

“Does it?” you smile, slowing down, and thinking of yellow.

Yellow.

He smiles, but doesn’t say a word, and the conversation ends just like that.

“Let me drop you off at least,” he says, and you shake your head, eyes cast towards your stop light as the countdown to green begins to tick.

“I think I wanna take a walk.”

“At three AM?” he prods. “Alone? In Tokyo?”

It hits green, and you stifle a laugh, a little drunk on the kind of adrenaline that doesn’t make you feel like running, but rather, soaring, instead.

“Yeah,” you snort. “At three AM, alone, in Tokyo.”

He knows he probably should have said something to at least get you close enough so that your building can be seen, but by the looks of it, your mind’s already long made up as you open your door, and walk out, shutting the same door softly behind you. Akaashi’s quick to lower the windows on that side, tilting his head as you do the same, leaning down give him a little smile.

“I really don’t mind dropping you off just so that I know you’re safe,” he says.

“And I really am okay,” you laugh, waving him off. “No need to be so nice, I just probably broke your heart.”

“Probably’s an understatement,” he laughs, but waves you off when you look like you’re about to say something.

“Why are you being nice to me? I didn’t do anything to you,” you laugh again.

Then you watch as Akaashi shrugs, smiling the kind of smile that you think he does when he’s alone as he looks at your stoplight turning to green ahead instead of the one on his. “You don’t need to do anything for anyone to get stuff, Len.”

“—You really don’t.”

-

It isn’t as much as looking at heartbreak straight in the face, Akaashi thinks to himself. It was really just a matter of pulling his head out of his own ass and realizing that the first look of a break of his mundane isn’t what fate has in store. Serendipity works weird, he realizes. People say it’s the happily ever after you’re supposed to be craving for, but he realizes it’s a lesson.

You were a lesson, to which the exact words he can’t exactly have a solid grasp of as of now, but he knows in time he’ll find them.

The reality of heartbreak is that it just comes, for the sake of being there. It doesn’t trickle slow, or give a warning. In his case, Akaashi realizes that it’s just there because it’s the result of something.

He’s driving down a street, passing your turn, where he has to peel his eyes away at the sight of you walking past a no U-Turn sign, because it just hits him that you were never for his to cradle to begin with.

There’s not much about you, but he can just about tell that you look like the kind of woman who holds on to the best kind of book, shoving it away during the best part, because you’re afraid of the inevitable that the story will still end.

He taps at his steering wheel, coming to another stop at the red light of his street, where he turns on his signal to turn to the right when he’s given a go. For a moment, his eyes flicker towards the passenger seat, where you were just hours ago, in the exact same moment where he was high on something and thinking that the world was just made of 2.

Akaashi looks at heartbreak in the face, but it’s just fragments of you, and a couple sentences he can’t connect to each other, and just like that he knows that this little slice of your life will just be a piece of a puzzle he isn’t a part of.

It’s okay.

It will be okay.

But right now the light’s red, and he allows himself to feel that it isn’t. He tells himself that it’s not because he isn’t enough, but rather, he’s not enough for the kind of fulfillment you were looking for. Perhaps love and happiness looked like the skies, and not the seas, because that would explain why most of his memories with you always involved you facing the clouds, as if caught in a daydream.

Akaashi laughs to himself, a little dryly, when the lights turn green and he’s easing off of the brakes. His world will always be in motion, and he’ll always be headed towards something—but right now he thinks of the moment as a metaphor that he’s heading out of something.

Out of the first phase of love; where it’s just an idea and not exactly it.

He was the getaway car, but it was okay. In shades of grey he supposes he’ll always see you, but perhaps one day he’ll find the perfect shade of orange to let the blue in his eyes finally come into a full bloom.

-

It’s in the exact same moment that you pass by the no U-Turn sign that you’ve always just ignored on your street, where a lot of things hit you.

First is the memory of Atsumu.

At first, you feel bad, because you know you probably just walked out of a situation that had to deal with you breaking a heart instead of healing it, but your truth had always been your truth and there was no point in sugar coating something whose end was prewritten right from the start.

So you shake away the thoughts, and remember Atsumu again.

It’s undeniable, that who he was had always been your truth regarding what love would always be. Miya Atsumu as the gold to your lavender, and even if the color wasn’t just your neighbor in the palette, standing beside him fit.

It fit, but just saying that it does doesn’t feel like it’s enough.

The No U-Turn sign stares at you in the face, so you stop.

You’re standing in the sidewalk again, like all those years ago, and even if you’re pretty sure that you just broke a heart only some moments ago, the only name running through your head in the moment was Atsumu’s.

Love was as ugly as it was beautiful. Selfish as it was selfless.

No U-Turn, so you keep walking.

You pull back from the waters, and ignore the moon, and stare at the skies, pretending that you’re in the presence of the sun where the sky that blankets your side of the world is bathed in the colors of daylight. Every shade of the sky saturated, where the sun looks more of a gold than a blinding yellow.

You laugh, briefly recalling the time when he decided to let you be with the spiral of your thoughts, and it’s tonight where you come into a full realization that he only did that because he knew this was the something you needed to go through yourself before even letting him in.

Your thoughts drift, and you look up to the sky, searching for the big ball of light, because in your heart, you’re calling for love. You’re alone in the streets, at three in the morning just loitering around in your pyjamas that don’t match in any angle, but love is what drives you to keep walking home.

No fucking U-Turn, and it hits you like a damn truck.

Miya Atsumu will always be the love that you’ll still find in the silence. In every shade of yellow and gold, and every walk home. He’s the presence—or a fucking entity, you laugh to yourself—that drives slow next to you who decides to take it slow and just walk home, talking the long route on the sidewalk.

There are streetlights that glow in the distance like fireflies, and you’re suddenly thankful for the burst of light.

Light, like your Atsumu, who will always be the face of your love.

You don’t know if you deserve it, but it truly had to take reading a damn side story and coming into terms that the most you could ever give the rest of the world was an honest I’m sorry.

“You don’t need to do stuff for anyone to get stuff,” you hear Akaashi’s voice chorus in your ear again, so you smile to yourself, not exactly changed, but a little enlightened at most.

Change and acceptance doesn’t happen overnight, but like love, who came into your life like a rush, epiphanies also held the nature of just arriving without warning.

The tears that begin to dribble down your face afterwards worked sort of like that. You recall sitting on the floor of your kitchen, tears on your hands, down your cheeks, on the floor, and on your shirts. You told yourself again and again that you were crying because of the cake and not because of how unkind you were to yourself, because even if your hands were empty—you know that word is only subjective at best.

You’re walking down the streets now, along the streets with the lights that look like fireflies at three am and you could just feel Atsumu smirking beside you if he was here.

Tears that feel warm, but it’s liberating.

Nothing strikes you one minute, only to change you a whole 180 in the very next because it just doesn’t work like that, but what does stay is Akaashi’s words. They swirl in your head again and again, like a broken record that has you realizing isn’t playing such a bad song at all.

Love is as selfish as it is selfless.

You loved Atsumu selflessly, but now you want to hold on to a semblance of him again—albeit it just being a memory, for now, and love with the intention to take.

It’s to accept, he would correct you, if he was there, but then again, those will always just be the words that you are yet to hear.

But for now you walk along the sidewalks and reminisce. You reminisce the view of the summit, and the feeling of being so high up. You think of Akaashi and the ocean blue eyes you thought were just great at best, and whisper another apology into the universe you pray will deliver your words to the rightful ears, because right now, you just want to love selfishly.

There’s a book on your shelf with a dog eared bookmark on page 223, and you think that tonight you’ll pull it out and at least dust the cover.

When you look in the mirror, you know that you’re in love and that fact alone is as undeniable as the truth that your name is Lena.

It’s okay to be in love, and a little broken, and it’s okay to eat a slice of cake just because.

You’re crying still, when you stumble out your door again, Atsumu’s hoodie around your frame, as you drive to that only bakery in town, forty five minutes away, because you know that they sell the best kind of red velvet.

The funny thing about epiphany is that once the smallest bit of it strikes you, it keeps coming. Reality is messy, you think, and your eye opening moment doesn’t happen like how it does in the books where every moment plays out one before the other in perfect order.

There’s a method to the madness that is life, where the order is called spontaneity because the very nature of it is to defy just that.

Serendipity that’s always found you through the face of Miya Atsumu and the amber skies that were yours and his every six thirty. Eyelid kisses and I love you, just because. Climbing from one straight to a hundred, and even a fucking thousand that quick because love is as much of a whirlwind as it is a slow burn.

You tell yourself time and time again that all you do is take without giving, but at this point it’s the universe that wishes for you to understand that there is no such thing as ever giving too little.

Love, as selflessness and purity will keep giving because even if you open your hands and offer it nothing, it will only smile back fondly, telling you that you are always deserving—as you are.

You surpass the word enough—as you are.

You are loved—as you are.

There will always be someone who will sit behind the door and eat cake with you in the silence.

-

Right now, it’s just you, but you make do anyway.

You’re in the driver’s seat of your car, frankly a mess, primarily because of three things.

The first, you’re finally feeling everything you’ve told yourself you shouldn’t be feeling—all at once. Second, the cake is really good, and you don’t feel guilty about eating it this time around.

And third, the auntie selling you cake commented that there was a gentleman just last week who wore the exact same kind of jacket that you’re wearing, buying all thirteen flavors of cake and taste tested each one on the table by the window. She asked him if he was waiting for someone, and apparently he’d always say that he is, but she was just taking her time getting caught up in a little something, but “she’s worth the wait,” he’d repeat.

“She’s worth a lot of things, so waiting a little bit is okay.”

Apparently he would buy everything but cheesecake, even if he did stare at the piece a little longer, looking like he wanted to try.

You’re crying at the thought that there was still a piece of him that was all you, even after all the one sided conclusions you didn’t even talk him through with.

“Okay,” you say, whispering to no one but yourself in particular. The container with your one slice of red velvet is on your lap, while there’s an unopened one that’s the mango cheesecake you would never in a million years order, in the passenger seat of your car.

“What do we do now?” you say again, looking at the reflection of yourself in the reflection of your windshield.

You’re nodding your head, the words to write beside the bullet points in your head already listing themselves out in a neat line, written in print. You shake your head afterwards, for the first time without the presence of anyone really, overwhelmed with all the things you thought would be your end, showing you all the epiphanies you’ve been pretending you never saw all this time.

There’s a comfort found in listening to the sound of your own sniffles in the car, your own arms around you like the anchor Atsumu’s have always been, and just like that you break down again because not only are you in love with him, you’re also giving yourself the kindness your soul has been needing to realize that you need to love yourself just as much too.

It’s not easy, but it’s tangible.

Accepting love, as the selfless something, and not just a factor that worked like the give and take system was also not right here, but in time you’ll be right there with it where it’s tangible.

“I’ll eat cake today, just because,” you finally say, and at your first bite of red velvet, the weight of your demons lessen just a little bit.

 -

April 16, 2024 | New York City, USA

-

Miya Atsumu has always thought to himself that love worked in an oddly sadistic way. It came without explanation, stayed without boundaries, then would just fucking up and leave like it didn’t just build a whole world and there would be no consequences.

Thankfully for him, love was the one thing that never left.

He saw you through a myriad of what you think are your lessons, and Atsumu smiles at every candid memory of you.

He saw you think to yourself that you were falling for ocean eyes, then saw you again, a few months after what he assumes was the fall out, at your graduation.

You wore your cap the other way the first time, and he chuckles, snapping a photo from the distance—to which you rapidly turn your head towards his direction at—a feat of yours that he can never guess how it was made possible. He was there, from a distance, cheering when your name was called, and you walked to the stage. Lilac flowers and every slice of chocolate was something he dedicated forever to you, and every time he’d close his eyes before a serve he would lightly tap at his eyelids reminding himself that that will always be yours and his.

-

The future is where time moves slow, and then it doesn’t.

The demons are there, but you suppose that it’s because they’re sort of a lifetime deal. Somedays you’ll still look away from the slice of cake you’ve been meaning to eat after a job well done, but the better days also come right after the plunge where you’ll drive yourself to the auntie’s bakery located in the OK part of New York at three in the morning just because.

You were connected to the world, despite your demons, and it was okay.

New York had went from just a postcard on your wall to the skyline that greeted you every morning before you went to work.

The smell of coffee and the feel of sunlight at 9am. Love, as the something you can still hear in the silence, because it works just like that.

Silence, as the word that’s nothing more than the absolute contrast to what New York is, but it was you dulling even the noise that comes with Time’s Square to realize that this is the kind of atmosphere good for you.

-

And because serendipity works like a bitch, it really shouldn’t have surprised you when through the crowd, it’s still Miya fucking Atsumu who you see staring back at you like he’s found you far longer than you found him.

(Perhaps there’s more than just truth to that.)

You don’t think you want to cry, because the love that’s always been there still feels the same, and when you walk towards him, a pace like your usual, you feel weightless.

There’s a comfort about meeting smack in the middle, and you think that this is it. You gave your twenty steps while he gave his. Maybe some days he gives you a little more than just twenty, and maybe some days you’ll find yourself in bed, taking zero steps while he’ll go as far as flying some thousands of kilometers just to be with you.

You let serendipity be, as you stand before him, feeling like no time has passed.

A little over three years has passed, but see the same streaks of amber in his eyes of earth, and you think that love, also has a face that looks timeless.

And it’s this.

It’s you, and it’s him—in a city that uses noise that works like silence.

It’s New York and the sea of lights. Miya Atsumu and his dopey smile, that somehow still crossed more than just a couple oceans to a land foreign to him, and he still managed to come to you halfway, like a whirlwind.

An unprecedented presence that you welcome anyway, because love, you suppose, will forever be so many things.

It’s one face that one name that holds all of that though, Atsumu thinks.

He’s looking at you, where in his head he’s already laughing because your lipstick’s smudged on the left side, the culprit obviously being the piece of croissant looking a little lame in your hand.

“I love you, still, but I think you know that,” he says immediately, as if he’s just continuing a conversation.

(In a way he is; the last you talked to him, you never really heard a reply. You said goodbye and then you left, and Atsumu never got a chance to get a word in.)

And as if he read your expression, he laughs, hands low on his waist as he stands in front of you, present. “I wanted to tell you that then so I’ll say it now too I guess. My voice has got a little deeper so it probably has more effect now.”

You shake your head, already past the state of disbelief considering the rollercoaster that is your life. “It still has the same effect,” you mumble, croissant long forgotten.

You think that you want to cry again, but Atsumu’s grinning and you feel breathless.

It’s like mercy that greets you after you think you’ve done nothing but sin—you’re breathless but your lungs feel full.

So it’s Atsumu walking up to you, looking at you like you’re his daydream, saying “Hi Lena, what’s your name?” that grounds you back to the earth after freefalling from the summit.

The world has always looked different from the view at the very top, and even if you closed your eyes throughout the fall, there was a certain comfort you realize only now and that’s the fact that the whole time you were falling—it was the sky that held on to you and never let you go since.

“Hi ‘Tsumu,” you say back, closing your eyes when you lean in halfway as he reaches forward and pulls you the rest of the way, towards him—towards love, and towards home.

“I’m sorry I don’t have something with me right now to give you,” you mumble out anyway, and your heart bursts at the feel of his hand stroking the back of your hair, as his voice anchors you down again to keep you from floating right by your ear.

He kisses your eyelids, then your forehead, and the white noise of New York has you feeling both connected and safe.

“You’re okay,” he says. “You’ve always got me like how I’ve got you, and I’ve never thought there was anything more that I could try to ask for other than that.”

“You are everything that love will always ever be and that’s it for me, Len.”

He smiles, and while things still don’t fully click into place because healing has a habit of doing just that—you also let yourself feel the lightness of just this.

“You don’t need to do anything. I got you,” he says. “You got me too,” he reassures, and you believe him.

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[fayeimara]

Suna Rintaro || Two of Hearts

*Song Scenario | Inspired by Two of Hearts by Stacy Q*

PAIRING. Suna Rintaro x you

GENRE. Fluff <3

WARNINGS. Incredibly suggestive, sexual innuendos & references, swearing, drinking

Ah- Ah-Ah-Ah- I need- I need you...

Low, provocative music filters through the lush backyard of your house, mixing into and around the louder cadence of chatter. The space is relatively private due to the large trees bordering your parents' property and provides the perfect setting for your small get together.

The boys and girls volleyball teams have gathered on an unusually warm evening to celebrate the end of their respective seasons, but for Suna Rintaro, the draw is something more compelling and far more complex than a casual night to finally let loose.

Looking up to observe the slow darkening of the sky, the middle blocker leans back against the low stone fence that separates the in-ground hot tub from the walkout patio. Keeping an eye on the stars instead of following his instinct to seek you out from among the group around him, Rintaro contemplates what exactly he's doing here tonight.

The game of cat and mouse between the two of you has built a certain tension, spilling over into your day to day interactions. Having grown closer as friends the last couple years, neither you nor Suna can pinpoint exactly when the dynamic changed but it's as undeniable as it is unspoken.

The hypnotizing melody of the song currently keeping him company amidst the usual bickering between the twins spins around him but as the chorus flies out, Suna hears the scrape of a screen door and can't stop himself from looking across the tiled patio to meet your eyes as you step out from inside the house with a red solo cup in one hand and ... a chuupet in the other.

Ignoring the warmth that spreads across his chest in time with the thundering of his heart, Rintaro simply tilts his head in reaction, eyeing you as you approach him with a smirk on your face.

"I figured you deserved a reward for keeping these two company while I placed our order for dinner."

Even as his piercing eyes narrow and remain on you in a penetrating stare, the smallest quirk of his lips is enough to tell you he appreciates the gesture, as he extends his hand out to meet yours in the space between you.

Ignoring the jitters of both nerves and excitement churning through your body, an anticipatory feeling you're now well used to whenever he turns that discerning gaze your way, you nonchalantly hand over one of the many jelly sticks you'd bought specifically with him in mind. Neither of you comment on the pause as your fingers brush together and linger for a moment that stretches in silence, where only you two exist, carved out from time.

Osamu's voice cuts through the moment with a bored tone as he ignores his brother's last words to him in favour of turning to face the two of you instead. "If you two are done, can we get back to everyone else? It's definitely someone else's turn to deal with this dumbass."

You and Suna both retract your hands back to your respective spaces without a word, you turning to 'Samu with a sudden, playful grin, "Oh yeah, and who's going to deal with him if not you?"

"Angel?! Where's my treat?" Atsumu's outraged query slips out more pouty than he probably intended and you fully intend to ignore it. He's comfortable enough in your home to grab his own preferred snacks after all. You do keep them stocked, as well, for both him and Osamu.

"That would be you." 'Samu's delayed answer to your own interrupted question is threaded with relieved amusement.

One of the pretty generous perks of being your best friends is that the twins get to fob each other off on you when they're each too overwhelmed with the other's antics or behaviour. Joy. But you signed up for this, didn't you?

Suna stays quiet during your interaction with the twins, stepping up to follow behind you as you move to the gate that separates the patio from the hot tub and pool, twins falling in behind him. Pushing off the cool tiles of the patio down to the previously sun-warmed stones, you grin at the calls from the rest of your guests, faces turning your way as the volume rises slightly with friends calling out about the antics you missed in the mere minutes you were gone.

Rintaro hasn't looked away from you, watching the gentle sway of your hair as you walk in front of him, the breeze catching strands and lifting them lightly in the air to dance around with abandon. Stopping suddenly with his chuupet clutched in one hand, Suna shoves the other into the waistband of his shorts, quelling the urge to reach forward again, this time to capture the playful locks and slide them through his fingers before ending in a tug that calls your attention back to him.

Atsumu provides a momentary distraction, brushing past him to race over to the others in the adjacent pool, tossing himself in the air with complete abandon before pulling his knees to his chest and dropping like a bomb into the water. Or a cannonball, supposedly, but it lacks the form to be called so.

Suna looks back to you only briefly, catching the amused look you throw over your shoulder at him, likely in solidarity of the shared thought. That's one of the things that takes his breath away to this day, how for someone that outwardly seems so different from him, you always surprise him by understanding his thoughts to an exhilarating degree.

It was just fascinating at first, then eventually amusing and familiar, to seek you out for your shared humour, claiming space rent free in Rintaro's thoughts until you finally nestled in as his electrifying comfort. You were the one who would always be looking back without fail, reflecting his thoughts with just one look in those mischievous, enigmatic eyes.

Breaking the eye contact as smoothly as you caught it, with that wry smile still curving your lips, you turn back to your conversation with the others. Suna isn't in one yet thankfully, having stopped halfway to the pool, but he's sure something has to be coming his way from the way 'Samu has also quietly stopped by his side, so he looks over and raises an eyebrow at his best friend, who just obstinately mirrors the expression.

"I don't know what you're waiting for me to say." Osamu finally speaks, happily losing the silent challenge as his lips curl in amusement at Suna's carefully blank expression.

"Who said I was?"

"Then I guess I won't tell you how much more obvious the tension is lately. Like a string about to snap."

Suna turns his head slightly away to cast a disinterested look from the corner of his eyes with his response, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

And with that, he starts to walk away, turning his head fully forward only to be caught in an incredibly rare moment of complete surprise to find you suddenly in his path, having left your conversation with the others by the pool at some point.

"What he means by what?" Your intoxicating smile aimed up at him freezes Suna completely in his tracks and words, a potent desire sweeping through him to just lean down and capture your lips with his.

Where Osamu was just about to silently step away, Atsumu is the one that steps in to break the tangible intensity between his two best friends, running up between you and Rintaro, soaking and slightly chilly now from his dip in the pool.

"Angel! The sun's almost completely set, let's hop in the tub!"

You back away with a light laugh, from where you had just found yourself rooted in Suna's path when his eyes locked on yours with heated intent. You're still holding his gaze as you answer the setter, "Sure, 'Tsumu. Remove the cover will you?"

"Of course! 'Samu, Suna, c'mon!"

This time it's Rintaro who looks away, slowly and keeping steady, probing eye contact with you until he's fully turned away, to walk the few steps over to the hot tub. You watch as he crouches down and literally single-handedly tosses back the tub's heavy cover with a droll look aimed at Atsumu who just shrugs in that careless, single minded way of his.

Osamu simply stands there, arms crossed and eyes rolling upwards before looking back at you in a silent request to take pity on him. Right, you were supposed to spare him from his brother's exuberant energy for a bit.

With another laugh, this time at all of them, you walk up to join your friends, stepping up to the edge of the tub at Suna's side, close but ever so careful not to do more than lightly brush against him. You're addicted to this thrilling feeling, the way your heart races and skin tingles with electric heat.

You enjoy the rush as the four of you adjust the various controls to set the hot tub up just right for a relaxing soak, adding in the various scented salts that you've finally managed to get them to appreciate as the wonder they truly are for overworked muscles.

Several other friends either hop out of the heated pool or move from their comfortable seats by the poolside firepit to join the four of you, until there's eight in total. Perfect for an eight-seater tub, coincidentally.

While you quickly tie your hair up in a bun to keep it from swirling and tangling in the water, Atsumu ignores the steps down to the floor of the tub and just hops lightly in, somehow avoiding too much displacement of the water and managing to slip right in without a big splash.

Your eyes seek Suna's in amused bewilderment, thinking of 'Tsumu's much bigger splash earlier, and find him smirking back at you, completely in sync. It continues to take your breath away, this likeminded connection with someone seemingly so different from you.

Preoccupied with these thoughts, when you slide down into the heated water of the tub, you find your side also sliding against Suna, sensations alternating with the switch between fabric and skin until you're fully seated. Fighting your blush at the skin to skin contact, you can't resist the compulsion to glance up at him briefly only to find his gaze on you yet again. He doesn't say a thing, however, so you end up anchored to your spot, feeling more and more lightheaded every time one of you shifts but sure he'll catch on if you move away even a little now.

Suna, on the other hand, has never had to fight so hard to keep his expression neutral as the effort he's currently making. The urge to slip an arm around your waist and drag you even closer still, to tilt your head up and press his lips to yours, or even just to pull you over his lap and hold you to him with his face buried in your soft neck. Nothing he can do surrounded by so many people, especially when the two of you are 'just friends'.

Then, Ginjima, one of your other friends but also Suna and the twins' teammate, walks up to ask if there's room for one more in the tub and somehow, having stood in the shuffle to accommodate him, you end up pulled back on Atsumu's lap, the same seat by Suna's side that you'd occupied before now shared by you both.

The middle blocker finds himself clenching his jaw in painful resignation of his late reaction, reminding himself that not only is the setter your undeniably platonic friend but his own close friend as well, even if he did offer to move much too quickly.

At this point, as Suna is debating the merits of simply yanking you away to the only place you should rightfully sit, someone, probably Atsumu, decides to start in on a discussion about boys and girls, and what each likes in the other. You don't know what kind of questions might come your way but you're curious to hear your friends' answers, particularly one typically reserved friend.

It's Gin, now sitting across from you, that asks Suna about his preferences in a girl, teasing implication in his carefully worded question. Careful not to look either too interested or too disengaged to be natural nonchalance, you notice that, for once, Rintaro's not watching you but making steady eye contact with the wing spiker instead.

With a casual shrug, he answers, "I dunno. I guess it's cute when their hair's all tied up in that messy bun."

You make a concentrated effort not to raise your hand to your hair, smirking at Suna instead while you wait for him to decide who'll answer his question next. Somehow, you're not surprised when his eyes slide over to you, happy to have his gaze meeting yours again, even though your heart races at the intent in his eyes.

You know what it's going to be even before he asks you- "What do you like in a guy?"

It's likely your projection, but the night seems to get quieter, stars peeking out above you to watch what feels like a monumental moment, as everyone in the hot tub waits for your answer.

Raising an eyebrow as if in pensive thought, you briefly sift through what you can and shouldn't say in reply before the time seems to stretch too long to be normal and you decide on, "I dunno. I guess it's cute when they're all confidently direct."

His smirk is slow to appear, melting across his lips as if he's carefully analyzing the truths and hidden depths to your words and coming to his chosen conclusion.

"What a cop-out, princess." His hand rises from the water, droplets running back down his wrist and arms to their domain, as his forefinger meets his thumb to flick your forehead in retaliation but you're already angling your face away as you reach up to intercept him.

You end up grabbing his hand just before he can connect, giving him another arch look as you force his hand back down below the water, aware that if he'd really wanted to catch you off-guard, your reaction would have been much too late.

Everyone is watching, some chuckling at the quick exchange, and because you need the attention to divert as soon as possible, you look over your shoulder to narrow your eyes on Atsumu and challenge, "What don't you like in a girl, 'Tsumu?"

He throws his head back in laughter at your twist, arm flexing around your waist as he traps you down to harshly poke your side in subtle retribution, before he meets your eyes with his own burning with indignation at your implication and responds, "I can't say, Angel. I haven't been able to take my eyes off you long enough to tell."

There's a slight brush against the back of your hand under the bubbling water, but you think nothing of it as you roll your eyes in response, with enough exaggeration that everyone can read your genuine disbelief as if it weren't already radiating from your very core, "Right, or you're just a smooth talker that can't admit you're an extremely picky perfectionist."

"Or that." He agrees with another laugh as you dig your elbow back into his stomach as penance for putting you on the spot like that, but he ignores your literal jab and turns to his brother to throw your twist in the question his way.

You're actually curious to hear what the less talkative of your two friends has to say about his dislikes, but your attention is immediately drawn away when you feel yet another brush on the back of your hand and it's as if a spark lights and sets ablaze in your lower belly when you realize it's the textured pad of Suna's thumb.

If anyone chooses this moment to speak to you or ask you a question, there's entirely no way you'll be able to form a coherent answer because your brain is short-circuiting as you realize you're still holding Rintaro's hand under the water, having never let go from when you grasped it before. But... he hasn't pulled away either. No, instead he's rubbing small, maddeningly slow circles on the sensitive skin where your thumb meets your first finger.

It's all you can do to keep your eyes trained on whomever seems to be talking, focusing on keeping your breathing even and quelling any involuntary responses from your sudden awareness. Trying desperately not to unintentionally twitch or shift your hand, not until you can absorb the consequences of this new development, born from one too many bold actions.

If Suna's aware that you've caught on and yet continue to hold his hand, you'll both be crossing into unknown territory. But with your awareness, and likely sudden stillness, how could the perceptive middle blocker have not noticed?

With a calculated move, you lean further back into Atsumu - trying not to blush at the realization that you're sitting on one best friend's lap but completely drowning into the connection to other beside you - and you tilt your chin to glance up at the only one that can hold your thoughts hostage in a binding way. Even though you expect it, you're caught by the knowing look in his eyes when you find him already watching you back, both of you falling deep into the acknowledgement in each other's gaze.

You've clearly missed something though as the volume gets louder and your attention is pulled away, making the conscious choice to nonchalantly slip your hand from Rintaro's as you lightly lean forward again when Atsumu shifts.

"Of course, I can! Look, I'll show you right now!"

And before you know it, you're lifted up by the waist only to be deposited onto the only seat you really wanted, back when you had to move previously. Your entire body is thrown to havoc as, this time, its Suna's toned arm that curves around your bare waist, sliding against your sensitized skin and pulling you firmly to settle back into him without a single word.

You can't even comprehend that while Atsumu might have, quite literally in a sense, tossed you into the fox's den, there's nothing more alluring then the possibilities for how this can end. So you allow your tension to slip away as you relax back into your friend, whose thumb has now resumed its too recent pastime, except with new patterns played on the delicate skin of your waist and stomach.

When Rin speaks, you can quite literally feel the rumble in his chest, like the earth shifting and tilting you off balance with small tremors of sensation, to the point you almost miss his question, "What's that about?"

Suna supposes he should expect the look both 'Samu and Gin throw his way. Of all the people here, he's the one least likely to be unaware of what's been building right in front of him. But how can they fault his distraction when the reason for it is such an appealing temptation, and one he's now finally able to hold in his careful grasp, especially when he almost just felt you slipping away.

Gin, taking pity on his friend's obvious slip, answers, "What do you think? He's trying to prove that at least one person here won't name any traits of his as a personal dislike."

"Wow, he really likes a challenge." You let out a light laugh as you shift to look at Rin behind you, his smirk matching yours but something entirely different in the piercing light of his eyes. At this point, the two of you are already hopelessly transparent, so everyone politely ignores it when neither of you pull back to make further conversation.

Instead, when Suna speaks again, it's addressed directly to you in a low tenor, "Who doesn't?"

"I thought that would be you, no?" You're quick to reply with a teasing look at him.

His arm tightens around your waist before his next words, "I bet I can prove you wrong."

Your smile drops slowly as your mouth opens and then closes, searching for the words that have chosen to desert you. Rin just watches steadily, patiently waiting for your decision but filled with relieved elation when your hand finally rises to rest on his chest, resting just over his speeding heart.

Your next words almost trip over themselves with the sudden desire to reach his ears when Atsumu bounds back up to the tub, challenge momentarily forgotten because- "Dinner's here!"

The spell breaks as you tug both your gaze and your hand away, almost jerking in reaction as if you've somehow fused into him and need the extra force to separate from the magnetic pull.

You lift up quickly from the water with a cheerful excuse that you'll return shortly, avoiding the sardonic arch of Osamu's eyebrow and Atsumu's narrowed eyes. You can't even force yourself to meet Suna's gaze again just now.

Once you've put enough distance between you and the hot tub, you're able to finally dispel the building pressure and tension with a long, slow exhale, grabbing a fresh towel from the deck box to wrap around yourself before heading into your house.

Suna tilts his head back up to the stars, questioning if they're simply curious observers or maybe even mocking meddlers with timed disturbances, as he rubs his thumb against his now empty fingers. Missing the weight of your hand in his, pondering the perfect fit of your frame to his, and committing the silk of your smooth skin to eternal memory.

Fuck it. I don't want the memories.

Harshly lifting himself out of the water, he ignores his friends' questions and, without overthinking it for once, follows restlessly in your wake.

You've already directed the deliveryman to leave the takeout containers on the entryway table, paying and tipping him generously before locking the door behind him, when you hear the door to your backyard open and shut across the open space behind you. Thinking it's likely 'Samu, offering to help with the food so he can get to it faster himself, you're already gesturing towards the takeout boxes as you turn to face him.

You have only seconds to see Suna, dripping with water left in a careless trail behind him, before he's towering right in front of you. In a swift move, he curves his arm back around your waist to pull you up against him before capturing your lips with his.

The credit card in your hand drops to the floor with a faint clatter as everything fades around you except for the feel of Rintaro's mouth moving against yours, his arms tight around you as you melt into his demanding kiss. One of his arms loosens, hand sliding up along your spine before you feel a tug on the tie keeping your hair up in its messy bun.

As the strands escape to flow down your arched back, he captures them in a new constraint, leveraging his fisted grip in your hair to tilt your head and deepen the kiss. You find yourself carefully maneuvered as he moves forward into you until your back is hitting the door and then you're trapped between it's hard surface and Suna's unyielding frame.

Your eyes have long since closed as you feel yourself falling apart in the middle blocker's relentless embrace, so you're caught entirely by surprise when a throat quietly clears, followed by a familiar voice loudly exclaiming, "I knew it!"

You and Suna draw apart, not suddenly but slowly instead, as if waking from an exquisite dream that you both desperately wish would keep you in its grasp forever. There's barely a shred of space between you two and you lock eyes with each other momentarily, his peridot gaze trained on you as you each work catch your breath.

You're careful to clear your expression before looking over at the twins both standing there in mirrored stances, and with ironically identical, unsurprised looks on their faces.

When no one else speaks, Osamu states calmly into the ensuing silence, "Don't let us interrupt. We just came to see if we could help with the food."

"I called it! Didn't I 'Samu?" Atsumu's voice is smug with excitement and satisfaction.

"You sure did, 'Tsumu."

You exchange another look with Rin, yours unreadable and his searching for something more, before you address the twins. Or try to, because it seems like you're at a loss for words yet again. Suna's effect on you, it seems, stealing your words, breath, and heart, all in a single move.

"Do they know there's water everywhere?"

"I think they do."

The twins have picked up the containers and are already walking away, you can catch the movement in your peripherals but you don't move to follow them, not with your eyes or your physical self. Rintaro's made the final move to change this game that you both have been playing long enough, the least you can do is acknowledge his win.

So instead of turning away as you've so gotten used to doing, you reach up instead to wrap your arms around his neck, drawing his lips back to yours in an unspoken concession. You don't see his exhilarated smile as it tugs at his mouth, no, you feel it curving his lips as they return to press against yours once again.

This kiss is softer, gentler, a luxuriously slow celebration of your two hearts finally beating in sync, together as one.

A/N: This... one got me so much. It's based very closely on one of my own experiences which might have been why it just had to be Suna. It also took me so long as I wrote it over many separate days, coming back to it again and again. And the quiet middle blocker just kept taking over. There are still so many thoughts and moments remaining for this scenario, going wild in my head every time I revisit it. So many things Suna has left to say or do... No promises but, I suppose this might not be the end after all.

© 2021 fayeimara. All rights reserved. Please do not repost, modify, or claim as yours.

#suna rintarou #suna rintaro x reader #suna x you #suna fluff #suna x y/n #suna rintarō #suna x reader #suna rintaro scenarios #hq suna #haikyuu suna #haikyuu suna x reader #haikyuu suna rintarou #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #suna scenarios #suna rintaro fluff #suna rintaro x you #suna rintaro x y/n #suna rintaro imagine #miya atsumu #miya osamu #haikyuu atsumu #haikyuu osamu #inarizaki #haikyuu suna x you #suna imagines #suna rintaro fic #haikyuu!! #hq

[bleachbleachbleach]

Fic: Away, Away

This was written for Day 13 of @hitsuhina-week! If you prefer, you can also read this on AO3. Which is my preference, because Tumblr keeps eating my spacing whether I use Rich Text or HTML so it looks absurd on here. >.>

Aftermath / Going on a Trip Together Hinamori Momo + Hitsugaya Toushirou Pre-Series

--

This will be the last time. 

(Whisper it, so he won't hear.)

--

Every spring, Junrinan finds its way to the western mountains. (The souls of Rukongai wander.) There is no grand procession: They disperse across the vast range, often alone and sometimes in twos. They are always careful not to cause disruption, because while one soul in a forest full of spirits generally isn't worth the effort, seven is a meal.

They are three. 

Soon, they will be two. Hinamori can't stop whispering her new name, hi na mo ri. It's early to be out here, but the snows were mild this year and new growth is already peeking from beneath the thick, rich leaf rot. She feels an affinity with this year's tender saplings, a feeling that grows hotter with every whispered repetition of her name. Her grandmother had given it to her, showed her how to write it. She'd studied her name harder than she had the exam.

Hinamori has an acceptance letter. In April, she is leaving. 

Hinamori nearly walks straight into a nettle spirit--the hair-eating kind--draped across the game path plain as day.

"Do you wanna be bald?" Toushirou grouses as he yanks her back just in time. "I guess it fits. You're acting like a blind old man." 

Hinamori blinks, brushes imagined hair from her face. It's the fifth time she's tried to walk straight through a spirit in as many days. 

"Studying is bad for your eyes," says Toushirou. He doesn't care for moony Hinamori. Momo had paid a lot more attention to what was in front of her. But she's Hinamori now. At least, that's the only name she'll write, dragging her thin stick through the dirt outside the house. So that's what he calls her.

Toushirou squeezes through a bumble of pot-bellied mushroom spirits and Hinamori follows him, stepping carefully into his tracks.

"You'll need to keep reading even when I'm not around. It'll go if you don't practice," she says.

Toushirou makes a noncommittal sound.

"I'll send you letters full of kanji and quiz you on them when I visit." I'll learn how to write them pretty, she promises, just like Baachan does.

"Will you write me back?" she asks.

"Probably not."

This hurts her. But Toushirou plans to go the rest of his life without writing a single thing. It's not personal.

"Why would I need to tell you what happens in Junrinan?" he says. "You already know."

--

And if I forget?

--

Life in Junrinan doesn't change. That's what Toushirou was promised. The winters are quiet and slow, and in spring they go to the mountains. Summers are for farming, and autumns for harvest. Then winters are quiet and slow again.

Spring passes with bracken and angelica in hand. It is counted in the spirals of ferns as their number grows in the baskets. Some are dried; some are steeped. Mostly, they are sold. Many of the men in Junrinan spend springtime waking before dawn to sprint to the mountain, forage the lowlands, and return to the village for evening revelries, but Toushirou and Hinamori and their grandmother have always spent the whole of the season between the trees. The mountains prefer it when you stay. 

This will be true no matter how long Hinamori is gone.

April 12th through July 20th, then our first break, she says, scratching numbers in the dirt. But Junrinan doesn't have dates the way the Academy does. She draws the way the trees will change. The change happens in a long straight line, and beyond July 20th there is an emptiness rather than a repetition. How do you draw an unwritten future?

Hinamori writes her name again.

--

In the spring, everything is full: Toushirou enjoys the wet green of it, the late snows and vernal flooding. The water flows down from the mountains ice cold and the forests are loud and thick with spirits.

The spirits have no names that are written and no faces that have ever stayed the same, unremembered but immemorial. They are loud. Most of them respect the borders of his body. They brush against his legs with thick wet fur or scrape his cheek with leathery wings. They coil around his throat, treating him like a tree or rock. Some of them are trees and rocks. They are the mountains and forest, just like the wandering souls of Junrinan. They all belong here, more or less.

Toushirou can see most of them. When the blurry ones pass through you, it's feverishly unpleasant for the split-second it happens and then is nothing at all. The blurry ones, Toushirou figures, aren't actually in this forest. They are like shadows at sunset, cast long and far from their bodies. Their true bodies roam a different world entirely.

That's what Hinamori wants to do. 

Hinamori used to clamor for shinigami stories any time one of them passed through town. She'd been told one time that all travelers carried stories and now expected it.

The shinigami never expected her. Unless commerce was involved they didn't tend to acknowledge souls, or even look at them. So they always seemed surprised by Hinamori, like it hadn't occurred to them that they'd meet a real, full person out here. Which is fair enough, Toushirou grudgingly allows--there are plenty of souls in Junrinan so old and staid they cannot move, nor speak. (Don't touch them. It's unlucky.)

We don't talk about those.

The shinigami talk story: The story of black dye. The story of a tall bathhouse. The story of grilled meat on sticks. The story of the time they saw a noble. The story of a big fish. The story of a bigger fish. The story of the bullet train. The story of my sister, who isn't very interesting but is the only thing that comes to mind right now sorry. The story of 19th seats should be paid more. The story of the soul who wanted a story. 

Almost none of the stories are about death.

"Little girls shouldn't go into those mountains," one shinigami once said, which is as close as a story ever came to it. "Nasty stuff in there. They're called Hollows, you know. Real bad guys."

The shinigami patted the sword at his hip. He'd just told Hinamori a story about the third son of a lesser noble whom everyone loved and thought deserved better than the shadows of his elder brothers. And how preposterous is it, really, that he should have to prove himself when his brothers never did? Pushed out here into the boonies, seeking honor and fame. He really feels for the guy. Don't you? Don't you?

"You seem to know a lot about 'this guy,'" Toushirou offered.

"I'm a master storyteller," said the shinigami.

I've killed a Hollow before, you know, boasted the master storyteller. He'd led a unit of twelve men into those mountains out there, which were so quiet you could hear your own heart beating. When you can hear your terror--that's when you're on the cusp of valor. His eyes lit up. I was the one who cut the mask, he said.

Twelve is obviously far too many (seven is a meal), and those mountains have never been quiet. Toushirou didn't think he'd really been.

In the spring, though, there's a dark scar where once there'd been a copse of trees. Shattered branches and burned ground. His grandmother says it smells like Hollow. 

"They see things differently," his grandmother half-explains, of the shinigami and their Hollows and the silence of their mountains. Of course this would seem a different place to them.

"They're idiots," says Toushirou, though suddenly he's not sure. The scar is hair-raising, and his stomach roils. Maybe they really shouldn't be out in the woods.

"The shinigami know more than you," says Hinamori, taking his hand in hers. She grips it tightly, reassuring, or maybe annoyed. Both. She has a lot of school spirit for someone who hasn't even been yet.

But she doesn't let go of his hand, even after they've returned to the cover of the live trees, kitsune fire nestled in the brambles at their feet.

Toushirou makes the mistake of noticing a spirit that tends to linger just out of sight. It feeds on your instinct to look, and it grows higher and higher the more you crane your neck, so sure you'll be able to sneak a glimpse of it. By the time you realize the trick, you've always been had. It's very annoying.

--

This will be the last time.

(Scream it.)

--

"It's so dark out here," says Hinamori, in spite of the kitsune and all the rest. Lots of spirits glow. She is still holding his hand.

Toushirou thinks of the small lamp Hinamori had bought to study by, the wild shadows it cast on the interior walls and the way it had made all hours bright. He thinks of all the hours she hadn't slept. All because some shinigami had told her a story about a school. 

Anything would seem dark by comparison. He can't remember the last time she hadn't had her lamp on when he went to bed.

Hinamori is going to snap the bones in his hand. He yelps. Tears prick in his eyes. "What's wrong with you?"

She doesn't let go, and then she doesn't let go.

"It's so quiet," she says faintly. Her free hand wavers over her heart protectively.

It's so dark. It's so quiet. Quiet enough to hear your terror.

Except it's not. It's not dark.

It's not quiet.

The forest is full, air thick with chirrups and buzzing, screeching, hooting, chittering. Bodies clack and bones shudder. Reeds whistle and something large makes a whomping, resonating tone. Foxfire hisses as it makes sparks, throws phosphorous motes that dance high above. A heartbeat glow marches up the ridged spine of a lizard spirit. The forest is as it has always been.

Toushirou's eyes widen. 

"You can't hear them anymore."

To Hinamori, it is all darkness and silence. 

She sinks to the ground, burying her head in her knees as though to hide from the quiet. From the black. She drops his hand.

"Momo--"

She shakes her head. She opens her hands to the sky like she's waiting for a bird to land. For a split second, a small warm flame billows from her palms. 

Then the entire forest catches.

The thought had been innocent enough--to be her own light in the darkness, conquer her fear. But the forest only hears the conquering. It's the kitsune who don't take kindly to Hinamori's light. Their fire screeches up and outward and then all the spirits are in frenzy. A meal! scream some; and others, a threat! A danger to be expunged. A strange thing not of this forest, these mountains.

Outsider! the world around them hisses. Away.

away, away

Hinamori screams as the flames leap forward--the claws, the vines, the terrors and all in between. She throws herself in front of Toushirou. 

Toushirou can't find his voice at all. The wide whites of his eyes feel the propulsive gust of the forest coming down on them. On Hinamori. No! he can't shout, cold fear coiling over his frozen legs and pricking at his shoulder blades. Something serpentine rushes past him and he's on the ground. His head smacks hard against a writhing tree root and he tastes bile, feels nothing. 

Hears everything.

away

When he wakes, snow is falling, wet and sloppy. Kitsune are nibbling at the singed edges of a hanafuda. Hinamori is in her grandmother's arms. She's crying.

--

Before Hinamori started studying, with her bright lamp and her long nights and her feverish poetry scratched into the ground, before the hunger came, she'd woken one morning to a futon streaked with her blood. Her grandmother said that this was womanhood.

"The tea will stop the bleeding," she assured a tearful Hinamori as they scrubbed at her futon, pinking the waters. Toushirou beat at the stain with his feet, splashing everywhere.

"You don't have to touch it," Hinamori had said quietly, her eyes fixed on the water. "It's my mess."

"Baachan said I have to help," Toushirou objected. "Besides, am I supposed to just sit here and watch you bleed?"

--

Just one last time.

--

Hinamori isn't hurt, but she is in pain. The forest doesn't want her anymore. (She is leaving.)

"The forest sees them differently," his grandmother says, the other half of her earlier explanation. "Them," meaning shinigami. "Them," meaning Hinamori, now.

Shinigami see and are seen differently. They belong differently. Toushirou had only ever distinguished them by their black clothes, and sometimes their attitude. But his grandmother talks about reiryoku, about reiatsu, about the realms the shinigami travel through and the spirits they are blind to. The spirits that belong to different worlds than theirs, even when they're side by side. Some worlds are bound to one another, tied by fate and duty; others are repelled.

As Hinamori's reiatsu blossomed with her womanhood, slowly folding outward past her skin, beyond her body, her worlds were chosen for her. Like the bleeding, there's a tea to help this, too, but it's not the same. 

There is no going back.

"What're you looking at," Toushirou scowls at her. He's not sure what to do with her pain. There's nothing he can do for her pain. But she's looking at him differently, a little less like Hinamori and a little more like the rest of Junrinan does, and that scares him.

She asks him if he'd felt anything. Something cold.

She's asked him before. Every day since the incident, she's asked him.

His answer is always the same. No. Just fear.

He should be helping his grandmother. They're here in the forest for a reason, and that hasn't changed; they have foraging to do. But he doesn't want to leave Hinamori alone. 

"Don't be afraid of it, Shiro-chan," says Hinamori. Hinamori, who's now afraid of the dark.

Hinamori, who is leaving.

--

She doesn't have a choice. When her power comes into her she knows there is only one place she can go. It's a place she has always wanted to go. (She has always wanted to go places.) But now she has to.

She smiles. 

If she is going to go, she's going to fly. She will love, and yearn, and cry. She will give all of herself to the future before her, even when it means that precious things can be only memory. If there is something Hinamori leaves in him when she goes, it's flight. 

Someday, Toushirou will remember to remember that.

--

"Will you write me?" she asks.

--

--

(You will be written.)

--

She returns for the summer, then is gone again. Winter, then gone again. But she doesn't come home for the spring. They'll be going to the realm of the living. They will fight Hollows, just like the Gotei 13. She explains the meaning and stroke order of the characters, go tei,  though she doesn't explain what the Gotei 13 actually is. That part must already seem obvious to her. Shinigami stuff. That's all Toushirou will ever need to know. Seems pretentious.

When Junrinan returns to the mountains this year, Toushirou and his grandmother stay behind. "It's dangerous," she says. She squeezes his shoulders.

It's dangerous now. 

There is no going back.

Junrinan may not change, but life does, and by the second summer, Hinamori has mostly forgotten the shapes of the forest spirits. Toushirou is forgetting them, too. 

The difference is, Hinamori has found replacements. She talks about incantations and sword stances, friendships and histories. She has been to the realm of the living. It's only been a year, and already they have nothing in common but their memories, ever-receding. 

Sometimes she wakes up screaming. She doesn't say why.

--

Toushirou dreams of a chill ripping through him. He dreams of a place where there are no mountains as far as the eye can see.

--

He wakes to Hinamori.

#hinamori momo #hitsugaya toushirou #hitsuhina week #bleach fic #IT'S FOR THE CULTURE #I wanted to play with the idea of the districts of Rukongai having their own cultures and practices apart from what we know of the Seireitei #I thought it would be interesting to imagine that it's because these things are not legible/perceivable to our shinigami narrators #because their existence is tied more closely to other worlds and realms #So just like there are things that humans can't see wandering their world there are things that shinigami can't see either #👻👻👻👻👻👻 #yes this is the angery fic that hates me but its deadline is today so now it is done!

[ktheist]

Can I request Tsundere!Yoongi from sentence starters fluff 3. “Have you seen my hoodie?” “Nooo.” “You’re wearing it, aren’t you?” Thank you! 🥰

“have you seen my hoodie?”

“no...”

“you’re wearing it aren’t you?

muses. human tsundere!yoongi x cat hybrid!reader

warning: implied smut

note. this is also posted on my other blog because it wasn’t showing up on searches. i’m posting this here as well as a formality!

x

are all humans this odd?

min yoongi gazed at you like you’ve got the most magnificent horns in the kingdom. silly, cats don’t have horns. minotaurs do.

you’ve met a few on your journey to find a mate. they’re not very nice. their heads are too big for their little feet. their dicks are big though. not that they’ll get anywhere with that kind of personality.

and you say journey but actually, you venture a little beyond the borders of the felidae’s territory because all the males tend to go for your elder sisters, leaving you with nothing but your fingerpads to get you through your heat.

this year, you’ve decided to find yourself another species, a different breed. white lions are too possessive, stallions tend to mate with too many, songbirds are get attached too easily and you can’t kiss vipers without being intoxicated on their essences.

you keep walking, deep in thoughts as the trees you pass by start looking the exact same. before you know it, the forest line cedes and the blades of grass that caress your soles have turned to hard, solid earth.

in front of you, stands a boy - your nose crinkles - no, at first sight, those sleepy eyes and slightly puckered lips look like that of a boy’s but this- this person without any distinct feature to identify his breed, is definitely a man.

min yoongi is a man in every sense of instinct.

“wh-what are you doing?” that’s when his droopy eyes come to life, and as you said, as if you bear two magnificent horns on your head.

but he’s not looking at your head. he’s looking at your chest.

“oof!” you breathe out at the soft material that lands on your face, the scent engulfing you smells strongly of him.

what is he?

“w-wear that,” his voice trembles but you’re more interested in this fur-like material he’s telling you to wear. it has one big hole and three smaller ones.

“fuck’s sake, all i wanted was some mushrooms for dinner,” odd. yoongi, he-

“do all your kinds speak to yourselves?” you ask once your ears pop out of one of the holes and then your head.

“don’t your kinds?” he answers, sighing before crossing the distance between you and him and placing a hand on top of your head, “you’re wearing it wrong. don’t you hybrids have clothes?”

the world goes dark for the briefest moment as you feel the material - clothes, he says? - shift around and finally gets pulled over your head. the hole is much larger and comfier around your neck.

“it’s warm,” you hum, rubbing your cheek against the material on your shoulder, “it smells good too. it smells like you.”

you’re not sure why but his species get red especially on his cheeks and ears.

“th-thanks, i guess.”

“you’re welcome.” you grin.

x

“so why were you walking around in the forest owned by humans?” yoongi asks when he closes the movable plank that’s attached to his cube-looking cave. it’s well carved.

ah, so the journey you initially set out has lead you far beyond the felidae territory.

“are you a human?” you answer his question with another question.

he doesn’t seem to care and instead starts making a fire and setting up shiny containers on the fire. you expect him to start cursing and looking distressed again when the container melts - are all humans this stupid? - but the container remains intact in its natural form.

is it metal?

metal is the only thing that can withstand fire but the pantheras tend to keep the those for themselves to make arrowheads.

you shiver at the remembrance of those golden eyes. the pantheras may have been part of the fedilaes but they’ve long since abandoned their origins, claiming that they were more superior.

“you can have some mushroom soup and leave, i’m sure a kid like you can find her way home,” he has a similar material - clothes - that and put it on while you were deep in your thoughts.

“i’m not a kid - well, i haven’t mated yet, but i’m not a kid,” you say.

he laughs. it’s the kind of laugh that those arrogant minatours do but he’s actually cute so you’ll let it slide, “yeah? so how old are you?”

“in fidelae years, twenty-three,” you say, bringing your legs to your chest under the ‘clothes’ and hugging yourself, enjoying the softness of the material until a loud clang reverberates from where he is.

you’re on your feet in an instant, padding towards where the human male is, cupping his hand and gazing down at it with a sort of grimace.

“give it to me,” you say, gently prying his uninjured hand off and directing his finger to your lips.

it takes a few seconds for the blood to stop flowing from the cut, when it does, you release his finger, giving it a few licks before looking up at yoongi who’s face has turned beet red yet again.

you pick up the scent of his arousal as he looks again, muttering a “th-thanks, but you shouldn’t do that to other people - not even males of your kind, got it?”

“yoongi,” you finally say his name, fingers tugging on the hem of his ‘clothes’, “if you don’t want me to treat other males like that, then take me. make me yours.”

when he twists his porcelain neck to face you - he looks like all the blood in his body is rushing to his head. it’s a surprise that he hasn’t exploded. but you guess, as he cups your cheek in his hands, the trace of blood from the cut brushing against your skin and crashes his lips on yours - he explodes in a different way.

x

min yoongi tastes divine. like the dew drop of first light after the blue moon. he tastes different from you.

you might have been a little curious and decided to lick your juice coated fingers after you’d taken care of yourself.

“y-your teeth-” he stammers, propping his elbows on the thing he calls bed as he looks at you with the most adorable lust-filled gaze.

you ran your tongue over your canines. well, they never hurt you but they’re still pretty sharp. either way, you’ve licked him enough to know just how good he tastes like.

he tastes divine but he must feel better.

you grin, traces of your excitement pouring over his hardened dick as you stand over it on your knees, “thank you for accepting me as your mate for this year!”

and then you take him all the way to the hilt. the pent up frustrations from all those years you’ve lost to your sisters when it comes to finding a mate blooms in your core and spreads all over your body like sweet, sweet venom.

do all human dicks feel this good?

yoongi’s making the prettiest sound with that pretty face of his as you bounce on his dick. and he lets you do whatever you want. you heard from your sisters that the males of your kin have too big of an ego to let the females take the lead.

“take the hoodie off,” yoongi tugs on the hem of your own clothes.

“why? it’s so comfy!” you whine but know that you’d succumb those pretty pink lips and those clouded eyes anyway.

“i wanna touch you too.”

and so the clothes -hoodie - comes off. and all of a sudden, you’re the shy little kitten that’s hiding her face in her hands as the human male teases your erect nipples. then he pulls you lower until his mouth traps your nipple and his other hand starts coaxing your hips to move again - you’re not sure why or when you stopped.

but you’ve shed off some of the shyness as your bodies mold together into one and an unfamiliar yet familiar spasms of climax shoots through your body.

you end up reaching for the hoodie despite yoongi’s complaints - something about “can’t be naked alone”. he declines your offer to help him into his own hoodie and opts for wrapping his arms around you, his chin on the top of your head and his jawline brushing against the side of your ears, “i’ll keep warm like this.”

x

humans may be odd but they’ve got good stamina. every waking moment of your and yoongi’s lives, you both spend them tangled in his bed or cuddled up on his couch - sometimes you end up on the floor, and that’s nice too because yoongi lends you his arm as a pillow while you cuddle up to him.

but lately, something seems to be bothering him and you find out why on the last day of your heat.

“you thanked me for being your mate for this year... do you change mates every year?” he’s staring at the ceiling with a sort of thoughtfulness that’s never usually there.

he’s either sleepy or horny most of the time.

other times he gets up to cook for the two of you.

“we’re encouraged to look for different mates in order to find the strongest that we can use to bear children with and continue the royal bloodline but the nobles and below don’t need to try so hard to find mates. they usually stay with their first mate.”

yoongi’s thoughtful hum vibrates under your fingerpads that lie on his chest - you enjoy feeling the different patterns of his heartbeat.

“wait... are you a royal?” his wide eyes gaze into you like the first time you met, as if you’ve grown horns on your head.

“my father is amun, the conqueror of the kingdom,” you nod, “but since i’m the youngest, the pressure to procreate isn’t that big, i doubt anyone notices i’ve been away for three months. i should probably go back.”

“yeah,” he looks like he’s about to cry any moment, “you should,” but he turns away before you can say anything.

x

ever since yesterday, yoongi’s been acting odd.

cold and distant, as if you’re both strangers living under the same roof. you want to wait until he wakes up to tell him goodbye but it’s a few hours past first light and your guardians, having been lifted from their heat, may be searching high and low for you. so you slip out of yoongi’s bed and out of the plank - door.

as you thought, jennie and lisa were on the verge of crying and going to your father to offer their heads for failing to find out their master’s whareabouts.

“my lady,” jennie nose crinkles as she takes repeated whiffs of your scent, “this scent- it doesn’t belong to a felidae.”

“did you mate with a pathera?” lisa’s round eyes almost pop out of their sockets.

you giggle before bringing your index finger to your lips, “shh, don’t tell father but- he’s a human.”

“a-a human?” jennie whispers under her breath, “my lady, you know what they say about humans! th-they’re like gods! they have the purest forms without tails or thorns on their body!”

“i know, that’s why you two must keep it a secret.” you say but the moment you walk down the pillars leading to the throne, you know everyone can smell the scent of yoongi on you.

your sisters’ alarmed gazes doesn’t go past you but you take your spot on the far end of the throne anyway.

“___ - you- who was your mate?” your sister, agatha, asks.

she’s been rubbing the fact that she’s had more mates than your years of living.

“why should i tell you?” you shoot her a victorious grin.

she huffs, displeased, “wait until father knows about this.”

and as if on cue, the horn begins to blow and silence settles all over the throne as a beast larger than two- no, three felidaes in their beast forms combined, struts down the pillared isle, his steps light and graceful as is his transformation as the beast gets on two paws and takes the remaining of his steps on his two feet.

“felidaes, thank you for gathering here on this wonderful day after yet another successful mating season. i look forward welcoming new cubs to our prides,” he announces.

“and to ___, my youngest, when will i be able to meet this human mate of yours?” he turns to you, pride laced around his words as agatha and the rest of the people’s eyes widen at the word ‘human’.

you giggle, feeling the blood rushing to your face - this must have been how yoongi felt every time his face goes red, “father, you know how humans are different from us. please give us more time.”

x

humans are odd.

min yoongi especially so.

he acts like nothing’s changed from the time you were living with him to the time you’ve left him. it may have been a short period - has it been a month? - of running away from the ladies that try to pry the story of you and your human mate and the males that sudden have their attention turned to you, trying to court you with offerings of the ancient relics and deepest colored gems.

your tail sways over the ledge of the window as you watch the human male set walk pass you and set up the table before going back to the kitchen only to stop midway. as if he’s seen a ghost.

oh well, at least it isn’t horns.

then he slowly turns to you with eyes round and awake - shocked and disbelieved, even.

“____, y-you came back?” he stammers out.

you grin, hopping off the ledge and bounding right into his arms, your own wrapped around his neck whilst your naked breasts press up against his chest, “i missed your hoodie, so i came back.”

yoongi looks like he’s about to scold you and cry at the same time, but he does neither. instead, he cups your cheeks in his hands and kisses you like he’s never had a drop of water since the day you left.

and you kiss back, savoring the taste of your human mate whom you’ve chosen to spend your whole life with.

you spend your days cuddled together in his sheets like you did before except you’re not licking his neck with every chance you get - it’s the part where he smells most divine besides his dick.

it turns out a human’s heat is all year round. during winter, his hand slips under the hoodie and touches your lower lips. during summer, he keeps trying to take off the hoodie. in autumn and spring, he doesn’t mind the hoodie as much. but you suppose you can’t be hogging all of them at once.

“have you seen my hoodie?” he means the one he claims to be his and is supposed to be steal-proof.

the bright red one with a skull at the back.

you feel your ears perking at the word, thankfully the hood’s covering your head, “no...”

a good few seconds pass without yoongi saying anything, before he sighs, “you’re wearing it, aren’t you?”

underneath your black hoodie, a piece of bright red peeks from the neckline. so you peek up at the human male, laughing sheepishly, “it’s just so comfy and it smells like you...”

“i should start charging you for fees,” he plants his hands on either sides of you, resting his forehead on yours as he smirks deviously.

“f-fees?” you laugh, “w-well, the kingdom is filled with minerals you humans seem to love.”

“pay up with your body,” there’s a glint in his eyes - the kind that used to get buried beneath blushed skin and shyly closed eyes.

you feel your ears perking up, your tail swaying behind you as you tilt your head in just the right angle to kiss his lips. when you pull away, his face is glowing beet red.

“okay, i paid my dues, right?” you shoot him one of your smiles.

he looks like he has more to say, disappointed even, but he settles with a “y-yeah.”

tugging on his hand and swiftly pulling him down onto the bed, cradling his waist. his face looks like it’s about to explode. you giggle.

“you- you’re teasing me,” his forehead creases and he looks like he’s about to kill you and kiss you at the same time.

humans are odd.

min yoongi, especially so.

x

note. reminder that this drabble is also up on my other blog!

#yoongi fic #bts fic #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #bts yoongi #yoongi scenario #bts scenarios #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi scenarios #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #bts scenario #drabble game 1

[zephyoongist]

“have you seen my hoodie?”

“no...”

“you’re wearing it aren’t you?

warning: implied smut

x

are all humans this odd?

min yoongi gazed at you like you’ve got the most magnificent horns in the kingdom. silly, cats don’t have horns. minotaurs do.

you’ve met a few on your journey to find a mate. they’re not very nice. their heads are too big for their little feet. their dicks are big though. not that they’ll get anywhere with that kind of personality.

and you say journey but actually, you venture a little beyond the borders of the felidae’s territory because all the males tend to go for your elder sisters, leaving you with nothing but your fingerpads to get you through your heat.

this year, you’ve decided to find yourself another species, a different breed. white lions are too possessive, stallions tend to mate with too many, songbirds are get attached too easily and you can’t kiss vipers without being intoxicated on their essences.

you keep walking, deep in thoughts as the trees you pass by start looking the exact same. before you know it, the forest line cedes and the blades of grass that caress your soles have turned to hard, solid earth.

in front of you, stands a boy - your nose crinkles - no, at first sight, those sleepy eyes and slightly puckered lips look like that of a boy’s but this- this person without any distinct feature to identify his breed, is definitely a man.

min yoongi is a man in every sense of instinct.

“wh-what are you doing?” that’s when his droopy eyes come to life, and as you said, as if you bear two magnificent horns on your head.

but he’s not looking at your head. he’s looking at your chest.

“oof!” you breathe out at the soft material that lands on your face, the scent engulfing you smells strongly of him.

what is he?

“w-wear that,” his voice trembles but you’re more interested in this fur-like material he’s telling you to wear. it has one big hole and three smaller ones.

“fuck’s sake, all i wanted was some mushrooms for dinner,” odd. yoongi, he-

“do all your kinds speak to yourselves?” you ask once your ears pop out of one of the holes and then your head.

“don’t your kinds?” he answers, sighing before crossing the distance between you and him and placing a hand on top of your head, “you’re wearing it wrong. don’t you hybrids have clothes?”

the world goes dark for the briefest moment as you feel the material - clothes, he says? - shift around and finally gets pulled over your head. the hole is much larger and comfier around your neck.

“it’s warm,” you hum, rubbing your cheek against the material on your shoulder, “it smells good too. it smells like you.”

you’re not sure why but his species get red especially on his cheeks and ears.

“th-thanks, i guess.”

“you’re welcome.” you grin.

x

“so why were you walking around in the forest owned by humans?” yoongi asks when he closes the movable plank that’s attached to his cube-looking cave. it’s well carved.

ah, so the journey you initially set out has lead you far beyond the felidae territory.

“are you a human?” you answer his question with another question.

he doesn’t seem to care and instead starts making a fire and setting up shiny containers on the fire. you expect him to start cursing and looking distressed again when the container melts - are all humans this stupid? - but the container remains intact in its natural form.

is it metal?

metal is the only thing that can withstand fire but the pantheras tend to keep the those for themselves to make arrowheads.

you shiver at the remembrance of those golden eyes. the pantheras may have been part of the fedilaes but they’ve long since abandoned their origins, claiming that they were more superior.

“you can have some mushroom soup and leave, i’m sure a kid like you can find her way home,” he has a similar material - clothes - that and put it on while you were deep in your thoughts.

“i’m not a kid - well, i haven’t mated yet, but i’m not a kid,” you say.

he laughs. it’s the kind of laugh that those arrogant minatours do but he’s actually cute so you’ll let it slide, “yeah? so how old are you?”

“in fidelae years, twenty-three,” you say, bringing your legs to your chest under the ‘clothes’ and hugging yourself, enjoying the softness of the material until a loud clang reverberates from where he is.

you’re on your feet in an instant, padding towards where the human male is, cupping his hand and gazing down at it with a sort of grimace.

“give it to me,” you say, gently prying his uninjured hand off and directing his finger to your lips.

it takes a few seconds for the blood to stop flowing from the cut, when it does, you release his finger, giving it a few licks before looking up at yoongi who’s face has turned beet red yet again.

you pick up the scent of his arousal as he looks again, muttering a “th-thanks, but you shouldn’t do that to other people - not even males of your kind, got it?”

“yoongi,” you finally say his name, fingers tugging on the hem of his ‘clothes’, “if you don’t want me to treat other males like that, then take me. make me yours.”

when he twists his porcelain neck to face you - he looks like all the blood in his body is rushing to his head. it’s a surprise that he hasn’t exploded. but you guess, as he cups your cheek in his hands, the trace of blood from the cut brushing against your skin and crashes his lips on yours - he explodes in a different way.

x

min yoongi tastes divine. like the dew drop of first light after the blue moon. he tastes different from you.

you might have been a little curious and decided to lick your juice coated fingers after you’d taken care of yourself.

“y-your teeth-” he stammers, propping his elbows on the thing he calls bed as he looks at you with the most adorable lust-filled gaze.

you ran your tongue over your canines. well, they never hurt you but they’re still pretty sharp. either way, you’ve licked him enough to know just how good he tastes like.

he tastes divine but he must feel better.

you grin, traces of your excitement pouring over his hardened dick as you stand over it on your knees, “thank you for accepting me as your mate for this year!”

and then you take him all the way to the hilt. the pent up frustrations from all those years you’ve lost to your sisters when it comes to finding a mate blooms in your core and spreads all over your body like sweet, sweet venom.

do all human dicks feel this good?

yoongi’s making the prettiest sound with that pretty face of his as you bounce on his dick. and he lets you do whatever you want. you heard from your sisters that the males of your kin have too big of an ego to let the females take the lead.

“take the hoodie off,” yoongi tugs on the hem of your own clothes.

“why? it’s so comfy!” you whine but know that you’d succumb those pretty pink lips and those clouded eyes anyway.

“i wanna touch you too.”

and so the clothes -hoodie - comes off. and all of a sudden, you’re the shy little kitten that’s hiding her face in her hands as the human male teases your erect nipples. then he pulls you lower until his mouth traps your nipple and his other hand starts coaxing your hips to move again - you’re not sure why or when you stopped.

but you’ve shed off some of the shyness as your bodies mold together into one and an unfamiliar yet familiar spasms of climax shoots through your body.

you end up reaching for the hoodie despite yoongi’s complaints - something about “can’t be naked alone”. he declines your offer to help him into his own hoodie and opts for wrapping his arms around you, his chin on the top of your head and his jawline brushing against the side of your ears, “i’ll keep warm like this.”

x

humans may be odd but they’ve got good stamina. every waking moment of your and yoongi’s lives, you both spend them tangled in his bed or cuddled up on his couch - sometimes you end up on the floor, and that’s nice too because yoongi lends you his arm as a pillow while you cuddle up to him.

but lately, something seems to be bothering him and you find out why on the last day of your heat.

“you thanked me for being your mate for this year... do you change mates every year?” he’s staring at the ceiling with a sort of thoughtfulness that’s never usually there.

he’s either sleepy or horny most of the time.

other times he gets up to cook for the two of you.

“we’re encouraged to look for different mates in order to find the strongest that we can use to bear children with and continue the royal bloodline but the nobles and below don’t need to try so hard to find mates. they usually stay with their first mate.”

yoongi’s thoughtful hum vibrates under your fingerpads that lie on his chest - you enjoy feeling the different patterns of his heartbeat.

“wait... are you a royal?” his wide eyes gaze into you like the first time you met, as if you’ve grown horns on your head.

“my father is amun, the conqueror of the kingdom,” you nod, “but since i’m the youngest, the pressure to procreate isn’t that big, i doubt anyone notices i’ve been away for three months. i should probably go back.”

“yeah,” he looks like he’s about to cry any moment, “you should,” but he turns away before you can say anything.

x

ever since yesterday, yoongi’s been acting odd.

cold and distant, as if you’re both strangers living under the same roof. you want to wait until he wakes up to tell him goodbye but it’s a few hours past first light and your guardians, having been lifted from their heat, may be searching high and low for you. so you slip out of yoongi’s bed and out of the plank - door.

as you thought, jennie and lisa were on the verge of crying and going to your father to offer their heads for failing to find out their master’s whareabouts.

“my lady,” jennie nose crinkles as she takes repeated whiffs of your scent, “this scent- it doesn’t belong to a felidae.”

“did you mate with a pathera?” lisa’s round eyes almost pop out of their sockets.

you giggle before bringing your index finger to your lips, “shh, don’t tell father but- he’s a human.”

“a-a human?” jennie whispers under her breath, “my lady, you know what they say about humans! th-they’re like gods! they have the purest forms without tails or thorns on their body!”

“i know, that’s why you two must keep it a secret.” you say but the moment you walk down the pillars leading to the throne, you know everyone can smell the scent of yoongi on you.

your sisters’ alarmed gazes doesn’t go past you but you take your spot on the far end of the throne anyway.

“___ - you- who was your mate?” your sister, agatha, asks.

she’s been rubbing the fact that she’s had more mates than your years of living.

“why should i tell you?” you shoot her a victorious grin.

she huffs, displeased, “wait until father knows about this.”

and as if on cue, the horn begins to blow and silence settles all over the throne as a beast larger than two- no, three felidaes in their beast forms combined, struts down the pillared isle, his steps light and graceful as is his transformation as the beast gets on two paws and takes the remaining of his steps on his two feet.

“felidaes, thank you for gathering here on this wonderful day after yet another successful mating season. i look forward welcoming new cubs to our prides,” he announces.

“and to ___, my youngest, when will i be able to meet this human mate of yours?” he turns to you, pride laced around his words as agatha and the rest of the people’s eyes widen at the word ‘human’.

you giggle, feeling the blood rushing to your face - this must have been how yoongi felt every time his face goes red, “father, you know how humans are different from us. please give us more time.”

x

humans are odd.

min yoongi especially so.

he acts like nothing’s changed from the time you were living with him to the time you’ve left him. it may have been a short period - has it been a month? - of running away from the ladies that try to pry the story of you and your human mate and the males that sudden have their attention turned to you, trying to court you with offerings of the ancient relics and deepest colored gems.

your tail sways over the ledge of the window as you watch the human male set walk pass you and set up the table before going back to the kitchen only to stop midway. as if he’s seen a ghost.

oh well, at least it isn’t horns.

then he slowly turns to you with eyes round and awake - shocked and disbelieved, even.

“____, y-you came back?” he stammers out.

you grin, hopping off the ledge and bounding right into his arms, your own wrapped around his neck whilst your naked breasts press up against his chest, “i missed your hoodie, so i came back.”

yoongi looks like he’s about to scold you and cry at the same time, but he does neither. instead, he cups your cheeks in his hands and kisses you like he’s never had a drop of water since the day you left.

and you kiss back, savoring the taste of your human mate whom you’ve chosen to spend your whole life with.

you spend your days cuddled together in his sheets like you did before except you’re not licking his neck with every chance you get - it’s the part where he smells most divine besides his dick.

it turns out a human’s heat is all year round. during winter, his hand slips under the hoodie and touches your lower lips. during summer, he keeps trying to take off the hoodie. in autumn and spring, he doesn’t mind the hoodie as much. but you suppose you can’t be hogging all of them at once.

“have you seen my hoodie?” he means the one he claims to be his and is supposed to be steal-proof.

the bright red one with a skull at the back.

you feel your ears perking at the word, thankfully the hood’s covering your head, “no...”

a good few seconds pass without yoongi saying anything, before he sighs, “you’re wearing it, aren’t you?”

underneath your black hoodie, a piece of bright red peeks from the neckline. so you peek up at the human male, laughing sheepishly, “it’s just so comfy and it smells like you...”

“i should start charging you for fees,” he plants his hands on either sides of you, resting his forehead on yours as he smirks deviously.

“f-fees?” you laugh, “w-well, the kingdom is filled with minerals you humans seem to love.”

“pay up with your body,” there’s a glint in his eyes - the kind that used to get buried beneath blushed skin and shyly closed eyes.

you feel your ears perking up, your tail swaying behind you as you tilt your head in just the right angle to kiss his lips. when you pull away, his face is glowing beet red.

“okay, i paid my dues, right?” you shoot him one of your smiles.

he looks like he has more to say, disappointed even, but he settles with a “y-yeah.”

tugging on his hand and swiftly pulling him down onto the bed, cradling his waist. his face looks like it’s about to explode. you giggle.

“you- you’re teasing me,” his forehead creases and he looks like he’s about to kill you and kiss you at the same time.

humans are odd.

min yoongi, especially so.

x

note. a repost from my other blog.

#bts fic #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #bts x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #bts smut #bts scenarios #yoongi scenarios #yoongi imagines #bts imagines #bts x you #yoongi x you #shortings

[fe-semi-decent-scenarios]

Hey! I wasnt the one who requested it, but I loved your how would the Blue Lions react to killing their SO! May I ask the same but for the Golden Deer if its alright?

{That was actually one of my favorite requests to write! It’s been a long time so I might be a bit rusty, but let’s give this a shot :)} 

Claude: 

 He had accounted for the possibility of you betraying him. Your disappearance had not been something he took with ease, yet the lack of contact or declaration of death for so long had him thinking 

Emotions are fleeting...the human mind was complex. Your loyalty was never something he wanted to question but he could never put his complete faith in you 

Even when you stood at his side protecting the crests, befriended his people, treated him as a true partner...he just couldn’t completely put his faith in you. Not with so much on the line 

 He wonders if that’s where he went wrong. Heavy rain clouded his sight but the sound of your voice rang dominant across the field. As you stand at Gronder with your weapon focused on his friends- your friends; Claude could not help but momentarily reminisce over the times you instead showed him your smile. The one that temporarily alleviated the weight of his dreams and expectations from his shoulders 

He would be the one to get it back. The professor had already converted other students to their side so there was a chance 

One you didn’t want, as you aimed at their head with tears pricking your eyes. He dismounted his wyvern instantly 

“Was it all a lie? Tell me...is this what you want for your home (Y/N)? Come fight with us” He slowly begins his approach, but the words die out as you attack him this time 

 A shrill battle cry is all he hears before he watches an axe lodge into your side. He’ll never hear the answer, but he didn’t need to. It finally clicked

White hair 

You planned to die 

His brows pressed in further as Lysithea gasped at your fallen form. Before he would have killed to know more about the hidden experiments going on in the empire, but not like this. They’ll come to collect the body before Hanneman can conduct any research, but he’ll give them more. Much more 

Raphael: 

Raphael doesn’t like to think on the battlefield. It’s not that he enjoys pummeling people without a glance, but if he looks back then he won’t look foreword. He’s confided in Ignatz many times after being scolded for running ahead, but when thinking can cost you your life he prefers not to waste the effort 

 Especially because he takes longer to process complex emotions and thoughts compared to the others. He trusts them to be tactical while he uses his muscles to save the day

Back in the day he had a perfectly reliable head to think for him. He cleared their path and they took care of all the important business. The classic ‘brains and brawn’ duo that no one would expect to ever find genuine interest in one another. Aren’t they stereotypically supposed to fight and be at each other’s throats? Not in this case 

“Haha! THAT WAS GREAT! Nice Job (Y/N), I hope today’s menu has meat because you need brain food and I need to feed my muscles!” 

 You knew Raphael and how to predict his movements, and he had complete faith in your judgements. Even at the monastery you both made the most efficient team to do chores  

 Instead of trying to change him, you worked to match his pace and became his partner. On the field and in life. Raphael knew he didn’t have to second guess with you at his side, and he felt what he wanted to feel.

He loved you. Your brains, your laugh, your heart, your cooking no matter good or bad...you. It was an emotion that came easy to him.

Though sometimes he berated himself for not thinking. Sometimes you’d get in trouble if he broke equipment or did something else out of line. Yet you remained patient and calmed him down at the same time.

It was difficult to adjust to fighting without his partner. He essentially had to relearn everything through experience, but he had full hope that you’d come back 

That hope clouded his judgement when he saw you conversing with the professor at Aillel. He was so overcome with joy that he mindlessly pushed aside enemies to get to you without actually examining the scene

His fury took over when the professor’s sword went straight through your stomach.  He tackled them to the ground and it took both Lorenz AND Hilda to pry him away. 

“You idiot! They’re the enemy!” Hilda shouted at him as he settled down. He couldn’t process it. They wouldn’t hurt their family, him.

 Yet, they wore red. Red that grew darker as their blood seeped in 

 Ignatz: 

“Can you paint my portrait?” You asked him one evening long ago. After a particularly grueling training session with the rest of class he had snuck off to sketch the trees by the market. The year was young and he still wasn’t too familiar with all his classmates 

You were new and he had took to your appearance instantly. He could replay your introduction mentally over and over. Your smooth words, slight bow, and the way your feet glided effortlessly to the closest seat you could get to the window. He was of course too shy to approach a new student since he wasn’t the social sort, but luckily he did not have to do much. 

You took the liberty of following him to his painting spot. He was flustered at being found, but you merely plopped at his side and began to eat your lunch. Where you had it stashed beforehand? He still doesn’t know 

 He had never been more aware of another’s presence, and his art showed it as the paper crinkled in his grasp. Yet somehow you seemed enamored at the picture forming on the page, so much that you asked to model 

He grew anxious instantly and decided to head back for his own meal. With no given answer you had left the topic behind, and from then on he began to find you nearby often. From acquaintances to friends, and from friends to ‘lovers without definition’. No confession was ever spoken but he knew you made decisions easier, life joyful, and the rest of his peers agreed as much as he. 

He drew that portrait. He drew it over, and over, and over, and over because he refused to forget your face. He would remember you and fight twice as hard to make up for what you couldn’t give. He swore that to Claude and everyone else when you were pronounced missing in action.

 and now? His eyes glisten as a body fitted under a white tarp lays yards away. You hadn’t tried to harm him but you were healing the enemy. It was decided that you were not with the Empire, but instead travelling through and became swept in the battle. Perhaps you didn’t know? Perhaps you simply decided to help whoever needed it no matter their side? 

He clutches his bow to his chest. One arrow, and you were down. He didn’t know 

He didn’t know but the pictures would never let him forget. The pages never felt the same from then on 

Lorenz: 

Relationships should never be formed unless you have something to gain

It is a nobleman’s duty to protect the weak, the poor, the sick; yet, there must always be distance.

A nobleman must always carry themselves with a sense of professionalism. They must not display weakness, and a true leader is born of being able to separate their personal affairs from that of those they govern. 

 One day Lorenz will be the head of the Glouscer territory, and soon the Alliance as a whole if he has his way. Death must not phase him and he must be willing to sacrifice everything for the sake of his people

He follows the laws of a noble. He knows them on paper, but not in practice. 

 Only as he grew during an age of dispute and fighting did he begin to learn that actions differ from voice. All that he pledged as a young man held no meaning, because gradually he began to realize that he is not the most fit to govern Fodlan. He was incapable of completely tossing aside his personal desires or making the best decisions with certainty. Yes, he was well educated and would make a great right hand

Yet the title of leader would never be his. Why? Because he is a noble by definition 

The professor was a noble by heart. A true leader who let actions speak for them and selflessly protected the entirety of Fodlan instead of one singular portion.

 Lorenz is a noble in name, but in nature he is a man. He is a solider, a son, a friend, a politician...a human. One not immune to temptations or the grievances of loss no matter what face he may display for the public eye.

 There was a soul he once found vibrant. They were a mere commoner yet full of dedication. He placed a barrier around them immediately, one he was not allowed to cross no matter how tempted. They did not fit the criteria he sought

 Yet the night of the ball he allowed “them”  the curtesy of a dance. Their warm hand on his own, their body held tightly in his embrace, and lighthearted small talk being tossed between quips about their poor dancing skills 

They left his mouth dry as he bid them farewell to their next partner. He allowed the barrier to resurface as he went his own way

“You must rethink this (Y/N). How could siding with the empire lead to any promising future/ They will kill us all and then themselves in the process! Please, join us” 

“Spoken like a true noble, Lorenz. This social hierarchy has divided people for too long and you would realize that if you’d only look beyond Alliance borders!” 

If only he had grasped their hand longer- listened. They were the first to show him a world beyond his bubble, if only he popped it sooner. 

 Hilda:

You really annoyed her in the beginning. The way you carried yourself like some kind of prophet, or how you’d question everything the professor taught. Was it so hard to just do what was needed and move on? Even with something as simple as weeding the courtyard you always had to add your own two cents

It was like always being under analysis. She got that enough from Claude and didn’t need two people trying to read her. On many occasions she tried to gain traction over you, but somehow her efforts never bore fruit 

For a try-hard you were very accepting of her shortcomings. So long as what you were tasked with got done, the performance of others was never a secondary priority 

If only she could be that carefree about other people’s opinions. Maybe then living would be easier? 

Perhaps you were what she wanted to be? Satisfied with who you were enough to question the world around you while remaining secure with what you had 

Someone with the ability to step beyond your comfort zone and make your own decisions. Respected, knowledgeable...loved for who you are. Maybe that’s what drew her to you and lead to her envy forming into adoration 

and that adoration being trampled by sorrow 

“I still love you so no hard feelings, okay? I can’t back down” is what she told you. It was a taunt, but she did not expect your smile 

“Of course. I’m glad you’ve decided to show your backbone, just think of this as a spar like old times”

The casual talk did not fit the clash of blades that followed. Nor did it suit the battle roaring nearby 

A spar- just like old times. It was a familiar battle but this time her axe did not halt before delivering the deciding blow. 

Her hands shook as your body fell, yet you still appeared at peace despite the gash adorning your back. Perhaps you knew this would be the outcome before the day even began

Hilda did not cry, but asked for you to be buried on alliance soil. If anything she owed you that curtesy

Leonie: 

She would never forgive you. Not today, not ever. 

How dare you choose to side with the people who killed the captain? He never did anything to anybody, and if you chose to betray everyone than Leonie would return the favor

She decided that any history between you two was nonexistent the moment you lifted your weapon. Mercy was a word you forgone long ago when instead of defending Garreg Mache, you slaughtered it’s inhabitants 

She thought you felt the same as well. Yet, fate always liked to twist in ways to hinder justice 

She watched from a distance as the professor approached your fallen form. They had insisted on trying to sway her old classmates, but she scoffed at the mere thought 

What made them think traitors would be good allies? Did they want to be stabbed in the back like their father?...like the captain 

She ignored the sting in her chest as you swatted their hand away. You had some nerve to reject their kindness and it pissed her off. She wanted this entire situation to simply end but- 

Her feet moved on their own

“Why are you such an idiot? Were you always this irresponsible?” her words cut deep, clearly shown by how you turned away. She could only grit her teeth at the stubbornness and reach for her lance 

You made your choice, and clearly it was up to her to deliver justice if no one else would 

So she did what she’s always had to do, the brunt work. With one swing it was over and you were just another count among the others 

She doesn’t know if the captain would praise her for remaining strong or scold her for remaining indifferent 

Lysithea: 

Everything always boils down to one thing: people cannot be trusted. Each and every time Lysithea has allowed someone close it has blown up in her face 

and somewhere deep down, she knew this situation wouldn’t have ended any differently. The world always found new ways to crush what she cared for 

The only question that remains is how much longer will she have to endure? How much longer did she have to fight? 

because now she had to fight for two. She had to find a cure or die trying 

During the battle for Garreg Mache many had been taken prisoner. She hadn’t the empire to conduct unethical experiments; maybe torture, but nothing like what she was witnessing. 

It was a fever dream one couldn’t fathom, but the mindless husk killing without remorse kept her in reality. What had they done to you?

She noticed the white hair in an instant. One of her worst fears had come to life seeing you at the death knight’s side, but the way you hadn’t even flinched when she called your name made her terrified 

Not even a whack of thoron could snap you out of it. She began to lose hope...were you even there anymore? Is this what they had planned for her if she didn’t flee?

“Say something you jerk! Don’t tell me you’re letting some petty magic keep you grounded, fight it!” 

No matter what anyone said it did nothing. When moral dwindled the only solution left was to free you through other means 

The death knight escaped after you fell. Next time...next time he would die at her hand. 

Lysithea instantaneously moved to further her research after your burial. Not for herself, but to find out if you were gone long before they found you. She needed to know if your death was peaceful, if you could see that she tried 

If you would forgive her 

Marianne: 

“This is Nova. I have to leave for a mission, would you watch him for me Marianne?”

 Bright blue eyes bored into hers as she gingerly took hold of the bunny. It’s fur was soft, well groomed. She took notice of how it snuggled into her arms as if it feared no human. Marianne knew instantly that the animal was well loved and cherished. The though made her almost refuse the favor in fear of hurting it, but her classmate’s insistence wasn’t something to fight. 

  Despite her warnings (Y/N) never listened, and at some point Marianne gave up on pushing them away. Their company was appreciated yet she would never say it, and the cuddly creature in her arms truly proved their trust in her 

 She could only nod in agreement as they skipped off to prepare the bunny’s necessities to bring to her room. Marianne hoped she could care for the animal properly, and that nothing would happen to it

She worried for the wrong reasons, as (Y/N) never returned home. They were sent to face Solon and avenge the death of the Professor’s father. Marianne was asked to remain and help in healing injured soldiers from the most previous confrontation. 

·If she knew that would have been the last time (Y/N) would show up in her room, she--no, she wouldn’t have done anything. She may have tried to convince them to stay home but Marianne knows she would have not confessed anything

  Not that she valued their friendship or that she worried for their wellbeing. Not that she was grateful they trusted her with Nova, or that they help her care for her horses. She wouldn’t have even thought it. 

 She didn’t think of it afterwards either. Her fondness for her deceased friend wouldn’t have been noticeable at all if not for the bunny. Despite everything she cared for it as if it were (Y/N) themselves. 

When she sees a familiar figure take charge at Gronder, time freezes. She remembers the bunny sitting in her dorm without an owner. She wonders how abandoned it must have felt to never see it’s best friend again. She feels for the bunny because it’s how she felt.

Without thinking she shoots a blast of magic their way and watches them crumple on the floor 

Why did they abandon their precious bunny? Did they give up on it? Did they give up on her? 

Did you...finally realize you had befriended a monster?

#fe3h #fe3h imagine #fire emblem imagines #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem: three houses #Claude von Riegan #claude x reader #raphael x reader #raphael kirsten #lorenz hellman gloucester #lorenz x reader #ignatz victor #ignatz x reader #marianne x reader #marianne von edmund #hilda von goneril #hilda x reader #hilda valentine goneril #leonie pinelli #leonie x reader #lysithea x reader #lysithea von ordelia #fire emblem #fire emblem x reader

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

dearest comfy <3 what if Triss was a blacksmith AND Eskel was a blacksmith??? What then?? Enemies to lovers maybe? <3

Ellie. I love you. I love this prompt. And I love Trisskel. This is a triple threat of wonderfulness. Hopefully the fic delivers 💖💖

Warnings: no violence, some hostile Triss (mostly internal), lmao is this considered idiot and exasperated to lovers? idk you tell me, its pretty chill tbh, unless you don’t like daggers. there's lots of daggers. 

_____________________

Triss was furious. 

She had spent her whole life stoking a furnace, shadowing her father, sweating, suffering burn after burn and later cut after searing cut as she learned to forge all sorts of weaponry. Now, this teddy bear-shaped child was setting up shop in her courtyard?! Unacceptable. Unbelievable! She’d staked a claim on her territory for market day early. So early she hadn’t even made her first blade. Her father still had her hammering out decorative discs and fastenings for armor. 

One of her customers had the audacity to call him ‘cute’ to her face.

He was no more than twenty-five, tall and stocky like most people expected of a blacksmith, but they claimed there was a softness about him. Triss remembered that softness well, before loss and responsibility really set in. What others saw as sweet, boyish charm she saw as a weakness. 

She sent her assistant to assess his booth, maybe flirt and ask some questions, and was even more annoyed when they came back. 

“He’s young but he’s not inexperienced. His blades are good. So is his uh… customer service.” 

Triss rolled her eyes, “What kind of weapons was he selling? I don’t care about his looks. I have breasts.”

Her assistant shrugged and described his table. 

That following week she put in double the hours at her workshop, put the extra flourish on every piece, perfected every detail until her arms ached and her head pounded. She often forgot to drink water, let alone eat, when she got worked up, so her assistant brought her meals. 

When the next market day came, she proudly displayed her new wares.

And if she took her hair out of the usual braids and unbuttoned her blouse a bit lower than last week, who would be brave enough to point it out?

This time the newcomer had the gaul to visit her booth. 

“Good morning, Miss Merigold,” he dipped in a bow of respect before she even turned around to greet him, straightening up and disarming her with a lopsided grin, “My apologies, I meant to introduce myself after last week’s market. But you were far more efficient at break-down than I.” 

She wouldn’t have called him cute by a long shot. He was downright handsome.

Then she remembered they were rivals. There would be no fraternizing with the enemy.  

It took her a moment to gather her wits before she responded, “Good morning. To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

She knew. 

Of course she knew. But he was far better looking than she had assumed, his scars only adding to his alluring presence, and she needed to feel like she had the upper hand. 

His smile grew a bit sheepish, “Eskel of the Blue Mountains. I’m your new neighbor… sort of,” he offered his hand over her table and she took it, hoping her hesitation wasn’t too obvious. 

“Welcome. I hope the city is treating you well?” 

“Well enough,” he acquiesced, letting go of her hand after a moment, “To be truthful, I haven’t left my forge much at all. I’m still getting used to her. But you know how that goes.” 

Triss raised her eyebrows and plastered an over-polite smile on her face, “I must say I wouldn’t. I inherited my forge from my father. I learned with her. We get along quite well.” 

Eskel was called by someone from his booth as he made to speak. He waved at them to wait a moment and turned back to Triss with a wink, “Well if you have any relationship advice, let me know.”

Before she could think of a polite but not too friendly response, he was gone. 

She turned back to her assistant in a huff, “He’s infuriating.” 

“He’s dreamy.”

“Hush,” she snapped, pointing to her sketch pad, “Hand me that. Call for me if there’s a large sale or a problem.”

She sketched and planned half the day away. But when she realized how much the materials for her plans would cost she adjusted her cleavage and left her tent. Someone had to drive the hard bargain around here, and she knew her assistant was too kind. 

The next week she arrived with a beautiful set of delicate-looking throwing knives, a few different ornate daggers, and a sword fit for a king alongside her typical, practical items. However, she was seeing more than just her flowing hilt designs inlaid with etchings. 

Eskel seemed to have had a similar idea.

She wandered past his booth, pretending to buy fabric from the stall next to him, and fumed. It seemed Eskel had a sharper eye than she’d anticipated. He very clearly mimicked her setup and emphasized the smaller wares like she did. He even had the same sign in three different languages about customizations and bulk orders.

This had become all out war. 

When her sword sold that day she decided to finish off the dozen or so she had laying in wait for specific orders over the week. She even detailed a breastplate to match for three of them, guessing at the size in reference to the sword as best she could. As she worked she mulled over her new competition. His soft golden eyes that crinkled ever so slightly when he smiled were absolutely aggravating. At least that’s what she told herself. It was simply her competitive nature that had her fixating on this mountain of a man. 

She returned the next week with a spread so large she could barely fit it on her table.

Eskel had come back with daggers inlaid with precious stones of dazzling pale blue and sparkling greys and whites. Blue Mountains indeed.

Polite customers started mumbling comparisons to themselves while the brash ones outwardly used the other stall to barter a better price. Every time Eskel was mentioned Triss would bristle, hold back a snarl, and turn on every bit of innocent charm she had. 

She began leaving with a lighter cart and a challenging wink from her competition. Over the week she worked her fingers to the bone over fine details and getting the balance absolutely perfect. 

After months of competition, months of uncomfortable eye contact, she finally broke when he sold a matching helmet, breastplate, and dagger to one of her most loyal customers. 

“Eskel. We need to have a word,” she marched right up to his tent, hands tucked into her half apron at her waist. 

He smirked, “That all?”

She glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest, “We can’t keep making the same things.”

“Pretty daggers and ceremonial armor? Why not?” he mimicked her, folding his massive arms over his own chest, leaning back against his table, making him just a little bit taller than Triss rather than the usual towering over her. 

She rolled her eyes and stepped a little closer, “We’ve both done well, or I’m assuming you have, but eventually all the nobility this side of the canal will have been sold to. We’ll have saturated the market and be left with an armory full of ornate weaponry with no one to buy it.”

“Preserving the market means one gets to keep said market.”

Triss nodded but Eskel seemed unimpressed. 

“And how would you suggest we settle who keeps it?” he raised an eyebrow at her and she just wanted to smack the smug look off his face. Or kiss it. She really wasn’t sure anymore. 

She scrambled for a moment, not having entirely thought this through, “A competition.”

He stood to full height and sighed, “What are the terms?”

“One dagger. Same price. Whoever sells first gets the market. The other has to branch out or move.”

Eskel nodded and held his hand out, “Agreed.”

Triss went to take his hand but he gripped her forearm, his whole hand covering much of her elbow. She did her best not to think about how strong his arm felt in her grasp, how when she squeezed she felt a gentle give before she hit muscle. 

He winked at her as he released his grasp and turned back to work, “See you next week Merigold.” 

Triss worked on a single dagger all week. 

She couldn’t get Eskel’s stupid cocky smile or his tanned arms out of her head. The way he looked down at her with that condescending smile enraged her. Her assistant claimed he looked more fond than condescending, but Triss only narrowed her eyes and shook her head. She’d been raised in the marketplace. She knew exactly how men viewed her. 

In the end, her dagger looked very fitting for a man like him. Broad, sturdy, a bit curved at the tip, and simply yet elegantly decorated. She cooled it in a liquid mixture her father had made and kept secret, giving the blade a finish similar to copper, but with all the strength of steel. 

If she noticed the coincidence she stubbornly ignored it. 

Eskel was already set up and waiting when she arrived at the market. She spared him only a curt nod while she set up her booth as if preparing for battle. 

He sauntered over to her before dawn had officially broken, blade in hand with what Triss might guess to be a nervous expression. 

“Good morning, Merigold,” he cleared his throat and set the dagger currently wrapped in cloth on the table between them, “What have you for our little competition?” 

Triss proudly pulled the dagger she had made from her case, handing it over by the hilt as she spoke, “Good morning, Eskel.”

He took the blade and hummed as he inspected it, whispering, “It’s beautiful...”

She wasn’t prepared for such a genuine compliment. Nor was she prepared for how much she loved hearing that word fall from his lips.

“Th-thank you.”

Eskel handed it back before unwrapping his.

Triss almost had to catch her breath. It was gorgeous, gracefully curved, a turquoise stone grip bordered by an ornate handguard. The part that really got her though was the engraving on the blade. She stepped out and around the table to catch more of the sunlight to see what it was and gasped. Little jasmine flowers were etched into the flat of the blade. 

She looked up at him in awe, “Why jasmine?”

He gave her a crooked smile, rubbing the back of his neck, “You, ahm- your perfume. It is jasmine right?” 

She tilted her head and really looked at him since the first time she met him, “You noticed my perfume?”

“It’s nice,” he shrugged, stuffing his hands in his leather apron pockets. 

Triss thought about all the winks and the ‘good mornings’ and compliments. She’d thought they were just to get her buttered up, but maybe she’d been a little harsher than she needed to.

“It’s stunning,” she breathed, reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, not wanting to pull away from his warmth when she had to. 

They were interrupted by her assistant and set a price quickly before scurrying back to their tents. 

All day they would glance toward the other’s booth, but Triss was no longer checking his table. She was looking for him. His kind smile and boisterous laugh. His easy charm and especially his humility under pressure. 

All day she struggled with the realization that she was just a little bit in love with her competition. 

Nearing sundown she told her assistant to begin cleaning up and grabbed her coin purse before marching over to his stand once again. 

“Did you sell it?” Eskel looked disappointed and she was surprised to be glad to tell him no. 

“I have two things to say and I will only say them once, so listen carefully. I realize I’ve been unduly cold to you and I want to apologize. You’ve proven that you’re not only a skilled craftsman but seem to be a good man as well and you don’t deserve it. “

“Apology accepted,” Eskel grinned, leaning back on his table as he waited for her next item.

“Thank you. Now, I’d like to buy the dagger. The one with the jasmines.”

Eskel frowned, “You- you’re forfeiting?”

Triss bit her lip and forced herself to look him in his honey gold eyes, “Yes. Though I hope we can both agree to stay where we are? I think I might miss you if you leave.”

He grinned and pushed off the table, standing just inches from Triss now that he was upright. His hand hesitantly brushed a stray curl out of her eyes as he leaned closer, hesitating to give her time to leave if she wanted, before he brushed his lips against hers. She melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck as they kissed. His hands covered her back, pressing her to him and nearly lifting her off her feet. 

When they parted they were gasping for breath they both wished they didn't need.

“What about a trade and a truce?” 

Triss nodded, standing up on her tiptoes to plant another kiss on his lips, “And dinner.”

Eskel chuckled, “I think that’s perfectly reasonable.” 

#trisskel #trisskel au #trisskel blacksmith au #triskel #triskel au #canon divergent #lol big time #triss/eskel #eskel/triss #triss merigold x eskel #eskel x triss #triss x eskel #eskel #triss merigold #NETFLIX TRISS #mainly because she's so fuckin cute and i love her #i wanna watch the lil cinamon roll commit war crimes #the witcher #the witcher netflix #netlfix triss #netflix triss merigold #the witcher fic #trisskel fic #triss x eskel fic #eskel x triss fic #eskel/triss fic #triss/eskel fic #im tagging the shit out of it i know #i just really fuckin love this ship #the witcher blacksmith au

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

Secrets in the Moonlight

After the disappearance of his uncle, coming back to Hogwarts is harder than Derek could have imagined. Especially now that he has a secret.

 For @overthetopobsessed​

  “Mr Hale?”

Derek shook himself from his thoughts, straightening in his seat and looking up with wide, alert eyes.

Mr Harris stared at him with the same cold, unyielding glare he always wore, but his voice held a note of irritation—bordering anger.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Derek apologised quietly.

There was a quiet buzz of whispers around the room.

“Can you tell me the difference between a werewolf and an Animagus?” Harris repeated the question.

“No, sir,” Derek replied.

Mr Harris opened his mouth to lecture Derek when a voice called out from the back of the classroom, interrupting him.

“An Animagus is a witch or wizard who can take the form of an animal and return back to their human form at any time and of their won free will, whereas a werewolf – or any were-creature for that matter – changes form against their will based on the lunar cycle.”

Derek glanced over his shoulder at the boy who had answered.

Stiles Stilinski.

The boy met Harris’ gaze defiantly, a smug smile – a common trait among Slytherins – turning up the corners of his mouth. His dark brown irises glimmered with amusement at the professor’s stunned silence. His eyes shifted to Derek, his gaze softening and his smugness fading as a friendly smile played across his lips.

“Correct, Mr Stilinski,” Harris said, his voice tense—as if saying those words pained him. “Although, next time, I would appreciate it if you showed some degree of manners and respect and raised your hand before answering.”

“Sorry, sir,” Stiles replied, but his voice was dry and everyone knew he didn’t mean it.

Harris screwed up his face bitterly, drawing in a measured breath as he held his composure. “As for you, Mr Hale—”

Derek turned back around to look at the professor as Harris took a step closer and stood at the corner of Derek’s desk.

“—leave the day dreaming for outside my classroom and don’t come to class unprepared, understood?”

Derek swallowed hard against the lump in his throat and bowed his head guiltily.

��Yes, sir,” Derek answered meekly.

“Very good.” Harris let out a huff before turning sharply and strutting back to the front of the classroom and continuing the lesson.

Derek waited for a second before glancing over his shoulder.

Stiles met his gaze. Derek didn’t have to say ‘thank you’; Stiles could read it in his eyes and winked mischievously in response.

Derek turned back to face the front of the class, his heart skipping a beat and a soft rosy blush colouring his cheeks, but the feeling didn’t last long.

He looked down at the text book that lay on the desk before him, the pages open to the monstrous illustration of a werewolf. It didn’t look remotely human: its limbs were elongated and its body hunched over. It was covered in fur with the bony nubs of its spine sticking out rigidly. Its arms hung by its side, hands flexed to reveal its sharp claws. The face had been elongated into a snout, the creature snarling and bearing its jagged teeth. But what stood out the most was the bright red ink that had been used to colour in the creature’s irises, giving it the illusion of glowing red eyes that stared at Derek, making his heart fill with dread and terror.

Below the illustration, bold black letters spelt out ‘LYCANTROPY: WEREWOLF’.

Derek swallowed hard against the bile that rose into his throat, burning at his insides. A wave of anxiety and fear clutched his heart. Unease settled in his gut as he dropped his gaze—unable to look at the picture and not wanting to look up in case someone saw the fear in his eyes.

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

 “What’s this I hear about you getting in trouble with Harris?” Laura asked as she caught up with her brother and walked alongside him through the crowded hallway.

Derek looked at her. She was as radiant as ever; her long brown hair cascading past her shoulder and the bold navy blue of her Ravenclaw tie bringing out the sparkle in her dark eyes.

They used to joke about needing a fourth sibling since the three Hale siblings were sorted into different houses: Laura into Ravenclaw, Derek into Hufflepuff, and Cora into Slytherin. All they needed was a Gryffindor and they had a full house.

“I wasn’t in trouble,” Derek replied. “I just didn’t hear him ask me the question.”

Laura tilted her head slightly as she looked at her brother sceptically. There was a glimmer of worry in her dark eyes.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” she said, trying to gently coax the truth from him.

“I know,” Derek replied, trying to reassure her.

It didn’t work.

She kept her gaze fixed on him.

“I’m fine,” Derek insisted.

“If you say so,” Laura said quietly, backing down; she still didn’t believe him, but she knew him better than to keep prying—Derek would only shut down if she did.

Derek drew in a deep breath.

“I’m fine,” he reassured her. “I’ll see you at the quidditch game.”

“Who are you cheering for?” Laura asked—calling after her brother as he began to walk away.

Ravenclaw vs. Hufflepuff.

And his big sister was Ravenclaw’s star player.

“You,” Derek answered. “Like I always do.”

Laura offered him a sweet smile, but it fell from her face as her brother turned his back and disappeared into the sea of people. The worry still lingered in her eyes as she watched him leave.

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

 The library was a large space filled with towering shelves full of old hardcover books, leather bound journals and other books that looked like antiques, all bound in magnificent colours of scarlet, burgundy, deep green, gold, and grey. The spines of the books were decorated by gold or silver lettering that read the titles, adorned with small metal studs and a few were even fastened with small hinges that looked to be made of brass or silver.

The shelves covered all the walls, large ladders on casters were scattered about the room where the occupants had last left them. Higher up, there was a small platform that stretched around the room, a mezzanine that allowed them to access another storey of bookshelves that the ladders couldn't reach. High above everything was a dome-like sky light, the slightly misted glass allowing the golden light of day to drift into the large library and illuminate the shadowed space.

Several books moved on their own, returning to the shelves and sorting themselves into the right places.

On the far side of the room was a small fireplace with a marble mantelpiece. Atop the mantelpiece sat a few of the sturdier-looking books, some candles and a vase of flowers that never seemed to wilt—probably because the librarian hexed them. Before the fireplace sat two arm chairs and a larger couch, each made of beige fabric that were covered in a faded floral pattern. Two Gryffindor students sat on the rug before the fireplace with their books sprawled out in front of them as they talked quietly.

Derek sat on his own among the rows of tables and chairs set up for students to study.

The library was quiet, which was both a blessing and a curse: it was a place where Derek could get away from all the noise and chaos, but it also meant he was left alone with his thoughts.

He tried to drown them out, focusing on his homework.

A stack of textbooks were piled up beside him, several more lying open on the desk before him as his quill scratched at the paper of his notebooks, leaving elegant scrawls of ink in its wake.

“This seat taken?” a familiar voice asked.

Derek glanced up, his aventurine eyes meeting the smoky quarts depths.

“Uh, no,” Derek stammered. He gestured to the seat. “Please.”

Stiles set his books down on the table and pulled out the chair across from Derek. He sat down and opened up his books.

Derek bowed his head and glanced up through his eyelashes, watching as Stiles’ dark eyes danced across the pages as he read the lines of text.

“I didn’t get the chance to say thank you for this morning,” Derek said.

“No need. Harris is an ass and you didn’t deserve that.”

Stiles glanced up at Derek, offering him a friendly smile.

Derek smiled in return.

He wasn’t like the other Slytherins that Derek knew—he wasn’t obnoxious, prideful, arrogant or snarky. Maybe that was because he wasn’t a pureblood like most of the others; his mother was a witch, but his father was a muggle—a police officer, apparently. Stiles had grown up in the muggle world, far away from magic. He tried to make up for it—working twice as hard to prove he had what it took to be there, but he didn’t need to; he was smarter and more powerful than any other student. His only weakness was he was powerful, but he had no idea how to control it.

The hiss of whispers reached his ears. Derek turned his head slightly to see two students glance at him before turning away and gossiping.

“Ignore them,” Stiles said softly.

Derek turned back to his text book, feeling his chest tighten and his heart hammer against his ribs.

“They’re talking about my uncle, aren’t they?” Derek asked.

“Most likely,” Stiles replied.

Peter Hale was well known in the wizarding world, but he disappeared the week before Derek and his sisters went on break. No Aurors had been able to track him down and many believed he was dead. When the Hale siblings returned to Hogwarts, everyone looked the other way or talked behind their backs. The whispers followed Derek everywhere.

Derek looked up at Stiles. “Thank you.”

Stiles lifted his head, his brow furrowed slightly in confusion. “What for?”

“For not treating me different.”

The corner of Stiles’ lips turned up in a kind smile.

Derek bowed his head, trying to focus on his homework, but his mind kept going back to the monstrous illustration.

“You know a lot about werewolves,” Derek remarked, unsure of how to start the conversation.

“I guess so,” Stiles said modestly. “I tend to take in a whole lot of information—most of it is useless.”

“Is it possible for a werewolf to become an Animagus?”

Stiles sat back in his seat, thinking it over for a second. “I don’t know for sure, but I did read something about a werewolf gaining control of their shifts by defying their alpha. But that either means defeating them or finding an anchor strong enough to keep your humanity in control of you psyche.”

“An anchor?”

“An anchor is something meaningful to you; you bind yourself to it to keep your human side in control,” Stiles explained.  “It can be a memory, a person, a place or an object—it just has to mean something to you. At least that’s what I read about Animagi Transfiguration, so I guess it would be something similar in the case of a werewolf controlling their transformation.”

Derek nodded thoughtfully.

“A werewolf becoming an Animagus is extremely rare and probably very difficult,” Stiles continued. “But I don’t think it’s impossible.”

Derek felt the tension in his gut ease, letting out a sigh of relief as hope found its way back into his heart.

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

He felt the burn of power flow through his veins, setting his nerves on fire as the lure of the moon hummed ignited his senses.

He made his way out of the castle, sneaking out through the passage his uncle had told him about back in his first year—the one Peter had found during his time at Hogwarts. The cool night air met him, offering little relief to the searing heat that flooded his veins.

Beads of sweat gathered on his brow, soaking through his shirt and making the fabric cling to his skin.

His breathing grew heavy as he staggered towards the shelter of the forest that bordered the school.

A piercing howl rang out through the night, making Derek’s heart leap in his chest.

There was a sharp rush of air as a figure appeared before him. His dark hair a tousled mess and his clothing dishevelled. He clutched his fir wand, the pale wood standing out against the darkness.

“Stiles?” Derek rasped, feeling fear clutch his heart. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know,” Stiles replied. “I nearly got caught sneaking out of the dorms. I was trying to get to the Gryffindor dorms; seems like I missed the mark.”

Stiles froze, his eyes widening as he looked at Derek.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice edged with worry. “You don’t look too good.”

“It’s not safe out here.”

“What are you talking about?” Stiles asked, his voice catching in his throat as hesitation and anxiety filled his chest.

“You have to go.”

“Derek, you’re starting to scare me.”

Derek opened his mouth to say something but his words caught in his throat as a low growl echoed from the shadows.

Stiles wheeled around, his eyes wide and his heart hammering in his chest.

The bushes rustled, clumps of leaves and low hanging branches crackling, shaking and breaking as a big black shadow slinked into the open, broad feet thumping the ground. Their claws dug into the mud, upturning the dirt and releasing the sweet earthy scent.

A pair of glowing red eyes emerged from the shadows, the thin veil of moonlight illuminating the creature’s figure as it stalked forward. The creature rose up onto its hind feet. Its large form was unhuman; standing tall on curved, slender legs. The bright red eyes were set above an elongated snout. Long arms hung at its side, disfigured hands – hairy like a wolf’s paws – stretched, thick, curved claws lit by the bleeding streams of moonlight.

Stiles froze, eyes wide.

It snarled, baring its ivory teeth as it focused its glare on Stiles.

Stiles staggered back slightly, his mind screaming at him to run but he couldn’t move; his body was frozen in place.

“Derek?” he rasped, glancing over his shoulder.

The clouds parted, exposing the moon.

Derek winced, doubling over in pain.

“Derek?” Stiles called, alarmed.

Derek’s eyes flew open, his pale adventuring irises glowing crimson.

“Run,” he growled.

Stiles flailed about, stumbling backwards. His feet pedalled beneath him. He lost his footing on the uneven ground, falling against the damp earth. He turned, using a hand to steady himself as he leapt to his feet and tore into the darkness.

He ran along the tree line, glancing over his shoulder as he saw a dark figure charge towards him.

He sprinted through the dense forest, weaving his way through the labyrinth of thick tree trunks. He sprung over the fallen trees, broken branches and thick shrubs, his nimble legs and spring-locked ankles projecting him over the large logs. The thick undergrowth and claw-like twigs dragged at his feet. He tried to keep himself upright, struggling not to stumble or trip as he sprinted away from the massacre.

The sounds of low growls and spine-chilling howls drained away, disappearing behind him as he ran further and further into the dense forest.

He took a sharp turn, heading back towards the castle grounds. He broke through the tree line, slowing his pace as he neared the Whomping Willow. He turned, running on the spot as he looked back at the forest—checking to see if anyone – or anything – had followed him.

He let out a sigh of relief, letting his nerves calm. He drew in heavy breaths, trying to slow his breathing.

Stiles was tackled to the ground, letting out a pained wheeze as the air was knocked from his lungs. His eyes flew open wide, looking up at the glowing red irises of the werewolf.

He thrashed about, letting out a vicious animalistic cry as he tried to fight the creature off.

The werewolf pinned him to the ground, sharp rocks tearing open Stiles’ pale skin as the werewolf pushed them against the ground. Stiles felt a sharp wave of pain flood his arms, his bones near breaking.

Then, all of a sudden, the weight was gone.

There was a rush of air as the second werewolf tacked the alpha off of him, knocking him to the ground and fighting him.

Stiles rolled onto his side, scrambling to his feet and sprinting towards the swaying branches of the Whomping Willow. He dodged past the branches that swung at him, the thick wood hitting the earth with a heavy crash that snapped off twigs, shook the earth, and sent dirt flying through the air.

Stiles dove towards the trunk, something catching his eye. Among the twisted aged wood of the tree was an ancient door.

Stiles pulled open the small door that was built into the base of the tree. He pulled the ricket wooden door shut behind himself, staring at it for a second before slowly backing up.

He made his way down the flight of rickety stairs, following them into a large room. The windows were all boarded up, the moonlight bleeding through the thin gaps enough for Stiles to see.

He drew in steady breaths, calming himself as he looked around. The wind that blew past the windows echoed like screams as it rattled the glass and a draught blew through the warped wooden walls.

“Shrieking Shack,” Stiles muttered.

The wooden panelling of the doors were broken in, some doors lying off their hinges. The walls had patches of plaster missing, exposing the wooden framing beneath. The decorative wallpaper was peeling off the walls, the wooden floorboards warped, worn down with time and covered in stains. Every piece of furniture was moth-eaten and broken—as though someone has smashed it in a fit of rage.

There was a thin layer of dust over everything.

He stepped through one of the other doors, looking down the old staircase and into the foyer of the Shack. There was an old chair that had one of its legs ripped off.

He stepped back into the room. Beside him was an old four post bed, the wooden base snapped in half and the frame that had once held up the canopy had fallen down.

He edged over to the bed, lowering himself into the shadows that dwelled in the corner where the bed met the wall. He shrunk down into the darkness, pulling his knees up to his chest.

He waited.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins, stopping him from falling asleep, but his eyes grew heavy as he stared at the warped hardwood floors.

The light of dawn began to creep through the cracks in the boarded-up windows.

There was a loud crash as someone came sprinting down the stairs that lead up to the Whomping Willow.

Stiles’ heart leapt into his chest. He shifted, crouching behind the bed as he readied himself to run.

“Stiles?” a familiar voice called out.

Derek stumbled into the room, his shoulders heaving with heavy breaths as he frantically looked around the dark, decrepit interior of the Shrieking Shack.

Stiles shifted slightly, rising to his feet and stepping out from behind the bed.

Derek let out a sigh of relief. “Are you okay?”

Stiles tightened his grip on his wand, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. His voice was quiet and raspy, but firm as he said, “Explain. Now.”

Derek dropped his gaze. “When my uncle went missing a few weeks ago, I stupidly thought I was the only person who could find him. I ran away from home to go look for him. A few hours after walking through the woods behind my family’s estate, I was attacked. It was a rogue werewolf.”

“One that holds its shape,” Stiles confirmed.

Derek nodded.

He fell silent for a minute, feeling his chest tighten and his gut twist in knots.

“It bit me,” he admitted.

“You’re a werewolf,” Stiles said. A thought struck him, a look of realisation washing over his face. “That’s why you asked whether a werewolf could become an Animagus.”

Derek nodded.

“And the, uh—the other werewolf. Was that the rogue that bit you?”

Derek nodded again.

“I’m so sorry… I never meant to put you in danger,” Derek said, his voice breaking and full of pain.

“You didn’t put me in danger,” Stiles replied. “I just have a tendency to stumble right into it.”

“Are you hurt?” Derek asked, his voice full of concern.

Stiles looked down at himself, his pale flesh was caked in mud and covered in bloody welts where sticks and stones had scratched open his skin.

“Just a few bumps and bruises,” Stiles said dismissively. “Nothing too bad. How about you?”

Derek seemed taken back by the question.

“I—I’m fine,” he said. He glanced down at his arms, the tan flesh marred by dark bruises and faint pink lines where thick gashes were stitching themselves back together. “Werewolves heal quickly.”

Derek glanced back over his shoulder, up the stairs at the door that lead back outside.

“We should gat back,” he said. “Everyone will be waking up soon.”

Stiles nodded, slowly edging towards Derek.

Derek took no offence to Stiles’ hesitation; he was surprised that he trusted him at all. He led the way up the stairs and pushed open the rickety door at the base of the Whomping Willow. He squinted slightly as he stepped out of the cool shadows and into the world lit by the golden glow of the morning light. He looked up at the thrashing branches, feeling his chest tighten anxiously.

Stiles stepped up to Derek’s side, both of them keeping their back pressed against the thick tree trunk. He held his wand out.

“Immobulus.”

The branches stilled, frozen mid-action.

Stiles drew in a measured breath and took a step forward, and then another, making his way across the divots and dirt holes that covered the ground beneath the Willow.

He and Derek made their way back across the open field and up to the gates of Hogwarts, where Mr Harris stood, his arms crossed over his chest and his cold eyes staring down at the boys. Beside him stood Coach Finstock, his dark unkempt hair sticking up at all angles.

“Mr Stilinski, I expect this kind of behaviour from you, but Mr Hale – I must admit – I am surprised to see you,” Harris said, his voice cold.

“Everyone’s looking for the two of you,” Coach added. “I hope you have a good explanation for this.”

Derek bowed his head, his stomach twisting in knots as a sickening wave of bile rose into his throat. This was it; he’d be exposed and sent to Azkaban.

“I was helping Derek study,” Stiles lied. “We nearly got caught outside of the dorms after lights out and we panicked, so we apparated and ended up outside where we were attacked by a werewolf.”

Derek blinked in surprise, glancing out the corner of his eye at Stiles.

Harris looked at him, his face deadpan with disbelief. “A werewolf?”

Stiles met his gaze defiantly.

“A werewolf,” he said firmly. “We were chased into the Shrieking Shack and hid there until the sun came up.”

“That’s quite the fanciful story, Mr Stilinski.”

“It’s the truth,” Stiles insisted.

Harris opened his mouth to say something but Coach Finstock held up his hand, interrupting them.

“We’ll decide what to do with the two of you later, for now go back to your dorm rooms and clean yourselves up,” Coach instructed. He turned to Mr Harris. “Why don’t you go tell the others that we’ve found them.”

Harris let out a measured breath and turned sharply, storming off down the hall.

Stiles and Derek turned the other way and began to head down the hall.

“Mr Hale, a moment,” Coach called after him.

Derek stopped, glancing at Stiles before turning back to Coach.

Coach lowered his voice. “I know things have been tough for you since your uncle went missing, but that doesn’t give you an excuse to start acting recklessly and breaking the rules. It’s not going to change anything.”

Derek bowed his head.

“Your sisters were worried sick when they found out you were missing,” Coach continued. “I know things are hard for you, but you’re not alone; think about them.”

Derek nodded.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Coach said. He gently patted Derek on the shoulder “Now, go get yourself cleaned up.”

Derek nodded again, turning and making his way down the halls. He made his way to the shifting staircases, the buzz of chatter reaching his ears. He glanced up to see crowds of students gathered on the stairs and the landings, staring at the walls and talking quietly.

Among the crowd he spotted a familiar face.

“Cora,” he called out, hurrying over to his sister’s side.

“Where the hell have you been?” Cora growled.

“It’s a long story,” Derek dismissed. “What’s going on?”

“The paintings,” Cora said.

The crowd parted and Derek saw what she meant. The paintings that hung on the walls were destroyed—the canvases were slashed, the frames broken or hanging crooked, and the living portraits injured and cowering in fear.

“What happened?”

“The paintings say some kind of wolf tore through the castle,” Cora replied.

Derek’s heart sank into his gut.

“A wolf?” Derek repeated, his voice catching in his throat.

His eyes followed the trail of destruction, a path winding around the walls and leading up to the higher flights of stairs—to the Slytherin dorms.

“Stiles.”

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

 Stiles dragged his feet across the smooth wooden floorboards of the dorm room. His eyes were heavy and his movements slow and lethargic as he shrugged off the mod-stained hoodie that he wore. He tossed it over the end of his bed, stepping over to his trunk and pulling out his uniform.

The sound of footsteps reached his ears. His brow furrowed slightly in confusion; no one else should be in the dorms.

He turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder to see who was there. His heart dropped.

He barely caught a glimpse of the alpha’s glowing red eyes before he lunged at Stiles.

Stiles dove aside, reaching for his wand, but the werewolf tackled him to the ground. He thrashed around, his elbow colliding with the creature’s jaw as he tried to fight back or break free.

The werewolf pinned him to the floor, pressing their weight against the teen’s wrists until his frail bones threatened to break. The alpha’s jagged talons tore through the pale skin of Stiles’ arm. The bitter metallic smell filled Stiles’ nose as streams of blood coursed across his skin, the searing pain igniting every nerve in his body and flooding his veins.

Stiles cried out in pain.

The alpha let out a low growl, his teeth bared in a vicious snarl as he leant in closer.

Stiles felt the heat of the creature’s breath against his skin, squeezing his eyes shut as tears fell from his eyes.

He let out a broken sob.

There was another growl, one more fierce than the alpha’s low, threatening rumble.

Stiles hesitantly opened his eyes to see the alpha tackled off of him. He turned his head to see Derek thrown back.

Derek let out a stifled grunt as he hit the solid wooden frame of one of the beds. He bared his teeth in a vicious snarl, his eyes burning with rage as he charged at the alpha.

He slashed at him blocking his bows and fighting back as he put himself between the alpha and Stiles; protecting him.

The alpha snapped and snarled, his claws tearing at Derek’s clothes and clawing open his skin.

Streams of red stained Derek’s skin, but he didn’t seem to notice.

He fought back, but the alpha was too strong for him.

The alpha threw Derek back against the far wall. His head slammed against the rough bricks, bursts of light and colour blinding him as he dropped to his hands and knees.

The alpha grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off his feet.

Derek let out a strangled breath, kicking out as he tried to free himself.

The alpha’s grip didn’t waver.

The crimson glow of the creature’s eyes was full of bloodlust as he raised his arm, flexing his claws; ready to kill Derek.

The alpha froze, his body stiffening.

His grip weakened.

Derek fell to the floor, coughing, sputtering, and gasping for breath.

The alpha collapsed, hitting the ground with a solid thud.

Derek looked across the room to see Stiles, half slouched against his bed with his other arm outstretched and his wand in his hand.

Stiles slowly lowered his wand, his shoulder rising and falling with heavy breaths.

There was a thundering crash as the door to the dorms was thrown open.

Harris and Coach rushed into the room, skidding to a halt as they looked around the room.

Harris’ eyes fell on the werewolf, growing wide.

“Quite the fanciful story, huh?” Stiles said bitterly between broken breaths.

Harris shook himself from his stupor, straightening as he looked between the two boys. “Let’s get you two to the infirmary.”

Derek sluggishly pushed himself upright, bracing himself on the wall and he rose to his feet. He staggered across the dorm room, holding his hand out to Stiles and helping him to his feet.

A crowd od students gathered behind Harris, craning their necks to look in through the doorway.

A small figure shoved her way through the crowd, pushing past Harris and into the room despite his objections. She rushed across the room, throwing herself into her brother’s arms.

Derek let out a small sigh, wrapping his arms around Cora’s narrow shoulders and holding her tight.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m okay.”

“Oh my God,” Coach uttered, his quiet voice catching their attention.

Cora stepped back. Derek and Stiles turned, following Coach’s gaze to where the alpha lay on the floor, shifting back to his human form.

Coach grabbed a blanket from one of the beds, draping it across the man’s body.

Derek couldn’t take his eyes of the man.

The slender body lay bare on the ground, his fair skin covered in pale white scars. His chest slowly rose and fell with even breaths. Black ink stood out on the underside of his forearm, the Slytherin crest tattooed into his skin and a bold black triskelion on his wrist. His light brown hair was streaked with grey and longer than Derek remembered, but the man’s weary face was the same as always.

Derek’s heart stopped.

“Peter.”

#sterek #sterek au #sterek hp au #sterek harry potter au #sterek fanfiction #sterek fanfic #sterek fic #long post #text post #slytherin stiles #slytherin!stiles #hufflepuff derek #hufflepuff!derek #please read the tags on ao3 #for overthetopobsessed #overthetopobsessed #sorry it took so long

[noladyme]

La Cuervo - Chapter 6

She is used to the biker-life, having grown into a woman in the familiar embrace of SAMCRO. A bad decision and a gun-shot later, she gets whisked off to Santo Padre, and put under the protection of another club. What is supposed to be a short stint in the Mayan headquarters just north of the border to Mexico, turns into something more; when la quervo begins to develop feelings for el angel - and he seems to return them in kind...

TW: violence, blood, drug use, alcohol, smut, fluff, angst

In the spirit of "The Crown Princess of Charming", this is a story about O.C. Nina and Angel Reyes. It is obviously non-canon, as characters who have passed on on Mayans M.C. are present in it, and others have been excluded completely. Nina is written as a cis-female, but I have tried to keep her race and looks as ambigous as possible. Should you find any of this story offensive, please let me know.

They sat for a long moment in silence. Suddenly, it was like words were coming from somewhere deep in her gut, pressing their way upwards, and into her mouth; and then she let them out.

“I never had a brother or a sister, and my family… They weren’t really around. Keeping up appearances was more important than love”, she said. “Jackson found me puking my guts out after chugging a case of wine-coolers at an SOA party I’d snuck in to. I was 15, but I’d lied about my age. He cleaned me up, and let me sleep on his couch, when my folks wouldn’t let me back into the house that night. After that, I hung around the clubhouse; kind of like Letty, I guess. They all treated me like a little sister; and Jax… He was my champion. I was pretty much a waste of space to the people around me, until I met him. Every time I screwed up… Like one time I got arrested for stealing a pregnancy-test; after a close call with some asshole I’d met. You’re better than this, darlin’…”. She smiled softly. “He got the sheriff to let me off with a warning. Then we went and got ice-cream, before he took me for a proper test at the clinic… And then he had the club throw me a no-baby-on-the-way shower…”. Angel chuckled at this. “You were really close”, he said. Nina’s smile widened. “Jax set me up at the clubhouse dorm, when I left home. He made sure I had money to pay tuition for community college. He taught me that family can be more than blood; even openly called me his little sister, whenever he introduced me to anyone. So, yeah. I loved him; and after he had his boys, I loved them… Because of him, I belonged somewhere. When he died, I was a wreck. If it hadn’t been for Filip… Chibs and the rest of the Sons, I’d have been… I don’t even want to think about it”. “They got you right again”, Angel said. She nodded. “We got each other right…”.

He took her hand, and softly stroked his fingers over the bruises on her knuckles. “So, what happened with Gael?”, he said. A shudder went down her spine, but the words were already forming in her mouth, and she couldn’t hold them back. “It was the anniversary of Jax’s… the day he died”, She said. “I was at a party; not a club party, just out with some people I knew. I didn’t let the club know I was going out; I just wanted to be someone else for the night, you know? Not the great legend’s little sister… I just heard from his kids. His eldest got an A on a book-report, and I was so pissed, because Jax wasn’t there to see that. Because he… fucking killed himself, ‘cuz he couldn’t see a different way out”. She closed her eyes, and chewed her lips. Angel gently squeezed her hand. “I was drunk – like really drunk – and I needed to get home. My friend offered to call Chibs or Happy for me, but I couldn’t deal with anyone from the club right then. I’d been dancing with this guy, and he offered me a ride”. “And you took it”, Angel muttered. “Yeah”, Nina whispered. “But I shouldn’t have”. There was another long pause. “Do you wanna stop?”, Angel said. “No…”. Nina shook her head. She couldn’t stop now; it was like a giant bubble of bile she had to get out of system. She pulled her hand out of Angel’s, and put her arms around her knees, staring straight ahead of her.

“Gael was taking all the wrong turns, to get back to my apartment. I asked him to stop, and he pulled up in an alley, to let me get out of his car. I was gonna walk home, but he got out after me”. Come on, baby. You gotta follow through now… Let me get that fine crow-eater ass… “He knew who I was. I don’t know who told him, but he figured it out somehow. Pressed me up against the wall…”. What would Teller say, if he knew I was about to fuck his little sister? “He was talking about how the club would react, when they found out… I panicked, and I fought like hell… He let go of me, and I grabbed my gun from my purse; I guess that’s when I dropped my inhaler… When I aimed at him, he just laughed”. Angel was tense. He seemed like he wanted to punch his fist through something. Nina looked down. “He kept saying; you’re not gonna shoot me… Then he came at me… and I pulled the trigger”. It was like she heard the sound of the gunshot again, and she let out a deep breath. She’d never seen a dead body before.

“Good”, Angel said finally. Nina was pulled out of something like a trance, and looked at him. “What?”. “He’s dead. He deserved it”. There wasn’t a hint of sympathy in his voice. “You don’t get it… It was my own fault”, Nina said. “No one made me get that drunk; I wasn’t drugged or held at gunpoint. I got in that car willingly. I fucked up, and a guy died… I killed him”. “He was trying to…”. Angel didn’t seem to be able to finish his sentence. “Angel, he wasn’t the first guy to try to get with me, without me wanting him to. That’s just… Fuck, that happens every fucking day to so many women… It was because he wanted to screw with SAMCRO… screw with my dead brother… It triggered something in me”. “That don’t matter!”, Angel growled. “You don’t touch a woman without her permission!”. He seemed about to explode, and looked at her angrily. “You telling me, that you normally get attacked in the back of dark alleys?”. “No… that never happened before”, she whispered. “He hurt you, and you fucking killed his ass; and that’s good. He didn’t deserve to walk away from that”.

Nina turned, and put her feet on the floor; sitting there for a moment, before getting up, and walking towards the living room. She picked up a half-smoked cigarette, and lit it; taking a deep draw. Angel had followed her, and when she turned around he stood in front of her, looking defeated and miserable. “Nina, I am so sorry”, he said. “I’m sorry I made you think I only wanted you because of your club”. Nina stepped towards him, and put a hand on his chest. “No, I know it’s not like that with you”, she said quietly. “No but you thought it was”. “Angel… you're different”, Nina tried. She went to take his hand, but he stepped back; creating distance between them. “After that… What he tried to do…”. Angel ran a hand down his face, and shook his head. “I don’t know how to touch you, without bringing that shit up in you again”.

Nina felt his words like a bucket of cold water in her face. “You… You wanna end this…”, she croaked. She stubbed out the cigarette, and scrambled to get back to the bedroom to find her shorts; fighting tears all the way. “I get it. It’s fine. Could you just take me back to the yard?”. Angel almost ran after her, and pulled her into his arms. “No, querida… No!”, he said. “I’m sorry… It’s just… What if I do something, that makes you think I’m like him?”. Nina looked up at him with disbelief. “Why do you think so little of yourself?”, she said. Angel frowned in confusion. “You’re nothing like him. How you’ve been trying to help me by talking, and how you took care of me yesterday… You’re a… you’re an angel… Angel”. A smile tugged at her lips. Angel chuckled, and grasped her face; pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “You’re doing it again”, he said. “What?”, Nina asked. “Making me feel better, when it should be the other way around”. She buried her face in his warm chest. “You’ve made me smile more since I arrived here, than I have in years”.

Angel put his hands on either side of her face, and made her look up at him again. He starred deep into her eyes; searing his way into her very being. Leaning down, his lips grasped hers, as if inhaling her, body and soul. Pulling back – leaving Nina short of breath, and weak in the knees – he wrapped a strong arm under her bottom, and lifted her to straddle his waist. Her weight was nothing compared to what he wanted at that moment, and he carried her back into the bedroom; setting her gently down on the mattress. As she lifted her arms, Angel gently pulled the t-shirt off her body, before – with a hand behind her back – making her lay down under him. He pulled off her panties, and settled with his head between her thighs. Nina gasped, as his breath brushed over her folds, like a feather-stroke. “Angel, you don’t have to…”, Nina rasped. “Mami, I wanna make you smile again”, Angel replied. “Say you want me to”. His words came like an overwhelming caress. He wanted her to be completely at ease and in agreement of what he wanted to do. Nina let out a short breath, and her answer came as a rasping plea. “Yes”. Angel smirked, and placed his open lips over her warmth.

Nina’s back instantly arched. Her heart beat a million miles an hour; and only the pain in her hand from the day before kept her from digging her fingers so far into the sheets, that they ripped. Angel made long, languid strokes up and down her folds with his tongue, while running his fingertips up and down her torso. He let out what sounded like a growl against her lower lips, before sucking her clit into his mouth, and flicking his tongue over it. Nina felt her legs beginning to shake at the treatment of her most sensitive spot, and let out a desperate whimper. Angel lifted his head to come up for air, and breathed deeply for a few seconds; before – with a wry smile at her – diving back in. He moved his hands down, to put his arms around her thighs; keeping her in place, as she tried to pull away from the overwhelming sensation of his mouth. “Nah, you’re not going anywhere”, he chuckled, and took another long lick up her folds, ending up in a deep suckle of her clit. The sound of the birds outside mixed with the slick sound of Angel devouring her, and Nina soon felt a wave of earthshattering pleasure roll through her whole body. As the coil in her lower belly finally snapped, Nina lifted her head and shoulders from the bed, and cried out a breathy moan; before she fell back, with her arms spread out to the sides.

Angel made a last soft lick over her warmth, and loosened his grip on her thighs. He wiped his beard of her juices, and smirked. “How was that?”, he said. Nina looked at him in disbelief, when suddenly she began laughing. She simply couldn’t hold back. Her laughter came like bursts from inside her, that simply wouldn’t stop. Angel’s smirk became a warm smile, as he crawled up to settle next to her. He cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her deeply. “Holy… shit…”, Nina laughed between kisses. “Yeah?”, Angel smiled. “Just wait. Next time I’ll add fingers!”. He wiggled his fingers over her face, and winked at her, before attacking her mouth with kisses again. “Angel…?”, she breathed. “Yeah?”. “I think you earned the title of croweater”, she giggled. He pulled back and looked ponderingly at her. “I should get a patch…”.

---

After a while of laying in each other’s arms, they got dressed. Nina would have gladly reciprocated Angel’s pleasant treatment of her, but a phone call from Coco cut their morning together short; as he needed help with moving some goods. Nina decided against asking. When they arrived at the yard, Angel took his time to claim a deep, almost bruising kiss from her lips. “Audience…”, she chuckled embarrassedly, when she noticed Bishop, Taza and Hank looking at them from the porch. “Yeah. Audience”, Hank grunted, unable to hide his smile. Bishop rolled his eyes, but let a smile ghost his face as well. “Sorry, Bish”, Angel called out; before leaning in, and suckling for a moment at her pulse-point. “I’m not sorry”, he whispered, and squeezed her butt cheek. “You’re a horny little shit”, Nina said. “We both know there ain’t nothing little about me, querida”, Angel gloated. Nina smiled, and went to get some coffee in the clubhouse. Angel tapped her butt teasingly, as she walked away from him.

Bishop followed her inside, and went ahead of her behind the bar; pouring a mug of coffee, and handing it to her. “I know, I said you were welcome to the facilities here, but you’re taking it a bit far”, he said with a wry smile. “But they’re such good facilities”, Nina said, and took a sip from the mug. “And I thought you said I was family”. The president shook his head defeatedly, and went to grab a piece of paper. “Well, mija; family means taking on your share of the work”, he said, and handed her the note. “Shopping-list for the party. Ask the prospect to take you. We’re gonna need meat from his old man”. “On it”, Nina said, and looked over the list. Liquor, food and snacks. It looked like any list Tig might have handed her in Charming, with the addition of needing to go to a local smoke-shop to pick up some Acapulco Gold. SAMCRO grew their own weed. “No cigars?”, she asked. “We’re trying to be polite to the Vatos. Not spoil them…”, Bishop said, before shrugging. “But get me a box of Montecristos”. Nina smiled, and nodded.

EZ entered the clubhouse with what looked like pink chapstick on his cheek, and carrying yet another delicious smelling box of Tupperware. Bishop looked at him for a long moment. “You got a little something”, he said, and gestured to his cheek. EZ looked at his reflection in a decorative mirror by the liquor-bottles. “Shit… Yeah, Gabby…”, he began. Bishop held up his hands. “Don’t… This place is like puppy-love central this morning”, he said. “Just… go do your jobs”. He went into templo, and closed the door behind him. Nina bit her lips to keep from laughing at the prospect. “Ha, ha”, he laughed sarcastically. “You’re one to talk”. He pointed at Nina’s neck. She went to look in the mirror, and saw that Angel had left an angry hickey bellow her ear. “Goddammit, Angel!”, she growled. EZ chuckled at her, and went to get ready for breakfast.

It had become a nice tradition for them to begin the day eating breakfast together. Nina enjoyed spending time with EZ, and could see why Angel called him golden boy. Ezekiel was smart, and somehow managed to have picked his life back together, at least somewhat, after his stint in prison. After breakfast, they got into the scrapyard van, and went to get things together for the party the next day.

---

Going shopping for the party, and running errands with EZ for the club was a welcome distraction for Nina. Keeping her mind occupied was all that kept her from freezing in terror at the fact that the next day, she’d be in the presence of a mad-man, who wanted her dead. On top of that, she was facing at least a year in Santo Padre; away from her family – away from home. Angel or no Angel, that was still a tough pill to swallow.

Lunch was spent in front of Felipe’s shop. Nina smiled her way through a few stories about his sons’ escapades as kids, and – just as she had with his sons – Nina was beginning to grow warm emotions towards the man; in spite of only meeting him twice.

“You’re smart”, Felipe said, as EZ and Gabriella went inside to do the dishes. Nina was surprised at the sudden statement. “That’s… nice of you to say”, she smiled. “No, it’s a fact. You’re intelligent; it seems like you have every opportunity to make something of yourself, other than…”. He halted himself. Nina held her tongue for a moment, before speaking again. “You think I could do better, than spend my time around bikers”, she said. Felipe met her eyes. “It’s not my place”, he said. “You’re just being honest about your opinions. That’s ok”, she said. “But maybe slightly insulting”, Felipe said. “And for that, I’m sorry”.

Nina took a sip of her coffee, and rested her chin on her hand. “It would be insulting, if I thought you might be right about the life”, she said. Felipe chuckled to himself, and took a sip from his own cup. “The life”, he said. “Whatever you want to call it… The club… the gang. You think that it’s wrong. That the way the club works is something bad. If I agreed, you would be insulting me, by suggesting that I was settling for something less than…”. She bit her lip, and looked meaningfully at Felipe. “But to me it’s… right. I haven’t had a lot of family in my life; but the club here… the club where I come from… They’re family. They’ve taken care of me, been everything to me that I needed to become the… intelligent woman you see before you today. I wouldn’t be who I am without them”. “I would have hoped the family I provided for my boys was enough. That they wouldn’t have needed to find something else”, Felipe said. “I’m sure it is. But the club gives them something on top of that”. “And the crime? The blood…?”, the old man said. Nina looked down at her bruised hand. “That I can’t defend”, she said.

Felipe studied her face intently, as she took another sip of her coffee. “Like I said; you’re smart. I’m happy my son has you in his life”. Nina almost choked on her coffee. “Excuse me?”, she croaked. Felipe chuckled at her. “I watched you, while I told you those stories earlier”, he said. “When I spoke about EZ, you listened and smiled. Whenever I mentioned Angel, your face lit up like a candle. I might be old, but I’m not blind”. He grabbed her hand over the table, and squeezed it gently. “And then there’s his trademark on your neck”. Nina let out a guffawing laughter, and covered her hickey with her free hand.

EZ came outside then, and frowned at his father and Nina. “Please tell me you didn’t tell her the story about the petting-zoo, pap’”, he said. Felipe’s eyes lit up. “Oh, right! The petting-zoo… Let me tell you Nina. This boy is terrified of goats!”. “Ok. Time to go!”, EZ said, and pulled at Nina’s arm. “But I want to hear this!”, Nina said. “No goat-stories”, the prospect laughed, and led her towards the truck. “Pap’; the ribs?”. “And the steaks. I’ll bring them by tomorrow afternoon”, Felipe said.

Nina got in the passenger seat, and smiled to herself. EZ looked confusedly at her, as he got behind the wheel. “What’s so funny?”, he asked. “Nothing… I like your dad”, Nina replied. “He’s honest”. The prospect let out a slight laugh. “Some would say brutally so”. “He called me smart”, Nina said. EZ started the truck. “He’s kind of right”, he smiled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”, Nina scoffed. EZ turned onto the road, and took a moment to wave at his pap, before speaking again. “Well, you are sleeping with my brother”.

---

Nina sat in the doorway to the trailer, enjoying the sun a cold coke, and pretending to read a book; while smirking at EZ, as he unloaded the groceries and liquor from the truck. “It sure is hot out here”, she said. “How’s your shoulder?”. “You punch like an MMA-fighter!”, EZ groaned, and rubbed the spot where she’d punched him earlier. “That’s what you get… You dropped something”, she replied, and pointed at a bag of chips on the ground. EZ gave her a sarcastic smile, and bent down to get the bag, and put it on top of his load. “Thank you, Nina”, he said. “You’re welcome, Ezekiel”, she replied with a grin.

“Nina!”. Chucky came running up to her. He was holding out a phone. “It’s Charming!”, he grinned. “For you!”. Nina almost tripped over her own feet, to run over to him, and take the call. Handing him her book, she grabbed the phone out of his wooden hand. Chucky slipped away again. “Hello?”, she panted. “Did I catch you in something unseemely, luv’?”. “Filip! How is… everything?”, she said. “Everything is boring as fuck, without you here”. Nina smiled, and waved at Angel, who came rolling on to the lot with Gilly in tow. Coco came in behind them in his car. “Aw… Are you guys missing me?”, she said. Angel got off his bike and moved towards her. She held up a finger for him to wait; but he waved away her hand dismissively, and leaned in to kiss her. “I’m talking”, Nina chided with a smile. “So?”, Angel said, and moved down to kiss her neck; wrapping his arms around her. “Yes, we miss you like the flower misses the sun, little sister. Do you miss us, is the question…?”. Nina was wriggling in Angel’s grasp. “Of course I miss you”. Angel pulled back a bit, before moving over to lean against the trailer, lighting a cigarette. “Did you hear from Wendy?”. “Thomas is taping playing cards to his bike, to make it sound like a Harley”, Filip replied. “They’re good”. “Good. I’m happy”, Nina smiled softly. She looked over her shoulder at Angel, who was pretending not to listen in. “So, is this a curtesy-call? Checking up on me?”. “Not exactly… We were thinking it might be time to bring you back… The cops have finished their investigation. Deemed it a cold case. You’re in the clear”. Nina could hear the lie in his voice.

She went to sit down in the doorway again. “You want me back up north”. Angel looked out the corner of his eye at her, his expression somber. “We want you home, Nina… None of the girls here knows how to make a proper whiskey sour”. She chewed her lips. “No. You want me back home, because Palo is moving south… Chibs… I know”, she said. “Know what?”, Filip said. “The man I… He was El Palo’s cousin”. She heard the Scot sigh deeply at the other end. “We didn’t want to scare you”. “I had a right to know… You shouldn’t have lied”, she said. She heard the telltale sound of Filip closing the large door of church behind him. “You may be right… But now you see why you should come back”. Nina looked up at Angel again. “I can’t do that. Not now…”. The thought of going back on her deal with the Mayans, and the thought of leaving behind Angel, was just too much. “It’s better I hide here, in plain sight”. “What do you mean?”. “Palo is coming here… He’s asking Santo Padre for help in finding me. He doesn’t know who I am, and he’d never think they’d keep me out here in the open”. Something crashed at the other end, like a beer bottle against a wall. “What the fuck is Bishop playing at? Is he insane?”. “No… The club here… They have my back. I trust them”. “Put Bishop on!”. Filip was almost roaring in rage. “He’s not here…”, Nina croaked. “Filip, I’m…”. “Put someone on. Anyone!”.

Nina looked at Angel, and handed him the phone. The Mayan clenched his jaw, and put the phone to his ear. “Yeah… No, that was a club call… We’re not going back on anything. Our deal stands… Yeah…”. He frowned, and Nina saw anger rising in his expression. “Fuck, no; man! You let that shit happen to her. I’m not gonna let you take my girl, and…”. Nina got up, and reached for the phone. “Angel, stop… Please”. Angel pulled away from her hand, and she grabbed at his cut. “Please…”, she whispered. His expression softened as he met her eyes. Filip said something on the other end. “I hear you… Yeah… Look, you got my word, man. She’s safe. I won’t let anything happen to her… Yeah, I’ll let Bish know”. A deep scowl settled on his face. “Yeah, she’s here".

Angel handed back the phone to Nina. “Filip?”. There was a long silence. “Are you there?”. “You tapping a Mayan, now?”. Nina swallowed hard. “Look, I’m…”. “No, luv’… It’s your life… Couldn’t you have chosen a smarter one, though?”. Nina laughed a little, and looked up at Angel. “He’s… got a cool bike”, she said. Angel looked adorably confused at her words. “Huh… Well, make sure you get tested!”. “Filip!”, Nina cried out. “Look, we’re coming down. Had planned on it anyway, to come get you. I already told Romeo there we’ll be in San Pad tomorrow”. Nina felt her heart leap at the prospect of seeing her family. “Ok…”, she breathed with a half-smile. “I’ll see you then”. “Anything other than your impending herpes I need to relay to the boys?”. Nina rolled her eyes. “Tell them, they’re all dicks; but I love them”. They said goodbye, and Nina hung up the call.

Angel stomped out his cigarette. “Mayans… Vatos… SAMCRO…”, he said. “It’s gonna be a big fucking party!”. He began moving towards the clubhouse porch, where Gilly was waiting. Coco was sitting on the trunk of his car, smoking a cigarette and looking antsy. “What did he say to you?”, Nina asked. “They’ll be here tomorrow afternoon. I gotta go tell Bishop”, he said, his voice brusque. “What’s wrong?”, she asked. “Tell me…!”. “It’s just some shit…”, he said over his shoulder. Nina ran after him, and grabbed his wrist. “Angel… What happened?”. Angel stopped, and turned to face her again. His expression was dark, but he tried to smile at her. “It’s nothing. Really”. He leaned down, and gave her a soft kiss. “I gotta go find Bishop. Give him word on the extra guests”. “Ok…”, Nina said, still uneasy at his behavior. “Are you going out again after?”. “Yeah. I need to make a run over the border with that stuff Coco had us go get”, Angel replied. “Do I want to know?”. There was a loud thud from Coco’s trunk. The slight biker pounded his fist down on the boot lid. “Yo, shut the fuck up!”, he growled. Angel shrugged. “No, I don’t think so”.

Nina stormed over to the car, and pushed Coco out of the way. Before he could stop her, she’d yanked the lid open, and looked down at the man from the day before. “What the…”, she gasped. The man was half naked, hogtied with duct-tape; and a burlap sack with what sounded like a very angry rattle-snake was lying next to him. “What are you going to do with him?”. Coco took a huff of his smoke. “We got a doc down south. He don’t need both his kidneys anyway…”, he said, and spat at the ground. “He’s lucky we didn’t go for castración”. The man screamed through his tape-muzzle. Coco punched him over his broken nose. “I might still change my mind”. Nina slammed the lid shut. “You’re right. I didn’t want to know”. All three bikers laughed.

“What was the phone call about?”, Gilly asked from the porch. “We got reaper incoming tomorrow”, Angel said. Coco’s eyes widened. “It’s gonna be a big fucking party!”, he smiled. “That’s what I said. Sometimes I think we share a brain, mano”, Angel said. Nina bit her cheek to keep from laughing in agreement. “I gotta go tell el jefe. Then we can go”. Coco and Gilly nodded, and Angel went into the clubhouse to find the president. “I’ll have the prospect bring you by mine once he finishes, yeah?”, he called over his shoulder. “That’s sweet. Are we having a sleepover?”, Gilly asked. “Shut up”, Angel replied, and winked at Nina, before closing the door behind him.

---

#angel reyes #angel reyes fic #angel reyes x oc #angel reyes smut #clayton cardenas #mayans mc fic #ez reyes #coco cruz #chibs telford #sons of anarchy

[sassycassie-s-writing]

A Court Rebuilt

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): A Court of Thorns and Roses Series/Tamlin, Rhysand, Feyre

Rating: PG/K+ 

Original Idea: I have no idea where this one came from. I just thought, “What if Rhys’ sister actually survived?” and made a few detail alterations and wrote this.

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) Don’t really have anything else to say here besides: again, I have not read ACOSF and dunno if I’m going to, but there were loose ends I wanted to tie up. Enjoy!

^^^^^

I’d intended to winnow to the edge of the wards surrounding the manor and then walk to the front doors on foot.

I was quite surprised when I just landed on the front porch. There was no trace of the wards. No protections around the manor house. None that I could detect anyway. The front door was slightly open.

I dismissed my wings before I left home, but I felt the phantom feeling of them shuddering as I pushed the door open a little more.

Inside, the grand entrance was dusty. Dark.

Empty.

I reached out with my magic, searching for the presence of the High Lord of the manor. Please don’t be dead, I thought.

There he was. In the back. The kitchen, if I remembered correctly. It had been centuries since I’d been here, and even then I’d been very young, for a High Fae. His presence was powerful, incredible, but nowhere near the scale and scope of Rhysand’s.

I stayed on alert as I made my way through the manor, heading toward the kitchen. But there were no sounds. No servants bustling around. No sentries patrolling the garden or the halls. The manor was little more than an empty shell. An unkempt, hollow husk of its former glory and beauty.

I made it to the kitchen. The door was wide open.

Instead of going in, I leaned against the doorframe.

Tamlin’s back was to me. He looked… wan. The kitchen was barely in better shape than the rest of the house.

He stiffened as he realized he wasn’t alone, but didn’t whirl around, claws out, to defend himself. Didn’t even turn to see me. I wondered if he knew it was me without looking. He didn’t seem to indicate so.

“Good morning,” I said.

That was when he whirled. His eyes—once the vibrant green of budding trees, now dull—widened as he took me in. “You’re supposed to be dead. Centuries ago,” he said.

“Well, technically, I have you to thank for the fact that I’m not,” I replied. “Do you remember?”

“Get out,” Tamlin snarled. There was no beastly bite to the words. No fangs in his mouth. I didn’t move. Just folded my arms. “Does your perfect brother know you’re here?”

“No. I’d like to keep it that way. I didn’t come to fight, Tamlin. I came to thank you, actually. For delaying your father and brothers long enough that I managed to survive. Yes, my head was bleeding profusely as I drifted downstream. Yes, I nearly drowned and my wings were mostly torn off. Yes, I’m still gloriously furious about it. But when Rhys found me alive and got me home to heal, I was still thankful you stopped your father from finishing me off long enough for me to survive.”

“Are you done?”

“Not yet.” I held my hand out. A small sheaf of papers appeared on my palm. I set it on the kitchen table. “I’ve spent the last week brainstorming ways to rebuild your court. Feyre isn’t sorry for the devastation she left behind; and frankly I don’t think she should be. I certainly am not, given how you treated her after what happened Under the Mountain. But the fact remains that the Spring Court borders the mortal lands, and a strong border is necessary to keep any faeries with bad intentions out of there, and any mortals who have a death wish away from here. Tarquin is fine leaving some of his sentries on the border for as long as necessary, but eventually it would be most beneficial for the Spring Court to monitor its own lands.”

Tamlin growled. A deep, low, guttural sound that made braver faeries than me shudder. As it was, I grew up with Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian. Tamlin didn’t scare me. “Get out,” he snapped again.

“Those papers have a few different detailed plans for building your court up again. You can use any one you like. Or you can use none of them. That’s your choice. This isn’t the Night Court sticking its nose in the affairs of your court. Like I said, my brother doesn’t even know I’m here. This is just one person who owes you their life trying to get yours back on track. I didn’t spend the past week drafting those plans out of the goodness of my heart. I did it to make us even. I’ve spent centuries being dead to the outside world. Everywhere except home. And, if anyone asks you who came up with this, they won’t believe you if you say I gave them to you. It would be in your best interest, anyway, to say you came up with it yourself. Show you’re still strong.

“But right now, someone needed to kick you in the pants in the right direction. And since I owed you and you didn’t even know it, I figured it could be me.” I shrugged.

Tamlin’s lip curled. “You sound like your self-righteous brother.”

Don’t pick a fight, don’t pick a fight, don’t pick a fight, I reminded myself. Rhys wasn’t self-righteous. He could be cold and calculating sometimes, but his instincts were usually right. I had to remind myself that Tamlin was bitter and broken after everything. He’d been kicked after he was already down, and lashing out.

I wanted to put on the cold, amused, wicked mask Rhys used to wear as the High Lord of the terrifying Night Court; but that mask had never belonged to me, and I would never find it comfortable. “After our parents died, he was the one who finished raising me, so I suppose that would make sense,” I said levelly instead. “I’m trying to help you, Tamlin. For your sake as well as well as the sake of Prythian as a whole. Use my ideas or don’t—I owe you nothing now.”

He snarled again. I summoned my wings and flared them.

“Get some rest, Tamlin. You look tired,” I said.

As he snapped his teeth, I winnowed out of the manor. Back home.

—

The antechamber of the townhouse between the front door and the frosted glass door greeted me. I stepped through the frosted glass door.

My brother was waiting for me in the sitting room, lounging on the sofa. “Where have you been?” His tone was casual, but I sensed there was some irritation behind it.

“Out,” I replied.

“I guessed as much,” he said.

“Didn’t realize I had to report all of my comings and goings to you.” My words held more bite than I intended, but I managed not to flinch at them.

Rhys picked up a crystal glass with a knuckle length of liquid in it from the side table and eyed me over the top of it as he took a sip. “You don’t,” he finally said. “But I would appreciate being told you’re going out and when you think you’ll be back so I don’t worry about you when I wake up and find you gone.”

“He turned the whole house upside down looking for you!” Feyre called from the kitchen.

I instantly felt guilty. “Did you not see my note?” I asked.

“What note?” Rhys demanded.

I felt where it was in the house and then summoned it to me. “I left this on my bed. I was gonna put it in your bedside but I figured you’d check my room first if you got worried.” I handed him the paper. He unfolded it. The note was short—all it said was: Running an errand. Be back in an hour, max. -Me—but it took him a long time to read it.

His eyes turned up to me. His pupils had narrowed to tiny points. “Why do you smell of the Spring Court?” The words were strained.

I heard something clank in the kitchen. Feyre dropped something at my brother’s words.

Rhys put my note on the side table beside his drink and stood up, wings extending just a bit. He towered over me—I was only an inch shorter than Feyre but Rhys had always been so big. His eyes bored into me. I felt his talons scratching at my mental shield. Not a request for entry. An order.

“You promised never to break into my head,” I said sharply.

“I will if it means keeping these people safe. Our people. What were you doing in the Spring Court? Going for a leisurely walk through the woods?”

I flared my wings out a little too. Both of us animals trying to appear bigger than we were to be more intimidating. “I’m allowed to have a private life, Rhysand. I didn’t jeopardize the Night Court at all.”

Feyre appeared in the sitting room. I wondered if she’d considered getting in between us. I wanted to warn her off. I could deal with Rhys myself. Had been doing so long before she was born. It wasn’t that I didn’t want her help—I just wanted to handle this conversation with my brother alone.

“You revealed to Tamlin you’re alive, didn’t you?” Rhys demanded. His talons scraped harder against my mental shield. I reinforced it.

“Yes,” I said.

My brother swore as his mate gasped quietly. “Why would you do that? Do you know how dangerous—”

“Of course I do. But the fact remains that if it weren’t for him, I’d be dead. The fact remains that I owed him my life. The fact also remains that the Spring Court borders the mortal lands and is absolutely barren of faeries. With good reason. Feyre did the right thing in revealing to the court what kind of male he is, but that border still needs to be monitored. I know Tarquin is fine stationing sentries on the border but those sentries will eventually get tired of it, even if he swaps them out. It would be best for the Spring Court to have, at most, the ability to protect its own borders.”

“What were you doing there?”

“I spent the past week brainstorming plans for rebuilding the Spring Court. I merely delivered them, told Tamlin my debt to him was paid, and left. My life, for getting his back on track. He deserves everything that happened to him, but we need the Spring Court’s borders to be secure. Are you going to keep berating me or can I go upstairs and wash off the smell of that place?”

Rhys looked like he wasn’t going to stop glaring at me for the next decade.

I summoned one of the copies I’d made of my plans from my pocket realm and shoved them into his chest. “Go ahead. Read them. Or don’t. I don’t care. I’m going to go take a bath.”

I stomped over to the stairs and stomped up them. From behind, I heard Feyre say softly, “You’re being a little hard on her.”

Before I heard my brother’s reply, I slammed the door shut to my room.

—

When I emerged, freshly cleansed of all the floral scents of the Spring Court clinging to my skin, my brother was in the hallway outside my room.

“I read your plans,” he said flatly, almost begrudgingly. “The one about turning the Spring Court into a haven for faeries displaced from their homes in other courts during this past war was particularly impressive.”

I made a mental note to thank Feyre later. I assumed she had convinced him to at least be civil, even though I could tell he was still furious with me for being reckless with the secret that I was still alive. No one outside of Velaris had known that I’d been rescued and recovered from my injuries. I’d spent centuries staying solely in the city, being safe. A foray into the Spring Court was a welcome change.

I finished tying off my braid. “And?” I prompted. I wanted to see what else was on his mind.

Rhys didn’t reply immediately. Just stared at me with a sharp hone to his gaze. “And,” he repeated, “I think you made a good decision. Even if I don’t particularly relish the thought of Tamlin knowing you’re alive.”

“Thanks.”

“Also, I find it hilarious that on every single plan, you’ve written multiple times to have him claim all the ideas as his own. Though you definitely deserve the credit for it.”

“Be that as it may, it’ll look stronger coming from him. What did Feyre think?”

“Feyre hasn’t read them yet. I don’t think she wants to.”

“That’s fine. I know she’s angry at him. She has every right to be. I’m angry at him too, actually, for how he treated her. He deserves the ruin she brought upon him. He deserved being outed as the beast that he is. But, unfortunately, we need his court strong enough to protect its borders.”

“I agree. Maybe next time, though, if you have incredibly savvy political plans for another court, let me deliver them?”

“Tamlin wouldn’t have listened to you. He didn’t even want to listen to me. Not even after I told him you had no idea I was there.” I shrugged. “Next time I have savvy political plans for another court, I’ll just winnow the pages to the High Lord’s assistant’s desk under the guise of a citizen submitting them. This one was just a delivery I needed to make in person—so that he’d know I owe him nothing anymore.”

Rhys gathered me into a hug. “You’re a really annoying little sister, you know that?”

I smiled. “That’s my job.”

#ACOTAR #ACOTAR Imagine #ACOTAR FanFiction #Rhysand #Rhysand Imagine #Rhysand FanFiction #featuring #Tamlin #hooray #A Court Rebuilt

[sevenkittensinatrenchcoat]

Vienna-Based Mistos and Grizabella: Misto Becomes the Misto You Know

Once again, I find myself fascinated with the Vienna production and it’s descendants, especially when it comes to Mistoffelees. There are bits with Misto in these productions that are sometimes very similar to the 1998 VHS, but other productions don’t have them.

In the majority of productions I’ve seen, when Grizabella first appears, the first cats to respond are Coricopat and Tantomile, who hiss at her. Some productions have Mistoffelees sense her first, which all the Vienna-based ones do. But, they all do it slightly differently, with a noticeable difference between the first two (Vienna and Amsterdam) and the later two (Paris and Zurich)

Vienna:

This production started in 1983, but the recording is from 1990, near the end of the show’s run. Mistoffelees was played by the same actor, Valentin Baraian, playing him for most of the run. Occasionally, covers would step in, but he was the official Vienna Misto the whole time. So, despite the film being from 1990, it’s a characterization developed in 1983. I’m sure it evolved over time, but not in the same way as productions where the role changed hands.

I know it’s very hard to see here, but those are Misto’s hands behind Grizabella. When he first approaches her, he briefly tries to block her path, but when she insists on going forward, he walks behind her.

A cat, I’m not sure which one, runs up to Grizabella and hisses at her. Misto signals the cat to stand back. Throughout the scene, several cats approach Grizabella, some attempting to reach out to her, and others just to hiss at her or scratch her. With the former, one of the older cats will rush to stop them. Misto himself only stops the ones approaching threateningly. This means that he’s following her around to make sure that the others don’t hurt her.

After Grizabella starts singing, he tries to fend off the cats who approach her, but only the ones that do something to upset her, since she turns on them for the “you see the border of her coat is torn” line.

Conclusion: Vienna Misto is one of the adult cats, allowed to approach Grizabella and take charge while she’s there, since Munkustrap seems reluctant to do anything one way or another. But, even though he knows who she is and what she did, he personally has nothing against her and shadows her to keep her from getting hurt. Since one of the kittens succeeds in scratching her, he doesn’t seem to be very at it, but he cares enough to feel like he needs to try.

Amsterdam:

NOTE: Due to not having access to a full recording of this production, if one even exists at all, the following screenshots are taken from the clip @junkyard-gifs uploaded. As far as I can tell, the clip is from 1987. 

When Misto notices Grizabella, he runs up to her and holds his arms out, blocking her path. Once again, it seems like Misto is old enough to know who she is and that she’s not welcome.

However, Grizabella will not be stopped. She just shoves him out of the way. He’s not Munkustrap. He’s not the protector. He can’t tell her what to do.

However, this shove is technically an act of violence, so Misto warns the others to stay back. She attacked him! I’m guessing this Misto is not often shoved out of the way. Some Mistos are, but not this one.

The other cats scatter and Munkustrap steps up to handle the situation. Misto is still mad about it.

Conclusion: Amsterdam Misto (Dr. Diavolo, which is an amazing name) is one of the adult cats, since he seemed to know right away that Grizabella wasn’t welcome. But, unlike Vienna Misto, who seemed to have some sort of connection to Grizabella, this Misto doesn’t like her and likes her even less after she pushes him. He seems less mature and more prideful than Vienna Misto, with his dramatic reaction to being shoved, but I get the feeling that most of the other cats would’ve behaved the same way in this situation.

Now, both of these Mistos knew who Grizabella was. In general, full adults know Griz, while the kittens and sorta-adults don’t. This is the most clear generation gap in the show. In both these productions, Misto was put on the side of the adults. This matches up with most earlier portrayals of the character. By the time Jacob Brent played him, he was a younger character, only just starting to become an adult, who comes up age by the end of the show. I’ve always been curious as to when exactly this change took place. How did we get from here:

to here:

I don’t have any pictures of Timothy Scott’s Misto and Grizabella, so this comparsion doesn’t work quite as well, but you get the idea. In the above picture, Misto is just sort of waiting to see what Grizabella does. He doesn’t know her.

Well, I think the next two entries in the Vienna Line show some of the journey from point A to point B

Paris

The recording of the Paris version is from 1990, during the last month of the show’s run. It was uploaded to YouTube by Guy-Paul de St. Germain, who played Misto in the recording, and in London shortly after, as well as in a later UK Tour.

Misto approaches Grizabella, and the film quality makes it hard to see what’s going, but what I think is going on is that Munkustrap and Misto are equally quick to react to Grizabella, but Munkustrap keeps his distance, while Misto approaches her. From what I can tell, he does so neutrally, just trying to figure out who she is.

Munkustrap doesn’t physically intervene, but he warns Misto to get away with a sharp hiss. Misto backs away and stands in the corner, where he remains for the rest of the number.

After one of the kittens (I’m pretty sure it’s Tumblebrutus) scratches Grizabella, Misto sort of leans toward her, almost taking a step in her direction. But, he looks back over his shoulder before doing anything, and whatever he sees keeps him in place. I’m guessing he was looking to Munkustrap for permission to see if she’s alright after being scratched, and was denied permission.

Conclusion: Paris Misto most likely doesn’t know who Grizabella is. He obeys Munkustrap’s instructions regarding her, but he doesn’t seem to know what to think of her. He’s concerned for her when she gets hurt, but he prioritizes Munkustrap’s orders over that concern. The general tone is very similar to the VHS, though 1998 Misto started glaring at Grizabella, copying Munkustrap, instead of just following his instructions.

Zurich

The Zurich footage is from a 1992 bootleg. In 1992, Misto was being played by Lindsay Chambers, who’d go on to play him on Broadway for a few years. He was playing Misto on Broadway when Jacob Brent was cast as Pouncival, so this is where Brent’s Misto starts to connect to Vienna-based Mistos.

When Misto starts dancing to the reprise of Tugger’s song, he gets really into it and Grizabella shows up right behind him, making it seem like he nearly crashes into her. When he sees her, he just stops and stares. He doesn’t react at all. He just waits to see what she’ll do.

Even though he’s not doing anything, Grizabella treats him like Amsterdam Misto, pushing him out of her way. Since Amsterdam Misto was actually blocking her path, it made sense for her to do that, but here it’s just rude! He doesn’t know who she is and made no move against her. If she wants a cat to welcome her back into the tribe, he probably would’ve done it. But it seems like Zurich Grizabella is focused on getting to Munkustrap. She wants to talk to the one who’s in charge.

Like in the Paris version, when Grizabella is scratched, Misto steps towards her. But, Zurich Misto is quick to stop himself. He doesn’t need Munkustrap to tell him to stay away, though Munkustrap is right there. I can’t tell if he’s glaring at Misto or glaring at Grizabella, because of Bootleg Quality. But, if Munkustrap isn’t glaring at Misto, Misto just decided to stop by himself, probably remembering getting pushed out of the way. Grizabella really lost herself an ally here. From other scenes in this version, I’ve noticed that Zurich Misto often doesn’t seem to understand the social rules of the tribe and gets in trouble frequently. In the very next scene, Skimble will stop him from pulling Bustopher’s tail, but he’ll insist on doing it anyway, so even if the rules are explained to him, he still might break them if he really wants to. He’d go against the tribe to support Grizabella if he felt like he had a reason to. But, because she pushed him, his first impression of her is negative, so if the rest of the tribe says she’s bad, he’ll go along with it.

Zurich Grizabella confuses me, basically.

Conclusion: Like in Paris, Zurich Misto is not a full adult. He doesn’t know who Grizabella is and reacts to her neutrally at first. The key difference is that he doesn’t go against Grizabella because that’s what the adults are doing, but in direct response to her actions. Compared to both Paris and the VHS, Zurich Misto isn’t quite as invested in pleasing authority figures. He wants the Important Cats to like him, but he’s more willing to go against them.

So, my theory about How Misto Became 1998 Misto is:

1. In different ways, both the London and Broadway productions originally characterized Misto as a full grown adult, somewhat established as a magician due to a love of showing off.

2. Most early productions had a similar characterization for Misto, including the Vienna production.

3. The Paris production seemed to be where things began to change. One of the actors who played Misto, either Tibor Kovats or Guy-Paul de St. Germain started playing the character differently. This might’ve been because of the decision to have Mistoffelees dance with Victoria. London’s Admetus and Broadway’s Tumblebrutus were established as kittens around Victoria’s age. If Misto was out of her age range, it would be kind of weird. This wouldn’t stop the London production from pairing her with Alonzo in its later years, but whatever. So, Misto was aged down to be only as old as they could get away with if they wanted to pair him with Victoria, even if it was just for one dance, since a lot of productions don’t have Victoria interact with her dance partner much outside of the dance itself. Mistoria shippers can make a thing out of it and everyone else can not make a thing out of it, because it works either way.

4. The Zurich production also paired Mistoffelees with Victoria for the dance, so they might’ve aged him down for similar reasons. Like in Paris, Tibor Kovats played Misto in this version early on. I don’t have any footage of him in the role, but he’s what really connects Paris and Zurich, so this Misto characterization might’ve come from him. If not, Guy-Paul de St Germain and Lindsay Chambers had very similar ideas for what to do with the character, with just enough difference that it could just be a coincidence. 

5. Guy-Paul de St Germain played Misto in London, bringing this new characterization into that production.

6. Lindsay Chambers played Misto on Broadway, bringing this new characterization into that production. Future Mistos of both London and Broadway would be more likely to base their portrayals on these Vienna-based Mistos.

7. When Jacob Brent was cast as Pouncival on Broadway, Lindsay Chambers was playing Misto. Jacob learned the part while Chambers was playing it, and when it was his turn to play Misto, he also played him as a young tom coming of age.

And he was very good at it.

8. Jacob Brent played Mistoffelees in the 1998 VHS. When the show closed in London and on Broadway, the 1998 version became the version that most people saw first, so a generation of future Mistos learned his characterization, so it became the one that remained popular into the present day.

And that’s probably where Baby Misto comes from.

#cats 1998 #cats vienna #cats paris 1990 #cats zurich #cats amsterdam #there was no reason for this post to be as long as it is #mr mistoffelees #dr diavolo #dutch misto got a phd #anyway it's time to tag some actors #valentin baraian #i don't know who the amsterdam guy was sorry #guy-paul de st germain #lindsay chambers #tibor kovats #even though i haven't seen him #he might have something to do with this #and of course #jacob brent #cats 1998 wasn't doing mistoria on purpose #but mistoria might've helped create this one #but i'm not tagging the ship #because i don't ship it and it might attract a shipping war to my blog #and i have a rule about this #i don't want any shipping wars on my blog #if it involves shipping and an argument #i want nothing to do with it #even the tags for this thing are too damn long