#key blanks oftentimes

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

A sign of affection from me is when I inevitably use too much lotion (happens much more often than it should) I will grab a friend or family members hand (they're always okay with this don't worry) and rub the excess lotion on their hands, think we can get rogue's (writers choice) reaction to something like this? idk i just find it a subtle but nice little way to show you care about somebody without using words.

"Lotion sharing" Rogues Party

This is very cute. You know, it's been a minute since I've done a rogues party. Lucky thirteen, woof! This is a good ask for it, too. All versions are general interpretations!

TW: None

Riddler

Sucker. Sucker, sucker, sucker- no, not you. Not this time, actually, this is all him. His very human need for affection (particularly physical in his case) often gets pushed down so far it's almost euphoric when he gets it again. It's very addicting and he doesn't want to let your hand go as it presses softly into his skin.

Instead he just gives you this goofy attempt at a smooth look, and discusses the positive brain chemicals attached to physical. Runs his fingers over the back of your hand with a toothy smile. You must have missing him while he was working, hm?

He forgot to rub the lotion in and he remembers after glancing down. A nervous laugh and he's rubbing it in.

Penguin

His hands sometimes resemble talons with the way he keeps them. So you might want to give him a little heads up or he'll accidentally scratch you. It's not intentional and he'll apologize if it happens. And don't suggest a manicure, he hates that garbage. Unless you want to wait on his hands in a skimpy outfit and- You cough, "Off-topic."

This will absolutely turn into flirting oftentimes. He asks specifically you never do this except when the two of you are alone for image-purposes. He'll gladly take some off your hands when he can make goo-goo eyes at you with no one else around, though. oh, he might need more. And yes, you should definitely help him with that-

Mad Hatter

He already has the softest hands. It's because despite all the work he does with clothing, drugs or machinery, he's always wearing some kind gloves. Protection of hands is key, after all. He can be messy or chaotic in every other sense, but he takes this seriously.

He'll give you a silly lopsided smile and say, "Dearest, this will never soak in!" He'll be rubbing it in all over his arm and down his elbows if he has that much exposed. He won't waste a fine gesture as this!

Scarecrow

If you catch him when he's really working, he might not even notice at first when you take one of his hands to rub the excess lotion on him. A lot of "hm? Yes, mm-hm-" Then his brows furrowing as he processes the tactile signals in his brain. He looks over and scrunches his nose when he realizes before rubbing it in. Then he's asking if you think you're quite cute.

Otherwise you don't get much of a reaction. He just takes the lotion, rubs it in and has this tiny amused sort of smile on his face.

Victor Zsasz

Oh that's nice. How did you know he wanted lotion? Your skin is so smooth and soft... He clicks his tongue, your wrist now in his hand. rolling it over and around gently. He likes seeing it against the many marks over his skin. A blank canvas- The things he'd do if you let him.

If he's feeling a particular way he'll press his thumbs into your palms, working the muscle. Feeling it move under his finger while working in the lotion. The way those dark eyes bore into yours, its like he's trying to be under your skin.

Killer Croc

He always needs lotion, so this is perfect. If his skin gets too dry, the "scales" get pronounced and even itchy. Plus growing up in a black community it was ingrained in him early on to use lotion to avoid looking ashen.

His skin sucks it up like water to a sponge sometimes. This is not a man who practices self-care. Yeah, he's not outright reckless and he at least tries now but stuff like that tends to fall to the wayside. Lotion him up, baby!

Harley Quinn

She SEES you put too much on and she's already got her gloves off making grabby hands. Come here sugarpop and lay it on her!

The reason she's so willing is she ALSO will do this. When she was in a more "proper" state she'd simply rub it in over her neck or her elbows. Can't seem too clingy or touchy, right? No one likes that. Now it's just another way for her to to show her love! So... both of you will definitely have moisturized hands.

Poison Ivy

What is this? What are you- oh. It's a sweet gesture but... darling, what lotion is this? You bought it? Ivy sticks up her nose. With her sometimes odd anatomy she's very careful with what she slathers on her skin.

However, you just gave her the perfect excuse to give you homemade lotions. Being a former scientist, she knows her way around an emulsifier. Plus her knowledge in all natural ingredients...

It smells amazing and has zero grease. Also she says it doubles for wound care? The only thing is sometimes bees want to get a little too close. Now you two can share lotion, though.

Two-face

Harv likely makes some small quip about you thinking his hands are dry. What, his dry calluses scratching you up, doll? Harvey simply tsks as he rubs it in and thanks you. He does tend to forget to use anything when in the throes of plotting.

Yet it's Harv that seeks you out when he sees you using lotion. Are you going to use too much? There's almost an anticipatory anxiety to it. He caught on early that it was affectionate, so he wants to nurture that. Even if it's just in his small way of saying he loves you.

Still probably gives you shit about it, though.

Black Mask

No, what is that- Let him see the bottle. He's very paranoid about things put on his skin because of his backstory. Granted, the disfigurement of hundreds of women due to faulty product put out by Janus Cosmetics was his fault, it did make him wary of the horrific things a cream can do to you.

Now that he knows this wasn't an attempt on his life (trust issues, much?), he's more accepting of the gesture. He doesn't "get" it but he'll allow it. Sure, sure, he's on a call. You can rub it in on his hand for him, sweetheart.

Mr. Freeze

....This will not work. Most of the time he's wearing gloves so he can't really just take lotion from you. Here, let his mask fall and you can rub in some excess on his face.

If you do this, your fingers are going to stick for a moment on his icy skin. He feels the burn but... it's alright if it's you. He'll take the sting for a taste of your affections.

The rare moments he's out of his suit, though, he'll gladly take some off of your warm hands. Feel you massage it in over his bony ones. It's so intimate. Because of his... condition... he can't allow himself to crave touch the way a "normal" person would. But he can allow these small indulgences.

Ra's al-Ghul

Oh. What a polite gesture. He was rather confused by it at first, unused to this particular love-language. It's not exactly something most people would feel comfortable doing to him. Or something he'd even allow.

What kind of lotions, do you like, love? He could get you the richest concoctions on Earth, if you wished. He is already getting used to the two of you sharing moments like these...

Bane

What are you doing? He kind of just stands there holding his hands out while you give him the excess. No one has ever done this to him before so the gesture is rather lost on him. For all his intellect and knowledge, he knows not the softness of sharing lotion with a loved one.

When you try to explain it, he breaks into a gentle smile. He sees now. Thank you for giving him this. He still has a lot to learn of a world and people who love him. Such an innocent, small thing that means so much.

#foxwriting #rogues party #riddler #mad hatter #scarecrow #penguin #victor zsasz #killer croc #harley quinn #poison ivy #two-face #black mask #mr. freeze #ra's al ghul #bane

[mischiefmanaged71]

Let’s Fall In Love For The Night - (9/10)

Summary: Being the eldest daughter of a Duke and Duchess means that Lady Y/N has been prepared for society; to fulfil her duties as the next heir to her family name and estate. However, she dreams of so much more than that, particularly, finding someone she truly loves rather than a political match. Intrigue sparks an idea with the introduction of Tom Bennett, a soldier she meets on a Press tour - forming a new relationship that could either make or break her apart should things turn against her favour.

Pairing: Tom Bennett x fem! Reader

“Do you think you were too harsh on her?”

The Duke glanced at his wife, catching the stern look on her face as she studied him. The empty seat at the table remained as it had for the past three weeks. Y/N had become a shell of the person she previously was. They failed to recognise their daughter as she fell into a new routine. One teetering on self-destructive as she locked herself away. Meals were taken in her room, or at later hours when solitude was suitable. The woman waiting for her soldier to return from a devastating war. The consequences were direly affecting her resolve, forcing her into a fragile state. 

His face relaxed, regarding the empty chair with a solemn look. “I did what I thought was right.”

“But you see what this is doing to her?” her voice lowered, “It’s tearing her apart.” She watched as her husband’s resolve shrivelled with each word. “You know it as I do."

"Who are we to stop her from being happy?”

He met her eyes, “I am only trying to protect her. That’s all I want.”

“We can protect and support her at the same time. Can't we?"

“You know the ferocity of these people. What they’ll all do to her and this family if it gets out.”

“I rather think she would do fine on her own. We’ve raised her to be resilient and strong. We can’t hold onto her forever, Richard.” he’s left with that note.

***

Every day, she listened to the radio. 

And every day, she received nothing.

Although no news was oftentimes better than the inevitable letter many awaited.

The next morning, her younger brother managed to coax her to join them at breakfast. He had managed it with his softened gaze and a gentle smile. Her family missed her presence and so she sat there at the table quietly. The sun shone briefly that morning, the clouds drawing closer. The room was cast in a grey light, the clinking of cutlery and the radio filling her ears.

“News arrived yesterday of the survivors at Dunkirk. A confirmed list of the troops rescued on the shore was tallied this morning. British soldiers were rescued from several vessels, including the HMS Exeter-”

A knife twisted in her chest at the word. The fork clattered on the table as she listened patiently, the sound of chatter ceasing with it. 

“Recorded numbers are in the thousands... many were unaccounted for...stranded at Dunkirk.”

Many erratic thoughts rushed through her mind. It darted from worry to shock within a second at the image of him stranded and alone. Their promise was a far cry in the schemes of a war. Promises were easily broken in the scope where life and death were concerned. Breathing suddenly became difficult as the prospect of his body wrecked her.

Y/N’s breath grew shaky. She pushed her chair out, finding the eyes on her. Her mouth parted as she flickered back to the radio. The impulse stirred in her before she moved, departing from the room. 

The footsteps thundered behind her on the floorboards. Y/N heard her father call out her name, but ignored it. She swung her bedroom door open, grabbing her coat and keys.

Her mother’s concerned voice reached her through the haze. “Please, talk to us.”

A blank stare and glistening eyes reached her parents standing in her doorway. “What do you want me to say?”

Uncertainty brewed in their eyes as they stepped around the topic. “We’re worried about you, darling.” 

She withheld a scoff, nodding her head. “Of course.”

“Where are you going?” her father nodded, looking down at the keys in her hand.

“I have to know.” her voice shook.

“Have you thought about this? What are you going to do?” he asked her.

“I don’t need to consider anything. Did you not just hear what I did?” Y/N gasped out, her heart clambering in her throat. 

“He-”, she choked out, clenching her fists as her eyes fell shut. “-He could be dead. Just let me go. Please. I will never ask anything of you again.”

“Please.” her parents’ expressions softened at the pain in their daughter’s voice. The agony was evident in her face as she pleaded for respite. She watched her parents glance at each other, the Duke eventually nodding his head.

Y/N’s mouth formed a tight line as she withheld a sob. Her hands shook, holding onto the keys like a life line. 

“Go to him.” he said.

Surprise lit in her eyes at his words.

“I-I was...” her father paused, guilt written over his face. “I was wrong. I understand now-- the extent of your feelings. What I did...it was a matter of protecting you, in my mind. But to you...Darling, I will work to make this up to you every day if it means that I’ll have you in my life.” he gulped. “All I’ve wanted was to protect my children. Not to be the source of their pain. I hope that when this is all over, you will want to come back here. Despite my decisions.”

Her eyes shone with unfallen tears, finally meeting his gaze. “And you mean that?”

He bowed his head. “I do.”

A pair of arms tugged her into their chest before she could depart. She embraced her father, a second pair of arms caressing her waist. A heavy breath left her chest as she breathed out some of the built tension. 

“I-I have to go.” she released from the hug, wiping her eyes.

***

Anxiety wringed her stomach, her heart thundering in her chest as she waited for an answer on their doorstep. She waited for relief to fill her once the door opened, but met with the devastation on Lois' face failed to settle those feelings.

“Please tell me he’s here.” her voice low.

Lois’ silence was enough of an answer and Y/N felt her knees grow weak. She hid her sob with a hand on her mouth, the woman pulling her inside. 

He wasn’t one of the list to arrive home. She almost broke down, if not for Lois’ support on her back, urging her to let it out.

“I-I only found out this morning. Do you think its possible he could be-”

The creaking floorboards caused the women to glance at the man’s presence.

“Who’s this?”

Y/N wiped her eyes, blinking between the father and daughter. She stood up straighter as the realisation hit her.

His eyes shone with recognition upon finally seeing the girl’s face. “Lois?” 

“Mr Bennett, I-uh.” she paused, glancing between the pair before she explained herself. The first meeting with his son. The second encounter and everything from there on, except the minor details of course. She recounted meeting Lois, justifying her knowing of their secret relationship and all that led up to the present.

“I assume you heard.” 

Thoughts of what if fill her mind as they all sit in the knowledge Tom Bennett might very well be dead. Y/N flickered between Lois and Douglas, recognising the remnants of Tom in them both. She stepped on her feet, cautious of her place in the room without him. 

“I apologise for coming here without notice. I-” she breathed, “I had to know. If you had heard anything else.” 

“We got the news yesterday with the listings. He wasn’t on it.”

That sent a bout of relief through her body, yet the question lied in when he would turn up. Or if he would. 

“If there’s anything I know about my boy is, he’ll come home.” Douglas stated firmly, “He’s as stubborn as they come.”

“He’s brave, too.” Y/N mustered, a sad smile on her face. 

The Bennetts were kind enough to offer to stay the night. Any news received would be directly to their household. Most of the night she failed to gain any rest, laying across the bed. The scent of smoke and something faintly resembling him filled her senses. 

“Aye, he is.”

It had initially sent a painful ache through her chest after weeks of being far away. The aching had turned to comfort as she nestled her face between the pillow and blanket, falling into a haze of sleep and restlessness over the night.

Two days had passed. She had phoned her parents that first morning of her plan to stay in Manchester. Her mother relayed her concerns and best wishes, understanding of the circumstances. She assured her daughter that her father was supportive nevertheless, much to her relief. 

The rustling of Lois leaving the room caused Y/N to open her eyes. She blinked away the sleep, turning her head to the door that remained ajar. The creaking of footsteps reached her ears, rustling before the sound of the front door opened. A muffled gasp and a shout sounded, her heart lurching in her chest. Y/N rustled for Lois’ gown, slipping into it as her thoughts were lost to her. 

Only instincts pushed her to the door as she slipped down the staircase, turning to the back door with a heavy chest and hope building at the thought of-

Him.

He looked tired and worn. She trailed his face, his wounds still healing with red scrapes along his cheekbone. His outfit was borrowed-- tattered; evidently from travelling all the way here. There was cause for concern with exhaustion in his eyes behind the smile he wore. Lois and Douglas had pulled away from the hug, allowing a full view of her standing in his line of sight.

“Tom.” she finally breathed. “You’re-”

TAGS

Y/N felt her throat close up, and a shuddery breath escaped her. He stepped toward her, meeting Y/N halfway as she fell into his arms. Tom held her tightly against his chest. The woman’s arms clutched around him tightly, afraid this was all a figment of her imagination. The feeling of his body against her was a tentative reminder.

“I’m here.” he whispered as she withheld sobs at the sight of him. The warmth of his touch. The beating of his heart beneath her ear was a comfort, pulling her back from that darkness that paced in her mind for days. “I’m right here with you.”

@pearlstiare @chainsawsangel @aemonds-sapphire @xcharlottemikaelsonx ​ @padfooteyes @batsyforyou @yentroucnagol @cl-0-vr @viviartsy @h3k3t @arcana-greenleaf @yummycastiel @lauraneedstochill @rntrsna @schniiipsel @caribbeangal @ccosmic-illusion @aemonds-wifey

#tom bennett #tom bennett x reader #world on fire #crown au #tom bennett x you #aemond #osferth #aemond x reader

[circus4apsycho8]

Umm hi can I request a morro/reader?.. thank you.

i love your writing btw 3>

𝚊/𝚗: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑!! 𝚒'𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘. 𝚒 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚘! 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘, 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚊 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚎, 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚘𝚌𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚜!

epiphany. | morro x reader

Life with one of Ninjago’s saviors led you to several situations that you never would have expected to encounter. From evil, talking snake warriors to robot soldiers...Ninjago has seen a lot. You’ve seen enough to know that the ninja manage to find both enemies and allies alike in nearly every nook and cranny of the city. You’ve witnessed your fair share of weird, and by this point, it had all become somewhat normal. 

You don’t particularly mind it, but oftentimes you find a small part of yourself craving that old sense of normalcy that you used to have – when it was just you and Morro while he had been training. Of course, you’re happy that he’s been doing so well, but the constant worry and stress has weighed on the two of you. With his missions came a sense of lingering fear that hovered over you, no matter how hard you tried to distract yourself. 

You know that Morro can get irritated at your constant doting, but you can’t help it. He bottled far too much up, and more than a few times you had caught him trying to hide an injury or repress a concern he held. After all the time that the two of you have shared together, he’s still scared to be vulnerable around you. 

And, if you’re being honest with yourself, you’re running out of ways to let him know that it’s okay for him to let his guard down around you. You’ve tried everything that you can think of – telling him, easing him into conversation, letting him have space... 

You sigh, entering your kitchen as you check the time on your phone. It’s almost time for him to be home. 

Anxiety pools in your stomach as you go about cleaning up the kitchen, thoughts darting between concerns. This can’t be healthy for the two of you. You need to find some way to fix it. 

But what could you do? Morro is going to be tired when he gets home. What could you do that wouldn’t be too overwhelming? 

As you finish up, an idea occurs to you. It’s not too over the top and would give the two of you a chance for some much-needed quality time. 

Your plan doesn’t take much preparing – just gathering the necessary items and moving them to the bathroom, deciding to wait on the water so that it won’t get cold. 

A few minutes later, you hear the door opening followed by the sound of Morro kicking his shoes off and shutting the door. Emerging from the bathroom quietly, you listen as Morro heaves an annoyed sigh as he drops his keys on the table. You elect to remain silent for a moment in an attempt to gauge his mood. 

You peek into the hallway to find your boyfriend there, hair disheveled and lacking its usual ponytail. His dark eyes are sunken, face blank as he sets his wallet next to his keys. Yeah, he must have had a rough day. 

“Hi, babe,” you coo cautiously, gently slipping your arms around his torso and pressing your cheek against his shoulder blade. 

“Hey,” he mumbles, placing one of his hands atop yours. 

“Rough day?” you inquire softly, slinking away slightly in case he needs a little bit of space. 

He nods, running his fingers through his hair. Something about his clouded stare makes you think that there’s more to it than a typical rough day. The fact that his hair is down leads you to the realization that he probably has a headache. 

“Go wait for me in the bathroom,” you say, deciding that you’ll bring him some painkillers. 

“Huh? Why?” he wonders. 

“You’ll see,” you reply, stepping into the kitchen so that you can fill a glass with water. “Now go.” 

He obliges with no argument, only adding to your suspicions as you snatch a few painkillers from a cabinet before making your way to the bathroom. 

You find Morro sitting on the edge of the tub quietly, staring at something in the distance. You enter, closing the door behind you. 

“Here, take these,” you say, dropping the pills in his hand and giving him the glass. 

He frowns, staring at them before looking up at you. “How did you know?” 

“You always have your hair down when you have a headache,” you state, smiling softly. 

He huffs in amusement before gulping them down. “Yeah. Guess so. Thanks.” 

“Of course,” you mumble, watching as he swallows and sets the glass on the sink counter. You smile softly, taking a moment to turn on the water. You wait for it to warm up before plugging the drain. 

“What are you doing?” he wonders. 

“I was thinking we could take a bath together,” you admit. “But, if you want to be alone, that’s okay too. Whatever you want to do, babe.” 

“Stay,” he grunts, sneaking his arms around your waist and pressing his face into your tummy. You giggle, running your hands through his hair. 

“Okay, I’ll stay,” you reply. “Come on, let’s get undressed.” 

Upon hearing this, he separates from you. You go to step away, but he catches your wrist. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

“Let me,” he replies, gently pushing your hands to the sides. Curiosity piqued, you remain quiet as you observe him. 

Morro’s gaze shifts to your shirt. You study him as he slips his hands underneath, pressing them against the skin of your stomach. It’s then you realize how cold his hands are. 

A few seconds later, they settle on your waist, but eventually they move to pull your shirt over your head, standing up as he does so. He lets the fabric flutter to the ground, forgotten. 

The cold air pierces the skin casing your torso, causing you to shudder. The warmth of Morro’s body easily sweeps the cold away, though – especially when his forehead comes to rest against yours. 

“I love you,” he mumbles, voice uncharacteristically quiet as he gazes at you. 

“I love you too,” you reply, bringing your hands to his neck. “Tell me if you need anything, okay? I’ll listen if you need me to, I’ll give you space...whatever you need.” 

He nods, hand slipping behind your neck so that he can pull you forward, allowing him to chastely kiss your forehead. You close your eyes in response, wondering what he’s thinking about to make him act like this. These past few minutes alone have made more progress than you have in the past few days. 

You watch as Morro separates from you slightly, taking a second to pull his shirt off. You immediately go to lay your head on his shoulder, fingers tracing over the scars littered across his skin. 

Morro seems to notice that the water is high enough, so he separates from you in order to turn the faucet off. You take the opportunity to undress fully, also putting all the dirty clothes in a pile for the time being. 

Morro undresses too, tossing the articles atop the pile. You take a moment to snatch something from the counter while he’s not looking. 

It’s an opaque, gray plastic bag. After tossing the bag, you hide its contents behind your back as you step in the tub. Morro follows you, eyeing your arms with a suspicious glance. 

“What do you have?” he wonders, staring at you playfully. 

“Nothing,” you chirp, smiling softly. “Here, let me wash your hair.” 

He seems to shrug the matter off as he sits down with his back towards you. You kneel, leaning over his shoulder so that you can drop the mystery item in front of him. 

“Really?” Morro grumbles, eyeing the rubber duck bobbing in the water in front of him. 

You giggle slightly as he picks it up, examining it. “Isn’t that cute?” 

“I guess,” he mumbles, studying it for a moment more before dropping it. The duck spins around for a second before steadying its momentum. 

You hum softly as you squeeze shampoo into your hands, lathering it. Morro remains silent as you scrub his hair, taking your time. You’d missed playing with his hair. Once you’re finished with the shampoo, you reach for the nearby plastic cup on the edge of the tub. After dipping it in the water to fill it up, you hold it over his head. 

“Close your eyes,” you warn, waiting a second before dumping it over. You repeat the process until the shampoo is out. 

As you prepare the conditioner, Morro begins speaking again: 

“Hey...I...I’m sorry,” he says quietly. 

“Why?” you wonder. “You haven't done anything wrong.” 

“But I’ve been distant...” 

“Nothing necessarily wrong with that from time to time. I know that you need time to think sometimes.” 

“But it was different. These last few weeks, I mean,” he corrects. “And...I think I’m finally ready to tell you why.” 

“Whenever you’re ready,” you encourage, interest piqued as you condition his hair. 

He’s silent for a split second before he begins: 

“Well...we had this mission a few weeks ago. Probably more like a month by now,” he notes. “And prior to that, Sensei kept droning on and on about how I needed to redirect my anger. And at first, I just thought he was...well, you know. Saying his old-timer wise stuff like he always does, so I never really thought much of it.” Morro stops, tensing slightly. “That is...until the mission.” 

You remain silent, rinsing his hair out again before he continues: 

“I didn’t really tell you what all happened, and why I just...didn’t come back for a few days,” he mumbles.  

You recall that week with a bitter frown, remembering how worried you’d been. 

“We were called to respond to a terrorist threat,” he notes. “And, during it, I got shot.” 

“Shot?!” you exclaim. “Wait...Morro. No...” 

“I did,” he says as he turns to you, gesturing towards a scar on his chest. Your expression completely drops as you notice a subtle but new scar. You eye it in disbelief, gently caressing it with your fingers. 

“You got fucking shot and didn’t tell me?!” 

Morro takes your hands in his, prompting you to eye him. There’s no sassy response, no attitude cutting back at you. Just his eyes asking for you to listen. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, anger creeping away. 

He shakes his head. “No. It’s okay. It didn’t hit anything major, somehow. So, Zane patched it up and told me to rest. That’s why I stayed at the monastery there. Part of that was because I didn’t want you to worry. But...there was something else. Something that I was confused about and had to work through. Something I had to get advice on. Something that I’m only now beginning to understand.” 

Morro’s grip on your hand tightens as he stares at you, continuing his explanation: “I saw my life flash before my eyes. I saw you – and that split second made me realize that I would lose everything I had. You. My friends, no matter how much they piss me off...everything. And I laid there, thinking about that same train of thought I had in the infirmary...just...picturing these different scenarios. What if I died before I could tell you what was wrong? What if I died and we were married? What if we decided to have kids, and then I died fighting? Just...all of these scenarios, and...it was so overwhelming, because I’ve never felt that kind of fear before. I never felt that fear before I met you.” 

He takes a moment to inhale. “So, I asked Sensei Wu about it – what, exactly, is that fear? Why is it just coming up now? And he told me that it was a side effect of being in love. Just that...horrifying feeling of potentially never being able to go back to the ones you love.” 

“Morro...” you trail off, unshed tears lining your eyes as you clutch onto his hand. All of this he was tormented with...and yet, you never suspected... 

“That made me realize what Sensei meant,” he mumbles. “I have to direct my anger into protecting you and making sure that I can come home. I love what I do, yes, but...I love you more. You’re my priority.” 

“Morro,” you whisper, going to hug him. He returns the embrace tightly as you bury your face in his neck. “I love you too. I love you so much. More than you could ever know.” 

The two of you stay like that for a while, bare skin sticking together as the two of you simply embrace. Soon enough, you loosen your death grip on him, pulling back so that you can press a kiss to his lips. 

After the two of you separate, you rest your forehead on his. His eyes are somewhat lidded as one his hands comes up to your cheeks. 

“Hey,” he says suddenly, causing you to look at him. “Marry me?” 

You can’t help but laugh, looping your arms around his neck as you nod. Ever the straightforward partner, he is. “Of course, jackass. Let’s do it.” 

With that, you’re kissing him again. This time, he pushes you so that you’re against the wall, your arms around his neck again. You can’t help but smile as you kiss him. 

“I have my mom’s ring that I’ll give you,” he notes, pressing another kiss to your temple. You curl up against his chest, linking one of your hands with his. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, closing your eyes momentarily. It’s finally happening – you're engaged to the man you want to spend the rest of your life with. “I can’t wait.” 

“Neither can I,” he admits. 

“Just...be careful, please,” you request, peering up at him. 

“I will. I won’t be as reckless as I used to be. I’ll make sure that I can come home.” 

“Thank you. That makes me feel a bit better.” 

“I feel better too,” he notes as the two of you sit up. “Okay, I’m getting cold. Let’s finish up, yeah?”

𝚊/𝚗: 𝚒 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍! 𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚓𝚊𝚐𝚘 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗; 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘!

#ninjagoxreader #ninjago x reader #morroxreader #morro x reader

[valorums]

GET TO KNOW THE MUN.

respond to the prompts out of character!

what made you pick up the current muse(s) you have? So uh … sweats nervously … bit of a funny story here. Shi’al Valorum first came to be in February of 2020, when I was in my final year of high school and playing the violin in the orchestra pit for the theatre department’s Phantom of the Opera production. A single thought of “okay but consider this … imagine a character who is a renowned opera star like Christine Daaè but in ✨space✨” led to me developing the basic elements of Shi’al’s prequel trilogy storyline, and over the next few years, she crystallized into more than just a Christine Daaè knockoff. Somehow, I’ve (or at least, I think that I’ve) managed to flesh her out into a multi-dimensional original character. But yeah — there’s Shi’al’s very embarrassing origins as what amounts to a Phantom of the Opera alternate universe. 😭

is there anything you don’t like to write? Naturally, the minute that I sit down to respond to this question, everything that I don’t like writing just vanishes from my head. Genres wise, the first that comes to mind are fandomless modern timeline threads and modern alternate universes in general. I do not mind writing my muses into fandoms with a modern setting such as Percy Jackson or Red, White, and Royal Blue — but I hail from the historical fiction writing community, so modern settings without fandom ties are difficult for me to invest in. I go to roleplay for escape into different worlds and exploration of intriguing themes, neither of which (in my opinion) modern timelines really allow. I am also not that fond of writing angst with no purpose or resolution as well as what I call its “cousin”, hurt with no comfort. If I put my characters through hell and back, it has to be for a specific narrative purpose; I cannot just torture them mercilessly with no intent of giving a reason for that torture, even if it is as simple as enabling another muse to rescue them later on. First meeting threads are also difficult for me to write — I prefer pre-establishing dynamics in our plotting conversations and then “filling in the blanks”, so to speak, of those dynamics by writing their key developmental moments out in threads.

is there anything you really enjoy writing? Absolutely! The first thing that comes to mind is threads which involve the hurt / comfort trope — I enjoy a perfect balance of angst and fluff, and the fluff oftentimes serves as the reward for putting my characters through the pain required by the angst. Threads like these allow me to explore the full emotional depth of my muses in a way that most other broad tropes cannot allow. Alternate timelines also come to mind as a possible answer to this question; yes, Star Wars is a tragedy that ultimately nothing could prevent, but I enjoy playing in the sandbox of this universe far too much to adhere to canon all the time. I LOVE straying from Shi’al’s established narrative to explore the various storylines I’ve created for her, such as her Force Sensitive universe and the fix-it timeline that I’m still in the process of developing where she becomes Chancellor like her father before her.

how do you come up with headcanons?  It’s difficult for me to pin down my exact process, but if I had to trace the sources of my headcanons — they’re either inspired by outside sources (movies, tv, music, books, things that I learn in my university classes), conversations with mutuals, or ideas I’ve gotten from ruminating on my own general vibes and emotions.

do you write in silence or do you play music? The easy answer to this question is both, but the more complex response is that I do everything in my power to avoid writing in silence. Writing my replies in a space wherein I can listen to music or the ambiance of surrounding dialogue (such as the classroom 🤭 or the university cafeteria) is crucial to my productivity, and it also stimulates my creativity. Sometimes, though, writing in silent spaces is unavoidable if the inspiration to do so strikes at a crappy time.

do you plan your replies or wing them? For me, it honestly depends on what precisely I’m replying to in the first place. I always go into “reply mode” with at least some idea of what I want to write, but my askbox meme replies tend to be more spontaneous than actual thread replies or starters.

do you enjoy shipping? Yes yes yes YES! A thousand times YES! As I stated in my rules and as multiple PSA’S I’ve reblogged indicate, I enjoy all forms of shipping, whether it is romantic or even platonic. No matter how long we’ve been interacting for, if you detect a possible ship between our muses, TELL ME! Chances are, I probably ship it already.

what’s your alias/name?  Callie.

age?  21 years old.

birthday?  May 16th.

favorite color?  Blue, Purple, Red.

favorite song?  Aw come on; you’re really making me pick? Anything listed on my character playlists is fair game and a valid answer for this question, but if I had to select one song … I’d say that my current answer would be Sarah Cothran’s Poor Marionette simply because of the fact that the Shi’al vibes it gives me are immaculate.

last movie you watched?  I watched the 2005 Pride and Prejudice on the plane ride back home from spring break!

last show you watched?  Bridgerton Season 2 Episode 2. I’m watching the entire franchise for the first time as part of a project in my Jane Austen seminar course about Austen adaptations because apparently it’s Austen fanfiction?? Before y’all ask I’m LOVING it so far!

last song you listened to?  Don’t Blame Me — Taylor Swift.

favorite food?  Uhh … pizza? Ice cream? Idk

favorite season?  Springtime.

do you have a tumblr best friend? This is honestly kinda sad, but I’m not sure. I have multiple mutuals who I think I’m really close to; however, I’m nervous to voice those thoughts out loud just in case they don’t feel the same way about me lololoool

TAGGED BY no one. I stole it from @prcspcr LOL and I’m going to tag a BUNCH of old and new mutuals across various fandoms because I am very curious about these prompts.

TAGGING @jaigalorad, @k4ssa, @alootus, @tapalslegacy, @sorehsu, @unwaivering, @pilothearted, @shexopt, @deficd, @reiignonme, @menaceborn, @nieithryn, @misfittcd, @debelltio, @strcngered, @oflightsbeam, @stars-written, @lostwcrlds, @shadowedlights, @spokewar, @vendettavalor, @frxncaise, @ncmad, @adversitybloomed, AND YOU.

#⠇ dashboard game ⠇ ━━━ the latest gossip in coruscant

[wygolvillage]

ok honestly that longass review of the tiktok ya novel got me thinking about Cliched Amnesiac Protagonists (yes this is a long nonsensical ramble about order of ecclesia again)- oftentimes amnesia as a plot device functions to hide information that the character would otherwise already know, but ooe doesn't actually do this. i find ooe's use of the amnesiac protagonist cliche to actually defy some of the conventions of the plot device tbh and it strikes me as more of a thematic choice

one example of amnesia as plot device is breath of the wild, of course, as being put in the shoes of competent champion link as an inexperienced player would feel dissonant and beg the question of why things in the world are getting re-exposited to him. so, in that case it serves to make him an audience surrogate, a blank slate to project your own feelings onto as you are just as unfamiliar as he is. i also think ooe does this to an extent- it's an explanation as to why the player gets the central combat mechanic tutorialized, why they have to get the history and function of ecclesia explained, etc... but shanoa being a blank slate is not meant to make her an audience surrogate. she's emotionless. she's missing what many players would find relatable and self-insertable. this aspect of her personality frequently comes into play in how she interacts with others, as she isn't a silent protagonist, unlike link. her views and thoughts are her own and are filtered through a lens that most video game players cannot insert upon. additionally, having the will of her superior, barlowe, imposed upon her, and her lack of agency, is a key thematic element in the plot. the player to her avatar? there's definitely an angle there, that shanoa can be read as a deconstruction of the blank slate surrogate protagonist- from before metatextual video games like undertale came into vogue and explored similar ideas about the nature of video games and their players. i don't think this reading was intended but i still think it holds water thematically

so, back to that point about agency. the main character of the shitty YA tiktok book has one similarity to shanoa, that the loss of her memories was a deliberate and manipulative act she did not agree to in service of a grander plan. in the case of thst protagonist its related to romance drama and what powers the character did or did not have, the plot's so muddled i can hardly remember which twist is which. in shanoa's case it's part of the horror- barlowe offered up her memories to make her a suitable sacrifice to dracula, which also helped him further sever the bond between shanoa and the defected ecclesia member albus, and emotionally manipulate her by restricting information, context and the ability to emotionally process what she's been asked to do. the player, too, is deprived of this context so it allows them to make assumptions based on the structure and cliche of other castlevania games- how many people assumed at first that albus was the jealous rival archetype to be saved from his own vice and possession, a lá richter or hugh or maxim, just based on how he's seemingly presented? it fascinates me honestly.

pre amnesia shanoa did not know what post amnesia shanoa eventually learns about the nature of the order. and isnt that kind of the final nail in the coffin? that barlowes methods had always been keeping her in the dark, that the ritual that made her "a blank slate" was only an extension of what he had already been doing since the start?

shanoa doesn't gain knowledge or do the right thing as a result of regaining her memories or emotions, thus revealing a Shocking Twist- her memories and emotions are only the "reward' at the end for a quest completed- she does this on her own by fighting for her own agency as soon as the shroud been lifted and she knows that she has to. it is not a regaining of her memories that untangle the mystery of the plot, or solve the conflict, or make her step up the stairs to dracula's throne room.

it's her.

sooooo yeah i don't think its as much of a lazy cliche or plot device in this specific case. its a vital part of The Narrative

#this is... an unstructured ramble

[this-guy-against-the-world]

Philosophical Questions

1. What is something you once believed in but no longer do? What changed your mind?

2. Is there anything people must do first in order to be worthy of love and happiness?

3. Should we always choose to be kind? If yes, why? If no, why not, and when is the time that we should not choose to be kind?

4. Do you believe that the end justifies the mean? that if the desired result is so good or important, any method even morally bad may be used to achieve it? Why or why not?

5. When is it wrong to love someone?

1. I used to believe that communication is the key for a healthy relationship but nope, communication without comprehension is like shooting targets with blank bullets.

2. We are all born worthy of love and happiness. No need to do anything "to be worthy" of it. The right kind of love will be given to the right person.

3. No, we shouldn't always choose to be kind. Ungrateful people who continuously receives kindness oftentimes becomes abusive and take it for granted.

4. No, that belief is twisted af. Good results can always be achieved by doing what is just. If on a quest of achieving something and you stumble upon a path that is not correct, it is not a matter of "there is no other way", it's just that you're taking the wrong side of the road.

5. When it is too much, to the point that it hurts them.

#Q&A

[samwpmarleau]

13+17!

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy?

If smut counts as subject matter, then that 😂 Otherwise ... idk, depending on the ship sometimes writing the getting-together or breaking-up part of it is difficult, whether for the ship I’m writing about or a relationship one of the characters is currently in.

Angst usually comes pretty easily for me. Certainly got my practice in when I was into Supernatural, during which time I wrote a lot of fic, because that show is chock-full of angst. Character studies dovetail with that as well. Obviously not any character, as some I have trouble finding a voice for, but the ones I do click with I really enjoy getting inside their heads. Oftentimes it also means I end up coming up with a bunch of new headcanons or timelines and stuff, which is fun!

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

Pretty much everything is currently making it in the text because I don’t have the whole thing done yet to where I can pare it down and take stuff out. For this particular one, it’s kind of either I get just a vibe/image or a specific scene that I am pretty set on (as egotistical as this probably sounds, I’m fond of the version I’ve written of their first I-love-yous 🥺) (and a rule-of-three thing I’m implementing).

In line with what I said in the previous answer, I did do up a mostly-headcanon timeline spreadsheet about key events in the relationship so I could keep things straight. I’m drawing a blank on anything groundbreaking, but if you have something specific in mind I probably have a headcanon for it lol.

———

send me a weird writer question

#ask meme #approxtwelveangrybees

[warrenfisker5]

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[myelocin]

Postcards From: Kanazawa | Tsukishima Kei

Synopsis: The fear that comes with love is the realization that it isn't always just light. Love, rediscovered as both the fear and the drive that depicts the push and pull of whether it's worth it to say "I do," if the unknown is what's to come beyond the vow. In which it's a week until the wedding, and the both of you return to Kanazawa--to day one--as strangers.

Characters: Tsukishima Kei

Genre/Tags: Engagement!AU, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Happy Ending | WC: 10,200+

A/N: this is a piece commed by @tsukishumai​ ;w; tq for trusting me w u and ur bb boi ily to the moon n back

playlist

commissions | ko-fi

The illusion of the soul is the false belief that love must always—always—be just light.

The truth is, it’s not. Love is many things. Primarily, love begins from desire. Then, that desire seeps into a drive that pushes you to keep wanting. Then finally, when it’s seeped in through the skin deep enough, love pools in the soul.

Love is bound to be raw at the very core. A desire. To say, “I want you,” and think it holds as much credibility as “I love you.”  To look at what you know is only the tendrils of something at the very most, and trick yourself into thinking that it’s enough. A beating heart—bloody red. The line just barely hanging in-between what’s selfish and selfless, before it ultimately sways and becomes selfish sometimes.

Sometimes, being right now, Tsukishima thinks.  

Sandwiched in-between you to the left, and Yamaguchi to his right, he finds his eyes flickering towards the clock a lot more often than he would have liked. Akaashi, who sat across from his seat on the table, was the first to catch on.  

He quirked a brow, presumably in question earlier, and mouthed the question if he was in a rush. Tsukishima’s never been known for having too many words, but because Akaashi pauses and insists to relieve his question with an answer, he shrugs, waving him off and mouthing back that he’s alright.  

“So,” Bokuto starts, his voice already slipping into somewhat of a slur. “How’s it feel to be the first to pop the question?”

You laugh, finding amusement in the man’s enthusiasm. Turning to Tsukishima, you sit and wait, expectant of a reaction.  

In response, he just shrugs, but a smile breaks through and redefines the nonchalance of his expression anyway. Raising the glass to his lips, he takes a quick sip before answering smugly, “It’s nice to finally settle down. You should try it sometimes.”

Bokuto waves him off, cheeks flushed and eyes already drooping from the inebriation. “Nah,” he slurs, shaking his head. The exaggeration warrants a quick laugh from Sugawara, who sits on the other side, nursing his own drink. Continuing, Bokuto huffs and takes a slight pause before he connects the last of what he says with, “—getting married is nice and all, but I don’t know, man,” he laughs. “Just feels like I’ll end up hitting a fucking blank space after I do or whatever. Not my vibe.”

Visibly, Tsukishima shifts a little, the smile on his face maintained but the lighthearted energy that earlier fueled it just slightly more drained now.  

From the corner of your eye, you notice it. Though, Akaashi’s the one who gives him a pointed stare, to which the former simply ignores.  

“But—“ Bokuto continues, as if trying to remedy the cracked part of the atmosphere that isn’t even visible in the first place—“If that’s your thing, then I’m obviously not going to judge you for that.”

Tsukishima responds by his silence. Bokuto, with his head still warped around the heavy state of his inebriation, doesn’t do so much other than sip a little more of his barely filled glass of beer, Tsukishima’s apathetic expression just a blur in his eyes now.  

“You seem happy, though,” Bokuto notes, then raises his glass towards you.

Blinking at being the sudden subject of his interest, you raise your own glass of water. The ice inside shifts, clinking against the sides of the glass, and slowly, Tsukishima watches. There’s familiarity in the way it moves down: trickling slow like the patience inside him that’s suddenly running by the clock. His palms just barely gripping the utensils, clammy. While his head, still whirs at Bokuto’s halfhearted words.  

It’s halfhearted, he reminds himself.

The thought of hitting a plateau after “I do,” in a way is terrifying.  

But he is happy, right?

The way his palms respond solely through tensing suddenly spikes the fear that maybe his ring will slip. So he looks at you, trying to find an anchor to keep the love he pushes to stay intertwined with his truth afloat as he responds, “Of course I am. I’m happy.”

You look back at him, eye to eye, though you find something waver just for a split second— wondering if there’s credibility in the saying that gold will always deliver truth.

-

The rest of the night flows easy.  

Almost naturally, he’s quick to wave off Bokuto’s invite for more drinks at the bar just down the street, tugging your interlaced hands towards the parking lot as soon as the group found its way to the exit.  

“You know he probably just wanted more company,” you laugh. Thirty minutes after making it back home, instead of jumping straight into the shower and getting ready for the night routine, you instead take out the suitcase and take your place, seated on the floor in the living room.  

“We needed to pack,” you hear him respond, his voice a little distant from the bedroom down the hall.  

You shrug. “Yeah, but we could have made time.”

“Sometimes we can’t just make things, if we don’t have any to make it with in the first place,” he sighs.

You chuckle. Perhaps it’s just one of those nights again. In the ten years you’ve known Tsukishima Kei, you found that he had a tendency to become a multitude of things.  

A stranger, at the start, because that’s where every connection begins. The neighbor who lived with his grandfather across the street from your childhood home. Kanazawa was a long way from Sendai, but before his parents had whisked him off to Miyagi some years later, he had been the friend that oftentimes spent his afternoons with you.  

Strawberry cake and tiny sips of boxed juice from the convenient store down the street, and not much conversation exchanged between the both of you. He’d tell you about the things on his grandfather’s old encyclopedia, and you’d listen with rapt attention, finding it nice how he seemed to carry a little bit of the stars the more his eyes gleamed. He just talked about dinosaurs, you remember. At ten, Tsukishima had always been a wonderer.  

Then he moved.  

From the friend who told you stories and shared his juice boxes with you under that tree, to the occasional email that would pop up on your phone, when you were in highschool and weaving your way in and out of pathways and dead-ends. Miyagi was a little like Kanazawa, he said. There was a lot of quiet in the two cities. His email would come once a week, then twice when you reckon he felt a little lonely.  

You’d reply with the same kind of enthusiasm as he had established, though you still couldn’t deny the fact that the notification with his name on it never failed to have you smiling—at least just a little bit. At fifteen, Tsukishima was far from a stranger, but he was also falling just a little short in making it to the halfway mark of being a friend too.  

The once-a-week emails were welcome, none the less. It stayed like that, until once a week turned into twice. Though most were just the customary how-are-yous and obligatory holiday greetings once the seasons came and went, one year it turned into emails about the little nothings.  

‘I had strawberry cake today,’ it once read. ‘The one we used to share tasted sweeter.’

‘I joined the volleyball team.’

‘Winter here is a little colder. I remember your puffy green jacket.’

‘I don’t know if you want to know…or if I should tell you...but our team won, and we’re going to nationals.’

Somehow, you were managed to be convinced by one of your friends that same week to travel with your own highschool’s volleyball team to assist in the preparation for nationals in Tokyo. It was just a coincidence, you used to reason. You were there, and so was he. There was a hundred other courts his team could have played at, and your priority was assisting your own team in what they needed.  

But still, you couldn’t help but wave back and cheer the loudest from your stands when he perfected the block and scored the winning point for the first set.

It was then, where you realized that perhaps Tsukishima Kei wouldn’t just be a stranger.  

Kanazawa to Miyagi, but somehow Tokyo became the in-between. Childhood friends to the sort-of friends from the other ends of the country sharing a few scattered memories in slices of strawberry shortcake and random dinosaur trivia from an old man’s outdated encyclopedia.  

He was the first to approach you after that match. A hand held out to shake, perhaps to commemorate the evident shift between strangers to friends—but it was nice.  

Because after that, friends turned into something more.  

Maybe Tokyo really was the middle ground. After you graduated and moved out of your respective cities, Tokyo became the third place of hello.  

Then things just slipped into place. He was here, and so were you. He had plans to stay, and you just signed the contract that bound you to the city for the next two and a half years. The apartment right down the hall from yours was recently vacated, and he was looking for a place to stay.  

His new work place, coincidentally enough, was just a stop away from the train station closest to your place.  

You had always doubted the presence of serendipity and everything that had to dictate with the celestial control of fate, but the ease that came with the relief of him signing the lease the very next week almost seemed to validate what had been just a farfetched something.  

From strangers, to friends, to lovers, then to this:

Ten years later, a ring on your finger, and an I do, bound to be said just a little over seven days from now.  

Tokyo was kind to the both of you. His mother’s close enough to visit on the weekends, while Kanazawa was just a shinkansen away from Tokyo station. A new apartment with enough space for two, plus maybe an extra, and a bakery right down the street with the best strawberry shortcake made fresh every day.  

The wedding’s just a week away. His grandfather, still living in Kanazawa was meant to travel with Akiteru to Tokyo last week, but because plans changed, the both of you were instead tasked with going there yourselves to travel with him. While Tsukishima hesitated, you didn’t. Yes was easy to say in a situation like this. Though your parents had moved to Tokyo some years ago, you were aware that his grandfather didn’t.  

The house across the street was still his, while the one you grew up in just now became a summer home your family would frequent to when Tokyo became too swarmed with tourists.  

You look at the half-filled contents of the suit case on the floor in front of you. The right side’s meant to hold your clothes, while the left was left bare for Tsukishima’s. You turn and look at him.  

“You can just grab the stuff you need me to bring for you and I’ll fold it in. We should probably catch the first train tomorrow if we wanna get there before sundown.”

What comes as a reply is only prolonged silence.  

You let what he started stay for a little, but because you had never been the type to be fond in gouging out answers from the blank spaces, you sigh, and break the impending silence before it could get a chance to even settle. “You’re quiet again, Kei.”

When he makes it to the living room, instead of coming back out with a stack of clothes, he stands by the wall with his hands in his pocket. His eyes shift from wall to wall, but skip over you.  

Knowing that you’ll just prompt another conversation again the more he keeps his silence, he sighs, swallowing the hesitation and clinging onto the bits of courage that floats by him in the moment. Grasping at the very tips of it, he forces the words out of his mouth. “Are you really coming with me?”

You raise a brow. “Back to Kanazawa? Of course. I’m from there too, you know. Plus I haven’t seen Grandpa in a while.”

He shifts his gaze to the side, thankful for the blur that came with forgetting to slip on his glasses. He’s always had a tendency to give in the moment he looks at you, so the vagueness in the blur was a welcome change. “It’s just for a week,” he mutters. “I think I’ll handle the trip just fine.”

“Plus,” he adds, the hike in the tone of his voice giving away his panic. “—I heard there was a problem with the florists? Maybe one of us needs to go in and fix it ourselves just in case.”  

In the ten years you’ve known him, you’ve always considered it a given that you’ve well perceived him by now. In front of you, he’s stammering. While Tsukishima has never been the face to poise and perfection—because at the end of the day he still is just a boy—you knew he only stammered when he was nervous.  

Perhaps trying to manipulate the situation through a wordless exchange was his way of doing so. In your head, you chuckle. Tsukishima Kei is many things, and is witty when it counts—but he could never be blunt when it came to the things he was unsure of.  

You try to gouge out his truth. Speaking straight to the point, you let him know that there’s no purpose in trying to skirt around. You turn to him, his sweater half folded on your lap. “You know I could have believed what you just said, but,” you pause, giving him a pointed look, “—you’re not even looking at me.”

“Is this about what Bokuto said earlier?”

The way he shifts his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly, confirms your suspicions that that it is about that, before he can muster up the courage to even say it. “Tell me,” you initiate. You’ve never been afraid to speak what needs to be said. “What’s got you so afraid?”

Once more, he hopes for the silence to speak for him. And like before—it doesn’t. Silence was never meant to fill in the blanks. What it did, rather, is add three seconds more on the clock that’s ticking regardless. Tsukishima bets on a timed clock to speak for him, and because you’ve never been the type to shrink at the presence of raw truth, you huff and poke into what obviously hits for him just a little deeper.  

“You’re afraid we’ll hit a blank space after we get married, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t look away, but little by little, his body language starts slipping bits and pieces of the truth you’ve already long sensed. “I think I just need to think this through.”

“What?” you scoff. “You planned to go to Kanazawa by yourself for a week to what? Soul search? To decide if you even wanna marry me?”

“I’m sor—“

“That’s what you’re not supposed to say,” you interrupt him. “You don’t say you’re sorry for how you’re feeling, because you’re allowed to feel it how it is, but shit, Kei,” you exhale, pausing to suck in a quick breath. “You couldn’t have just said this earlier?”

He looks away again, the guilt evident on his features. “You’re mad.”

“Do you blame me?”

This time, he turns to you. “No,” he murmurs. “I don’t, but I’m gonna be blunt here—“

“—first time—“

He gives you a pointed look, but in the moment, you don’t really have much in you to care too much.  

“I think I need space to clear my head.”

“Sounds like you’re contemplating on whether you wanna stay with me or not,” you respond. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.”

Tsukishima’s steady, this time. “Of course I wanna stay with you.”

“But,” you counter. “You aren’t sure if you want to marry me.”

He looks away. “What if—we hit a plateau after.”

“That’s still not an excuse to back out before we even try, Kei,” comes your reasoning.  

“You’re right,” he sighs. “It’s not.”

Then it’s you, who shrugs this time, giving in a little and throwing him what you hope he doesn’t see as a lifeline. There’s no comfort found in knowing that an out is a means of mercy when it comes to love. Why should there even be an out?

You settle for just cracking the door open instead. Though it was never locked, the fact that it remained close must have been understood differently by him.

“Let’s go back to Kanazawa separately, then,” you propose. The open suitcase in front of you still has the right half filled with his half folded clothes, so you reach in, taking it out one by one. “You stay with your grandfather and I’ll stay at my parent’s house.”

Tsukishima raises a concern. “He’ll wonder why we aren’t staying together.”

In response, you shrug. “Just make something up then.”

“Is this just a passive aggressive way to say you’re mad at me?”

You scoff. “When have I ever been passive aggressive, Kei? I’ve said shit as it is since day one.”  

He flinches, maybe because of what you said or the tone of the deliverance, but either way, you decide you can’t give much of a shit. It’s a given that you’re angry, but because being hurt just paves the path to silence more than lashing out, it’s not much of a surprise that you probably look deflated in front of him.  

“What I’m saying is,” you explain. “Let’s go back to Kanazawa as strangers. Do what you gotta do, however you’ve gotta do it to get your head sorted out, and then we’ll talk. I’m not dancing around in circles with you on this. Either we get married next week, or we don’t.”

He panics. “I don’t want to lose you—“

“You’re already talking like you’ve decided that you won’t be at the other end of that aisle, Kei.”

Words feel lacking all of a sudden, so you pause. The absence of the split second brevity has Tsukishima standing still, his breath held, throat dry.

But like always, clarity seems to weave its way through the cracks in the room and find you first. “Yes or no isn’t easy to decide between,” you finally mutter. Eyes to the half folded sweaters you meant to tuck into the other half of the suitcase, you realize that you’ll need to switch to a smaller trolley now because you won’t be needing this much space anyway. “I don’t know what I should tell you, because I don’t know that we’d be having a possible fallout a week before the wedding. But at the same time—I don’t want to say you’re despicable for feeling like that, Kei. It just—“

“—fucking sucks,” you sigh.  

“If you feel like you need a week to figure whatever this shit is, then okay,” you nod. “Okay. Let’s be strangers for a week and by the time we’re back in Tokyo, you give me a yes or no and be fucking blunt with it.”

-

Later that night when you turn your back against him and face the wall, his whisper breaks through the quiet. “Why are you still patient with me about this? You could have just left me.”

You shift, laying on your back and sighing to the makeshift glow in the dark stars stuck to the ceiling of your room. “Because I love you,” you sigh. “Loving someone just means you have to exhaust every other option before even thinking of throwing in the towel.”

He sleeps that night, feeling heavy.

-

He woke up later that morning, feeling the same too.  

In a sense, things admittedly started weird. You woke up before he did this time, when he usually would be the one trying to be quiet when he slipped out of bed. Even though early mornings had never been a thing for the both of you, there was still something unpleasant in waking up to an empty bed.

The sheets on your side were done, and your phone that usually would be pinging with email notifications by now wasn’t there.  

It’s odd, he thinks. While he agreed to be strangers for a week, the walk to the train station was the same. Silence was normal, but the five extra inches that added to the distance between the both of you wasn’t. You nodded his way when he pointed at the shinkansen’s direction, and wordlessly would hand him his usual brew when you stopped at the coffee shop just before going in.  

Seated beside you in the train, he tries to ignore the urge to poke you on the side and make conversation. Words have always come easy when it came to moments with you, he noticed.

Tsukishima’s aware that he’s always been dubbed as the kind of person who never preferred to say too much, and while that was true—to an extent—he realizes that there is some truth to the saying that silence kills.  

You’re seated beside him on the train, eyes to your phone, and earbuds in place. He resorts to just staring at you through his peripherals, caught in between wanting to satiate the want to talk to you by breaking the silence, or keeping it as is.  

This is where fear grips him a little tighter. The deal was, as you had pointed out just last night, that the both of you would move through the week pretending to be strangers again. You’d stay on your side of the street, while he stayed in his.  

It’s a given that his grandfather’s bound to ask about you, and so in the event that it does happen, you would just spend a few hours with them and pretend like everything was fine.  

You made it clear that you’d try to exhaust all the options before resorting to that, though. And it’s easy, he thinks, doing so. It doesn’t take much to fake a phone call from work or a last minute meeting with an old friend that wouldn’t be able to make it to the city for the supposed wedding.  

The lines were drawn, and the outline of what was to be expected in the next week was made clear.  

He thinks of what you said before you slept. Love, as that one drive that has you exhausting all your options before even thinking of quitting. It’s fair, he thinks. You’ve always been the rational thinker in the relationship.  

But then again, he doesn’t doubt your hurt either. A week was lengthy, he realizes, and to act as strangers again just a week before the wedding was a different kind of test when it came to your patience.  

Still, he owes you truth.

You’ve always told him to lay things bare, and even though what’s bare is ugly, because love always pushes to try—he stays, doing just that.  

Undoubtedly, this is a jump. There’s no question in the fact that the possibility of reaching the peak and coming face to face with a plateau scares him. But still, his thoughts counter, to face a drop that doesn’t guarantee a landing somehow terrifies him even more.

The sound of your phone vibrating snaps him out of his thoughts. Before you answer it, he snags a look of the name written on the screen—Akiteru’s.  

Tsukishima sighs, shooting you a cautious stare as you pick up the phone and turn to him.  

The tone of your voice is easy, though you look at him, unbothered. “Hey,” you answer. “Just got in the train, so Kei should be calling you in about three hours when we’re there.”

In comes a pause, before you chuckle a little. Unconsciously, Tsukishima scooches in, curious. But before he could get a chance to lean in too close, you pull away a little, looking at him curiously, an eyebrow raised. “I meant to tell you,” he hears you say, and as you look at him, he chooses to hold your stare.

“Kei and I will be staying separately for the week.”

Beside you, he shifts, fighting the urge to turn away and face forward.  

Assuming that your flinch afterwards was only a response to what he’s only certain is Akiteru’s sudden outburst, the prior nervousness of his stare shifts into concern. Understanding the are-you-okay that he mouths, you wave him off. “We’re fine,” you laugh. “I just miss staying at the house that’s all, and I’m pretty sure Kei wants to spend quality time with his grandfather.”

You stay silent after that, which truth be told, doesn’t exactly help with his nerves.  

“He’s right next to me,” you add. “We’re fine, I swear. Just wanna enjoy Kanazawa in different ways that’s all.”

-

To put it bluntly, the first day is awkward.  

His grandfather’s waiting from outside the gate the second you make it to that familiar street. Nothing much has changed, the two of you notice. The gate’s rusted a little by the edges, and the door’s still got the same chip on the left side he always said he’d take a look at.  

“Heard they were cutting down that tree,” his grandfather says, when it’s a little over three hours later and you’re all seated at a local restaurant for dinner. His old friend owned the place, he explained. Low lights, home cooked meals, and a family run business you vaguely remember your father talking about when you were young.  

Tsukishima pauses, eyebrows rising in question. “What do you mean that tree?”

“The one you used to run off to,” he laughs.  

Elbowing him, you nod towards his grandfather before pointing out, “We met by that tree, you know.”

His grandfather’s quick to responding, laughing at Tsukishima’s perplexed expression. “Seems like your grandfather’s memory is doing better these days than you, boy.”

You suppose that at the end of the day, it shouldn’t have been a big deal that he forgot. You’ve never been one to dwell too deep within the symbolic little nothings that’s bound to come with life. Rationally speaking, maybe you’re just a little miffed because of what he said the night before. And maybe that’s the reason why you’re taking this a little harsher than you would have on a normal day.  

But strangers, you remember. Strangers wouldn’t care if the other forgot.  

So with that, you shrug. You take another spoonful of the food in front of you and shift your body just slightly to the left—to which Tsukishima took noticed—and leaned forward. Without even saying much, his grandfather already has his attention on you, the smile on his face kind.

He’s always been kind, you remember. With a smile, you choose to keep the peace in the room at bay, willing yourself to ignore Tsukishima’s stare boring holes into the side of your head from beside you.  

“Now that I think about it, I don’t remember a lot of people stop by that tree,” you comment, as you take a step into nostalgia.  

His grandfather shrugs, absentmindedly nodding his head as he mulls over your word through a spoonful of broth. “It was in the middle of a residential area. Bound to get taken down if you ask me. People nowadays need a place to park.”

This time, you really feel his stare beside you almost intensify. Truth is, you can make sense of what you know he only fears. The point in life was to brave through the unfamiliar to establish a consistency in familiar grounds. To continuously rise from day one, only to hit the peak and possibly come face to face with a plateau instead of something greater than even the height of all highs—you admit that it’s terrifying.  

The plateau, that perhaps works sort of like that tree.  

It’s been there, so here it still is.  

You’ve both been at that tree—at the start—so here you both still are. Side by side back in Kanazawa, sharing a meal like I do, isn’t hanging on the line.

His grandfather’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. “You’re not wearing your ring.”

Tsukishima’s voice is quick to cut into the conversation, his voice smooth. “She just doesn’t wanna lose it.”  

You nod along to his lie, undecided with how to feel in regards to how smooth he seemed to have delivered his lie.  

“You know, now that I think about it, it’s good that they’re cutting down that tree.”

Tsukishima speaks his mind this time. “Last week, you said you were looking forward to coming back home so you could visit that tree again.”

You don’t look at him when you answer. “I know, but your grandfather has a point. When things change, what else can you do but get rid of it?”  

“Oh nothing’s changed,” he laughs across you. “Even before the two of you were born, people would always talk about how it’s just there when the space could have been used for parking.”

“Then why put off cutting it down this long?”

“Who knows,” he laughs. There’s an unfound wisdom in his eyes that read through your soul when he looks at you. “Maybe cutting down what people already see as a permanent fixture will do more harm than good in the long run.”

“Even if it doesn’t contribute anything?”

Tsukishima thinks of his fear, then of the plateau.  

Through the rim of the glass, he keeps a steady eye on his grandfather, breath held as the anticipation for his words begin to really settle.  

“People these days just see what’s the most obvious from the surface and consider it as the only fault then run with it. Maybe it’s not the tree,” he laughs. “Maybe it’s just the people. They want convenience so they cut off everything around them instead of adjusting to it.”

The food tastes bland in his mouth, suddenly.

“Goes to show how selfish people can get sometimes,” his grandfather finishes, as an afterthought. “A shame, really. That old tree’s done nothing but give people shade.”

-

At the end of the day, you really had to give his grandfather a lot more credit than what was due.  

The second and third day was awkward. Even though you tried to stay inside for most of your day, venturing outside and meeting up with old friends was inevitable. And really, you should have remembered that he often started his day with a couple laps walked around the block.  

On day two, he hinted that he could sense something was off. Tsukishima had been a lot more silent lately, he pointed out. First, as just a passing comment, then by the third time he’d bring it up and wouldn’t get too much of a response out of you, there came more emphasis to what he says.  

He passed by the tree every time you’d round the street too. It occurs to you that passing through it was a shortcut, and contradicted his prior statements to having a route that catered towards the long way home, but you chose to not comment much about it.  

The second day was curiosity, and you figured that you could live at least just a week with it.  

The third day, on the other hand, gave you a little more trouble than you had bargained for.  

You’re on your way home from an old friend’s house, and ironically enough, both Tsukishima and his grandfather are out by their front door, tending to the weeds of a garden that doesn’t even look remotely grown.  

Tsukishima’s the first to look at you.  

Stubborn, and frankly intent on upholding your end of the deal in staying strangers, you attempt to wave them off with a passing greeting as you look through your bag, feeling around for the keys to the gate.  

“You don’t have to think of an excuse,” you hear him say. “He’s back inside now. It’s just you and me here.”

It’s funny how ever since you’ve made it back to Kanazawa, he’s been the one to break the silence a lot more lately.  

You don’t turn. Strangers, you think. The deal was to pretend the other was a stranger.  

“Cam,” he calls out again, the desperation in his voice inching more and more out of its shell. “I’m really sorry.”

You turn around, the buried anger getting the best of you in the moment. “You know the more you say that, the more convinced I am that I should just give you back your ring right now and go back to Tokyo alone. You talk like the only thing you’re sure of is the fact that you won’t be marrying me next week, Kei.”

The moment you shift your gaze from the ground to his eyes, a part of you aches at the idea that you may have to bid farewell to gold. Swallowing down the mass of emotions you hope isn’t entirely just made of anger, you steady yourself and sigh.  

It hits you that it’s been a long day.  

“It’s just you and me here,” you repeat, slowly. There’s a flutter in your heart that tells you it’s still love that stares back when you look at him. “Then why do you feel so far away, Kei?”

-

He doesn’t sleep that night.  

Day three of being strangers, but he hasn’t had anything figured out. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but what only grew was the silence. The distance is really just a few feet away—across the street and through the leaves of that tree that your father would always say he’d get to.  

The light from your room is still turned on, though the curtains are drawn.

8PM and it’s early. 8PM, and on a usual day, you’d usually be seated beside him in your Tokyo apartment’s living room, mulling over the nothings that went on in your day.  

It’s nice to talk about the rest of the world as if all they’re meant to be is just a passing blur in the background, he thinks. He’s never been much for words, but you were.  

Then again, you had always been one for truth.  

Reality is, he knows he could always swallow his doubts, walk across the street, cover the distance, and apologize to you with an I’m sorry, that covers all that needs to be addressed in a standard apology. Life can be lived as easy as that. You swallow your own thoughts, adhere to what they say needs to be done in the way they tell you how to do so, and be done with it.  

But he knows you just as well as he knows himself.  

You’d call him a coward—and truth be told, he’ll think the same.  

Present wise—he does think he is a coward.

Tsukishima sighs, knowing that blinking at your closed curtain visible from his window won’t do much of a difference. Begrudgingly, he sits up, grabbing his glasses from the bedside table.  

The streets around the neighborhood are quiet this time of night. The perks about living away from the city was the silence, he thinks. As soon as he tugs on a sweater, he makes his way downstairs, carefully, so he doesn’t stir his grandfather he presumes is sleeping on the room across the hall.  

He exhales, relieved at the barely audible creak the door clicks to as soon as he shuts it and turns the lock from the outside. The keys, jingling in his pockets, is the only sound that rings in the quiet.  

It isn’t lonely, but it isn’t comfortable either.  

Kanazawa has always been a town he’s considered as a piece of constant that’s meant to drift inbetween.  

Neither like Tokyo or the towns by the outskirts of Okinawa, it stays as is. Twenty years ago, the crack on the sidewalk was there, and now, twenty years later, it remains.  

There’s comfort in recognizing constants, Tsukishima admits. The tree just down this road, the crack on the asphalt, and the fact that your room is still the second window to the left visible from his on the second floor.  

When he was younger, he remembers he often would stand under your window, caught in between wanting to knock on your door and ask permission from your parents if you could accompany him for the afternoon, or just wait around until you’d come down yourself.  

While he left a lot of things on chance, the conscious choice to stay rooted in the spot by your window remained constant.  

The gravel under his feet crackle everytime he’d take a step. The moon’s hazy behind the clouds tonight, he muses. While you’d wish for the stars, he found a temporary safety in the midnight clouds. A timelessness felt when it’s midnight, stays.  

Before he turns to the corner that would lead home, he stops midway—recognizing the tree from a good few meters away.  

There’s a sense of feeling an urgency to let something go, the more he stares at it. Nearing autumn, the colors start to change, and just like that, he’s reminded of the impermanence in life.  

As the earth eventually changes throughout the years, he fears that perhaps in love—it would too.

-

“You’re out late,” is the first thing Tsukishima hears as soon as he enters the room.  

From the genkan, he peers over the shelf, noticing the lights from the kitchen is what floods into the dim living room. Slipping on his house slippers and making his way around the corner, Tsukishima gets a feel of the warmth that’s radiating from the familiarity of the space.  

After his grandmother had passed, his grandfather stayed in Kanazawa. Though his mother often expressed her desire for him to move with the rest of the family in Tokyo, every time, he’d only wave them off and say that there’s too much rooted here for him to just up and leave.  

Walking into the kitchen, his grandfather’s the first to raise a mug his way and offer a smile. “I’d ask you if everything’s fine, but I think I’ll just wait around and see if you’re even willing to tell me.”

Tsukishima chuckles airily. “Sounds like you wanna ask anyway.”

He takes a slow sip. “Okay then,” he nods, smiling like he’s just struck a deal. “First question is—are you okay?”

In response, Tsukishima smiles, pulling the chair and taking the seat across his. He nods. “’Course I am.”

His grandfather’s eyes don’t leave him. “You’re not wearing the ring, and neither is Cam.”

Suddenly feeling like he’s caught in between a blocked exit and the spotlight, Tsukishima freezes, but wills himself not to look away. “Just needed some space, that’s all.”

“To think?”

He sighs. “To reconsider.”

“Ahh,” the older man sighs. “Cold feet. Pretty normal, if you ask me.”

He raises a brow in question. “It’s normal?”

“To be nervous, yeah,” his grandfather laughs. “But looks like it’s a different case for you.”

Tsukishima doesn’t respond, his eyes fixated towards a spot on the wall that feeds more into the blank space of his thoughts than anything more.  

“You’re afraid,” Tsukishima hears, and as soon as the retaliation he tries to string together at the very last minute don’t come—he realizes the core of all the chaos in his head is meant to be just like that—

Blank.

“What are you so afraid of, boy?”

In the silence, he lets the rawness of his truth slowly spill. “What if I hit a plateau after this?”  

His grandfather wastes no second in countering.  “How is it life if we just keep climbing? What’s the point in doing all that work if we never get rest?”

Tsukishima laughs. “You know, by that logic it can just go the other way around too.”

He settles in his seat, trying to appreciate the silence instead of looking for company in the noise, before he adds, “What if we decide we don’t love each other anymore?”  

“That’s not all there is to a plateau,” he laughs. “It’s a valid fear, but being afraid isn’t all there is after you marry someone.”

“Then what’s there?”

With a smile, his grandfather leans back, raises the mug to his lips, and relaxes—his eyes looking fondly at a faded photograph hung beside the wall clock. “Everyday,” he answers. “What’s there after I do is just everyday.”

Sensing that his grandfather means to say more, he chooses to retain his silence. Sighing softly, his grandfather keeps his smile steady as he continues to speak. “Everyday you wake up. You roll over in bed, you think about the checklist you do to consider a day done, then you come home, eat a meal, rest a little and start the whole day over the next day. Everyday’s like that.”

He shifts, leaning forward with his arms crossed supporting his weight on the table as he eyes his grandson with a smile. “Best part is, you can do all that with someone you love. Makes the boring part of the plateau a lot more bearable.”

“You wake up with them and complain about how boring the rest of your day will be, then come home and eat a meal with them. Wash the dishes, share the silence, and just go to bed knowing you’ll wake up with somebody.”

The smile on his face is honest, then he shrugs. “It’s nice, though. The plateau after you hit a certain point in life is just inevitable, Kei. You can either complain about life alone or complain about it with somebody. At least there will be two pairs of slippers by the genkan waiting for you everytime you come home. You’ll say you’ve made it home and someone will greet you. You’ll roll over in bed at 2am and someone will be there with you. The point of climbing in life is to get somewhere, not ascend past the norm.”

Tsukishima stays quiet, pondering over the truth in his grandfather’s words. “So life’s just meant to stay in the middle?” he asks, slowly coming into terms with his grandfather’s redefinition of the plateau.  “Life’s meant to find a consistency in everyday,” he corrects.

A few moments pass before he stands back up, pointing to the counter with a thermos. He knows it’s yours. The old one that your mother refused to throw away, because there’s a crack by the lid and a couple faded sailor moon stickers stuck by the side.  

“Look at that,” Tsukishima hears. He turns his head just in time to see the old man offer him a patient smile, the message in his eyes delivered without a hitch. “That old thing’s seen a couple of decades, but it still gets to you when you need it, right?”

It’s not so bad to have an old thing be your constant, right?

-

Twenty minutes after his grandfather climbs back to his room upstairs, Tsukishima’s seated on the side of the table beside the window. Peeking through the half-opened blinds, he can still see that the light from your room is still flicked on.  

Without mulling over the decision, he takes his phone out, scrolling through the contacts until he taps your name. A swipe without too much pressure, because even his thumb’s memorized where your name is by now. Kind of like muscle memory, he supposes.  

Bypassing the unannounced rules about what to do as the strangers you had claimed from the start of this week, it results to the lack of hesitation as he types a quick text and presses send without a thought that would counter it.  

I love you, it reads.  

From his spot in the kitchen, he leans back and smiles, pouring himself a cup of the tea he knows you brewed yourself on the nights where he can’t sleep.

The lights from your room stay on for a few more moments before it dims, but before the metaphoric silence could take root, the screen of his phone lights up.

Stop walking around at night. Drink the tea and try to get some sleep.

Exhaling almost in relief, it’s the slow beating of his heart that resettles him back into the love he’s known everyday.  

It’s not quite the end, but it isn’t exactly somewhere unpleasant either.

-

Two days before you’re meant to return to the city, instead of spending the day in your room—like you had initially planned—you somehow found yourself in the passenger seat of his grandfather’s old car, with a grocery list in hand.  

You sigh, understanding what his grandfather’s trying to do.  

As you look down, there’s nothing much written in the grocery list. He had complained about some back pain earlier, followed up by his insistent request of desperately needing his groceries done so when Akiteru was to arrive later on, dinner would be taken care of.

Beside you, with his hands on the wheel, Tsukishima sighs. “We could have just ordered in food for dinner. It’s just Akiteru coming,” he mumbles.  

Keeping your eyes to the window to your left, you shrug. “He likes making the ordinary special, I guess.”

Tsukishima stays silent after that, mentally thankful for the green light and the empty roads. The more stops, the longer silence would stay. And even after the sort of middle ground from the night before, he doesn’t know what to say to you.  

After making a quick turn, he pulls up into the parking lot and kills the engine. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he turns to you, with an expectant look. “You can just stay here if you don’t wanna go in with me,” he offers. “It’s a short list, I can be in and out in a bit.”

You wave him off, already slinging on your bag and opening the car door—the list on your hand. “It’s alright. I think I’m more familiar with this area than you are, so we can just meet back in the car in thirty minutes if that’s okay with you.”

“You don’t need me to come with you?” he raises a brow.

You shake your head no, but upkeep the smile on your face anyway as you exit the car and close the door.  

-

Something about what you say sticks with him, the more he thinks about it.

He can distinguish the hesitation laced each of your decisions. You look past him, but not exactly at him. You speak to him, but keep the conversations short. Though conversation was rare between the both of you this past week, the times that you did speak to him, your words often were clipped short.  

It’s your means of upkeeping your end of the deal, he realizes.  

You’ve always been one for communication, but then again, patience can only stretch so much.  

He respects your wish for distance and walks the opposite way from the grocery store, towards a building he doesn’t really known. It’s a gallery, he realizes. Three steps past the entrance, he notices that he’s one of the few that’s in the room.  

Traditional artwork line the wall, hung in frames that have rusted throughout time.  

Tsukishima stares, eyes drawn to the pieces of art he recognizes from the few scattered memories in his childhood that relate to his time in the city.

A fieldtrip, when he was seven. He remembers leaving the house upset over the yellow hat he had to wear, and the rain boots his teacher wouldn’t let him change out of. Unlike the present, rain was present that day. He stood beside you in line, and had to tilt his head up at the piece of art he always thought was the prettiest out of the bunch.  

And now, almost two decades later, he still thinks the same.  

He smiles at the memory, finding the comfort of returning to what’s familiar, pleasant.  

As if caught by an epiphany, and suddenly enveloped in a sense of a rediscovered home, here, within a room that’s familiar, he finds purpose in the permanence of love.

Love, that’s never meant to be stretched into the likeness of what the poets declare as the absolute form of love after “I do.”

Staring at the piece of art with the rusting frames, the strokes within the canvas still depict the same story. It still is beautiful.  

It’s doesn’t become more—but it stays as is.

And maybe that’s what his grandfather was trying to convey.

To fear a certain phase in love is something that comes and goes, but it often never stays. It can linger, but eventually, it too, fades.  

What stays is what’s rooted.  

Primarily, just you. Truly, just love.

That tree in that old street, these paintings on the walls, and the kind of serenity that washes over him at the thought of you.  

The fear in life comes in the form of thinking that beyond the peak lays a plateau. Beyond “I do,” what’s next to come is love, dwindling until “I don’t love you anymore,” is the only thing left to be said.  

It’s fear, that spoke to him the past few weeks, so this time, as he gives in, he listens to love.  

It’s quiet.

But through the smoke in the room, the message that’s meant to deliver truth comes in full clarity. Illuminated, it appears before him as it is. A painting that’s struck him as beautiful then and now, and the thought of you as the face that’s always been the first to greet him every morning for more than just a few years now.  

An old man stands not too far from him, hands clasped behind his back as he stares—with a smile on his face—at a similar painting on the wall. Sensing Tsukishima’s presence, he looks over and redirects the smile his way. “Been coming here for years, and looking at this still feels the same.”

Poking at the doubts, Tsukishima responds, “Are you afraid that it won’t get old?”

The gentleman laughs, though soft enough so it doesn’t echo too much in the halls. The joy lingers around Tsukishima, on the other hand. “To have something grow old with you isn’t a bad thing. Day one, this piece was beautiful, and now, almost forty years later, I look at it and think the same too.”

A beat of silence passes, but the man speaks once more.  

“My wife, when she was alive, showed me this piece. Maybe I look at this and still find it beautiful after all these years because I think of her, but I don’t think trying to focus on that matters much. The feeling’s the same, even if it grew old.”

Reciprocating the older man’s goodbye with a nod to the head, it’s then where he laughs, a little bit more of the truth unraveling as each moment comes and goes. Thinking of his words, he dwells on its meaning.  

Standing there, alone in the museum hall, the smoke clears, and he presents himself his words of blended truth and patience.  

Love is timeless, his thoughts say. The plateau after the peak is as possible as the drop, but life’s meant to be lived in the lows and in betweens as much as the highs. Time moves in waves, and perhaps love doesn’t always grow stagnant. It can be timeless, even though the frames rust. His hair will grey, and maybe you’ll stop linking your pinky with him beneath the sheets during the rainy season’s thunderstorms, but the root of love stays.  

Within the plateau, time will move, and you’ll both grow old, but the taste of the tea you’ll brew for him will remain the same.  

And thirty minutes later, when he makes it back to the parking lot with you waiting by the door, the love that steadies his beating heart will be the same too.  

Steady, present, and timeless.  

-

Eyeing the dashboard, you’re the first to break the silence. “Why’d you buy a postcard?”

Rolling into a stoplight, he eases on the brakes and shrugs. “Lived here for so long, and I don’t even own a postcard from here.”

“Me neither,” you blink.

A couple minutes pass, and the car’s rolling again, but he misses a turn. Assuming that he’s just not used to the usual route, you stay quiet—until about he pulls up to a familiar street.  

Parked to the side, through the windshield, you find yourself face to face with a familiar tree. “Kei.” He hums.  

The coming autumn has a few leaves beginning to change its colors, you notice. The summer hues, unbalanced, as bits of red begins to bleed through the green. “You were supposed to turn there, not here.”

He shifts the gear into park, then takes his hands off the wheel, leaning back. “I know.”

It’s quiet after that, but it isn’t all that unpleasant either.  

This is the part where the questions begin to poke at you, the what-ifs in love let out in the open as you voice a little bit of your vulnerability. And because the truth is daunting, you hope he understands you through the metaphors. “Do you really think they’ll cut it down?”

He doesn’t allow the silence to take more than a moment. “I think so,” he nods his head.

“It’ll be good though, I think,” you add, nodding your head.  

It’s quiet in the room even though the words of your truth coaxes the unhealed wound to resurface. As it comes into light, it doesn’t sting.  

Sitting shoulder to shoulder beside him in the car, the tree that witnessed the first hello stays rooted, and watches.  

He doesn’t turn to you as he speaks, but in a way, you feel as if a farewell was the finale that was meant to be delivered somehow. “It’s good,” he starts. “Letting go of something that needs to be let go of.”

-

Tokyo

-

Tsukishima’s the first to speak.  

“I’m not good with words,” he starts.  

There’s a hush in the crowd, so you stay with it, knowing you’ll only add to the silence should you choose to respond. It wasn’t your turn anyway, so you will yourself to be still and listen.  

“Hey Cam,” Tsukishima continues, choosing to begin his vow with a hello. “I think a lot about what love’s supposed to have meant, mean, or eventually mean in the long run. I thought too much about it to the point where it…” he trails off, blinking at the piece of paper before flicking his eyes up to you with a slight shrug. “—to the point where love began to scare me.”

For a brief moment, he closes his eyes, confident in the fact that when he opens them, he knows he’ll see the world in clarity this time. With the smoke cleared and the scattered pieces of all his doubts set in order, the words of his truth may not speak of the most tender poem of love—but within the lines lies his truth.

As he lays his truth on you, he holds a breath and lets it all go. “I wanna wash the dishes with you for the rest of my life,” he laughs, exhaling softly, his shoulders shaking a little. “Never occurred to me how much of a liar the downside of your thoughts are when you listen to everything that isn’t love,” he continues.  

Your shoulders relax, and even through the blur of the veil, you can tell his eyes are steadily watering.  

“I’m sorry,” he says, the microphone just barely picking up what he says. You nod your head anyway, wishing you were holding his hands instead of the bouquet. Reassurance comes in many forms, but you know he’s always been the type to receive it well through physical touch.  

A kiss on the cheek, your head on his shoulder, or your hands squeezing his. But the smile you give him suffices for now, you think.  

“I wanna wash the dishes with you for the rest of my life. I’ll wash, and you dry. Nothing much happens in our day usually, but nothing has to. I’ll listen to you talk about how shit the traffic is in the city, because I know you’ll listen to me talk about the same complaints I have from Monday to Friday anyway.”

You realize he’s written his vows in the back of a postcard—the one you saw on his dashboard a few days ago, from Kanazawa.  

He sniffles a little then looks up, laughing to himself at how emotional he’s getting. Allowing more than just truth to trickle out slow is a part of love too, he realizes, so with a soft laugh, he lets the tears be and speaks again. “What needed to be let go of was let go of,” he exhales, like he’s been holding his breath for this long.  

In a sense, maybe he has. Sometimes fear grips you tightly enough that it shifts your point of view from one thing to another. What’s love, becomes fear. Then what’s fear, becomes the smoke that buries the core of truth too deep within the haze.  

“I let go of the thought the thought that after marriage, if nothing great would come then that would be the end of love,” he breathes. “I stared at that tree and thought of Grandpa’s words again and again then wrote my apology and I love you on the back of a postcard that only had one a couple of blank lines at most.”

He waves it for you, then to the crowd, to see. The words, jumbled up together look almost incomprehensible written so closely together, but in a way, you have a feeling that he’s just speaking the rest of his truth as it comes in the moment.  

The truth in love, you realize, is that its truth comes, fully unraveled the moment the initial plan falls apart.  

He puts down the postcard, and just looks at you.  

“There’s a lot I don’t think I will ever understand when it comes to love, but maybe I’m here to just feel it and not try to decipher it.” He pauses, ignores the few tears that roll down, and shrugs his shoulders, admitting to himself that the truth in his love is the first thought that comes.

“Love doesn’t have to the greatest,” he tells you. “I just wanna wash dishes with you for the rest of my life and hear about how traffic was unbearable.”

You smile, and your assurance reaches him.  

“I think that counts as love too,” he finishes, the smile on his face tender.

-

As he leans in after I do, he murmurs a question in your ear that you’ve been expecting since the start.

You could have just left, he said. How did you deal with me and still choose to stay?

Your answer was said without a hint of hesitation. With a shrug, and an honest smile, you told him, “Because I love you.”

“I think we both had to let go of the thought that to love always means to have the biggest reasoning behind it. We do things for love, and because of love. That’s just how it is,” you shrugged.

Oddly enough, it’s in that same exact moment where he remembers Bokuto’s question from that dinner a week and some days ago.  

How does it feel? he recalls, and even though words have never found him first nor met him in the middle easy, he gathers what he can and just settles on the conclusion that it just feels like love.

Wherein love, is this.

An identical band on his and your finger, and the taste of I do pleasant on the tongue. I love you, as a truth that’s easy to fathom and healing to hold, and the fear of what comes next just a passing thought that goes as soon as it comes.  

Later that evening his grandfather sits him down and asks him what he really thinks about why people have been putting off cutting down that tree for a few decades now.  

With a laugh, the hesitation that often turns decisions is made clear to him. “You know I think that people would decide things and think they’re so solid on it before even being face to face with it. The second they get to that tree with a chainsaw, I promise you they changed their minds. You think you go there and cut off or let go of one thing, then realize you’re cutting off something else in the end. They go back to what’s been there and realize that it’s not the problem at all.”

Tsukishima sighs, and his grandfather watches, the smile on his face easy. It’s like watching some emerge from a smoked out room, he thinks. Clarity’s always been a blessing, and he’s glad his grandson’s finally found it.  

“Sometimes going back to the start is the one thing you need to be reminded that it’s worth it to keep going.”

“Sounds like you’re not talking about the tree,” his grandfather comments.  Looking at you, Tsukishima smiles. “You could say that too.”

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #hq fluff #hq angst #haikyuu angst #haikyuu x reader angst #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima kei scenarios #tsukishima kei imagines #tsukishima kei angst #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima #tsukishima kei #tsukki x reader #tsukki x you #hq x reader #hq scenarios #hq imagines

[wonlouvre]

pairing: doctor!wonwoo x lawyer!female oc genre: modern royalty, arranged marriage, fluff and future angst word count: 4.1k WARNINGS: orphanage, mentions of abandonment and lost of parents

author’s note: just a little filler chapter as we continue reading on the progress of their relationship! thank you so much for waiting! i hope you enjoy reading

six: hustle and bustle | masterlist

When Wonwoo went to college, he moved out from the Royal Residences and rented an apartment with Soonyoung and two other friends of different majors. That period of his life where he was swamped with school works and other official duties, had given him the smallest of chances to go home and sleep for more than two nights in the bedroom he had since he was a teen. From then on, he managed to handle most of his activities on his own. He was assigned a staff that would help him navigate through his busy lifestyle and that was about it.

Their Majesties were not bothered at all by their son’s independence although, oftentimes they felt terrible because of how busy they were, they lacked the time to spend with their only child.  

It was a challenge for the Royal Family to apply the definition of “family” in their own context, but in the end, they made it work. The kingdom was flourishing meanwhile the family is loved and supported more than ever. 

Their Majesties knew of their son’s wishes to marry his past girlfriend and they were more than ready to support him. But then again, he was young and when they heard their decision to go their separate ways, they were also there, ready as they will ever be, to support him. 

Wonwoo wasn’t impatient to find love again. Most especially when he landed a job at the Royal Hospital of the neighboring kingdom. If he was driven to excel as a student, he was more than driven to be the best that he can be when he worked full-time. 

Occasionally, your arrangement with him crosses his mind. He likes you. He really does. He likes how you message or call him. He likes how you smile and talk to him. He likes seeing you and having you around. And just recently, he likes holding and kissing you. 

He’s just worried that maybe because of this whole arranged marriage thing, the two of you are moving too fast. Or that maybe, this is just an infatuation that may vanish anytime soon. 

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking of such thoughts so early in the morning when you’re here with him but he can’t help it. 

Wonwoo was the first one to wake up and the sight of your back greeted him. An elated smile is drawn on his face when he remembers the night before. He still remembers the feel of your lips and breath against his. It makes him wonder if he’d get to feel them again today. He yawns and reaches his hand out to your back, gently running it against the t-shirt you borrowed from him. A low chuckle then escapes his lips as he tries to figure out how you even got on the edge of his bed when he clearly remembers how he locked you in his arms last night. 

After a moment of just listlessly playing with your hair and back, he finally scoots over and completely wraps his arm around your waist. He tugs you close to the middle because he’s sure one more movement in the wrong direction, you’re going to fall over. 

His action caused you to wake up. Wonwoo meets your bleary eyes and he’s immediately apologizing with a guilty grin. 

“Sorry. You can go back to sleep,” he says and fixes the hairs that’s covering your face. 

You sigh and close your eyes again before sinking further back on the pillow. “What time is it?”

“I don’t know either,” he answers sheepishly. “But, it’s early. Too early to leave the bed.”

You give him a look of disbelief before pulling yourself up, much to his dismay. A few stretches of your neck and arms helped get rid of your drowsiness. As you stand up to go to the bathroom, the Prince remains sprawled out on the bed with arms now behind his neck, just watching you fondly.

“Have you been awake all this time?” You ask while gathering your dress from the rack, contemplating if you should wear it again instead of being seen with the Prince’s clothes. “You looked like you’ve been creepily staring at me.”

Wonwoo scoffs at your remark and finally stands and follows to where you are. He finds you standing in front of the sink and fixing your hair. With crossed arms, he leans his broad shoulder against the doorframe. His mind goes blank again with thoughts filled by you only. 

“You didn’t deny it,” you say and pick up the toothbrush you used last night. “And you’re doing it again.”

Wonwoo snaps out of it and rolls his eyes. “I think you’re liking it though.”

You tried to fight against his claims but your mouth was muffled by the foam of the toothpaste. Wonwoo laughs at your struggle and walks towards the sink as well to mirror what you’re doing. Your playful glare was returned by Wonwoo with a wink. You fake a disgusted gag and the two of you just laugh altogether. 

Wonwoo’s concerns earlier were thrown out the window the moment his eyes saw your smile and ears heard your laughter. He’s confident on how his heart fluttered at the thought of sharing every morning like this with you. A few banters or bickering here and there but if it ends up with a warm hug and breathtaking kiss then he won’t complain. 

“I have to go back to my room,” you say as you wipe your face with a towel. “For real this time.”

Wonwoo pouts and holds your waist. “I told you it’s still early.”

“Wonwoo, it’s already seven thirty in the morning,” you tell him after giving the clock on the wall a quick glance. 

Wonwoo doesn’t relent and wraps his arms around you. “And? Don’t people sleep in while they’re on vacation?”

“Let’s just meet at breakfast,” you dodge his question and untangle his arms from your body, to which he protests against. “Wonwoo.”

He doesn’t let you go as you walk towards the door. You’re dragging a six foot tall baby giant and you don’t even know if you can actually reach the door at this rate. 

“Let go.”

“No.”

“Wonwoo, please—” 

“Aha!” The door suddenly opens and to your dread, it’s the Queen. “I knew I’d find you here!”

What ensued in the early hours of the morning is something you wish to not be spoken about as you and Wonwoo carried on with breakfast. The Prince still insists that he locked his door and you are a witness of that, in spite of getting lost in each other’s heated kisses last night. But then again, his mother is the Queen and it’s no question that she’d have keys to every single room of the Royal Residences. 

Plus, Her Majesty was more than pleased to see the two of you getting along so well that you even share a room and bed together. You apologized profusely at the breakfast table but all you remember is her dropping it by saying how welcome you are to stay at Wonwoo’s bedroom from now on and if you wish, she’ll have your luggage moved right this instant.

Wonwoo was embarrassed, but he doesn’t disagree with his mother’s suggestion. He knows she’s joking so he played along even though it earned him a painful pinching on his thigh under the table. 

His Majesty already left by seven sharp for his scheduled meeting with the cabinet members hence the absence at breakfast. 

After a hearty breakfast and relentless teasing, you and Wonwoo proceed with the agenda for the day. The Queen gave a short briefing on what the day has in store for the two of you. She regretfully informs you on how long and tiring it might get, but assured you that it will be only for today and afterwards the two of you can have the freedom to explore and do whatever you want for the coming days. 

You and Wonwoo have had similar busy days even before you got engaged so this is something you’re already used to. It’s just that this time it’s a different load because you’re doing it together as a couple. You must say it’s nerve wracking, but Wonwoo is here and he will be with you every step of the way. 

The Queen excused herself a little while later, leaving you and Wonwoo remained seated to wait for the staff to finish preparations for your departure. 

As you look around the pristine garden, Wonwoo catches you by surprise with a kiss on your shoulder. You could barely feel it from the button up you’re wearing, but let him be nonetheless. He leans his forehead on said shoulder and you do the same to the top of his head. 

“Still sleepy?” You ask and you can feel him nod. 

“I can already see myself falling asleep in the car.” 

You snort at his dramatics and lightly tap his cheek. 

Wonwoo then abruptly lifts his head up and juts his lips in a pout. “We should have slept in.”

“Her Majesty will not hesitate to wake us up,” you remind him while shaking your head and rolling your eyes.

“No she won’t!” He insists and holds your hand. “She’d think “poor babies, I should let them sleep.””

You let out an uncontrollable giggle. “That’s not how it works Wonwoo. For one, we’re literal adults in adult bodies and second, we can’t escape this whether we like it or not.”

Wonwoo couldn’t argue with you anymore so he opted to narrow his eyes at you instead. He attempted but Jeongyeon’s arrival cut him off. She happily announces that the car is already at the front and that you’re good to go. Wonwoo mumbles “we’ll talk about this later” to you when he stands up and takes your hand. 

You just nod your head to let the baby in him win. 

Timely enough, Wonwoo’s alma mater is celebrating its founding anniversary and they invited the “Royal Couple” - as they call the two of you these days - to say a few words of motivation to the student body, most especially those who are about to graduate. 

It was only supposed to be Wonwoo, but when the news of you joining the Prince for his homecoming spread, they didn’t think twice to invite you as well. You were more than okay to just let Wonwoo do his thing and watch from the sidelines or through a livestream, but you considered that it’s only right and polite to introduce yourself properly to your future husband’s people. 

So far, the people from yours and his have been very welcoming and supportive of your union. However, you can’t be complacent because a minor slip up by public figures like the two of you will not be tolerated by the people who have the potential to be cruel. 

The university’s biggest auditorium was booming and vibrating from the loud cheers and claps of every student and school official present when your arrival was announced. Men and women alike cheered specifically for their Prince and senior who returned the enthusiasm welcome with a strong wave and bright smile. 

You do the same beside him until you both reach the designated chairs near the stage. A bouquet of flowers was presented for you by some students to which you gladly accept. Wonwoo keeps your hand clasped with his, only letting go to shake hands with his previous professors. 

Shortly after, the crowd quiets down and the president of the university stands at the podium and officially opens the program. 

You’re nervous. That’s the least you can say out of all the emotions that’s running through you at the moment. You think you look awfully awkward and stiff with your posture and you’re afraid that this could be on the front page of every newspaper the next morning. Your appearance should be the least of your worries right now, but you can’t help but feel conscious.

Wonwoo must have noticed because he took hold of your hand that’s placed on the arm rest, giving it gentle squeezes and a quick kiss. This is him letting you know that he’s right here and that you’re okay. You didn’t even notice that you’ve been holding your breath all this time. You exhale and squeeze his hand back. It makes you wonder if he felt as nervous as you are now when he made similar appearances back at your kingdom. 

“Thank you, your Highness, for accepting our invitation,” the dean of the Medical and Health Sciences department, who took the microphone after the president’s opening, says and claps at your direction.

You and Wonwoo stand up to wave once again to the clapping crowd, their energy not dying anytime soon. 

Wonwoo is then invited to go up the stage to grace the students who have been waiting to hear his voice since the program started. He takes the microphone from the dean after he shakes his hand. 

“The last time I was here, I was about to graduate,” he starts and the expecting crowd listens. “I was younger and you know, really excited and relieved that school is finally over and I’m free!”

The students laugh and so do you. 

Wonwoo continues, “It didn’t cross my mind that I’ll be standing here again and be embraced by your kindness. I will make this short as I’m sure that you’d much rather prefer the festivities outside instead of being here,” he tries to humor and the students disagree with him. 

“The people first,” he emphasizes and points his forefinger up, “As someone who is delegated to do various activities responsibly, I do it not for my image or the cabinet or even my family. I do it because of the people, because of you,” he says and gestures his hand to them.

“Likewise, as a doctor, I do my job responsibly with the people I’m serving in mind. I do it for their well-being, safety and overall survival. That’s my purpose and I hope that as you have yours, you remember to be selfless because that’s what we need the most. I congratulate you in advance, for those who have only started and for those who are about to cross the finish line. Congratulations because I know and I believe that you’ll do well and even better. Just hang in there a little bit more and take breaks if you need to. I hope to see you around someday, wherever it may be.”

You don’t know if it’s your imagination playing tricks on you, but Wonwoo seems to be dashing and blinding as ever. The way he stood and spoke gracefully made him shine as if he’s the only light that’s being illuminated inside this auditorium. 

Wonwoo ends his speech with a sincere thank you and a polite bow. The crowd claps and cheers for him (for the nth time). The school officials went to the stage and gave him flowers as well, to his surprise, before proceeding to have their pictures taken to commemorate the event. 

You clap just like everyone else and watch Wonwoo with your smile never disappearing. It didn’t take long for the Prince to search for you and meet your eyes. With a wide smile, you give him two thumbs up. In response, he charmingly winks at you. 

You can’t believe you like this guy. 

I like him, you realized. 

You’re just realizing that now after doing almost everything with him. Holding hands, sharing kisses here and there, hugging each other’s warm bodies and even spending the night together. 

Yeah, I like him. 

Lunch had to be short because you have one more place to visit. Jeongyeon mentioned that the drive could last approximately forty minutes to an hour. If you want to get back to the residences before it gets too dark, you need to get moving. You just grabbed a honey bread, which was Wonwoo’s recommendation since it’s his favorite and it’s the kingdom’s famous delicacy. You accompanied it with a cup of tea meanwhile Wonwoo got himself a cup of coffee. 

The two of you ate your quick bites inside the moving vehicle and it was a stretch to not spill your beverages. The driver had to slow down every once in a while, but you and Wonwoo just giggled like some teenagers out on their first date. 

Twenty minutes in the drive, Wonwoo is already passed out with his head laid on your shoulder while his fingers are interlaced with yours. You’re not sure if Wonwoo is tired or if he’s just really a sleepyhead by how much he’s been sleeping since the two of you arrived. Well, it’s only your second day. But you clearly remember how he slept on your way here, then today on the way to the university and now to your next destination. 

Nonetheless, you let him be because this will last for two weeks only and after that, he’ll be back to his hospital duty schedule. And you won’t deny, he is definitely cute with his mouth ajar.

You have been to an orphanage several times before. Usually it’s with your parents as an official duty and other times, it’s just you. After witnessing various cases involving children at your internship at the Supreme Court, a purpose arose. 

Children in your kingdom, like in any other kingdom, are beyond valued and laws are enacted to emphasize that value. Any crime committed against children is corresponded by punishments, regardless of who and what you are. 

You haven’t handled a case firsthand and you hope to never do so.  

This visit is nothing new to you and Wonwoo. But the heartbreak each time you step foot at such a place is something you’ll never get used to.

The children of the orphanage were nothing but full of joy when you and Wonwoo stepped out of the car. Their smiles and waves were enough to put a smile on your faces and lift the heavy burden of today’s affairs. Some of the kids ran to the two of you and handed flowers and small trinkets as gifts. One of them proudly said that they made it during their arts and crafts classes. While the others agreed saying how they made it just for you. 

You and Wonwoo have your hearts swelling in adoration.

Hand in hand, you and Wonwoo followed the head caretaker as he toured you around. The facilities were of great condition, making it a healthy environment for the children as they play, study and grow. Right now, the orphanage only offers elementary education as there is only a small number of orphaned teenagers. But that doesn’t mean that they are taken care of any less. 

A lot of changes and improvements have been made as the kingdom made an effort to protect the welfare of children in the country. According to the caretaker, there has been a spike of abandoned children on the streets from the previous year and to say that they are alarmed is an understatement. Volunteers, mostly teachers from elementary schools, protested and appealed to the kingdom’s cabinet members to do something and accordingly enough, they did.

It was a gradual process and it still is. But to them slow is better than unmoving. 

After the program where the children presented a play of the turtle and the hare and the older brothers and sisters performed a dance number, you and Wonwoo were led by the caretaker to the gallery where photos that dated back to the establishment of the orphanage were displayed. 

The photos hold memories of past volunteers and children who used to live here. Some stories of the children before were saddening. They didn’t only lose their real parents, oftentimes they also lose the second chance of having one. Some do get adopted meanwhile some grow old here, considering the orphanage as their sole family. It was difficult and eventually, the orphanage faced trials that almost caused its closure. 

But the perseverance and sacrifices of the people here fought against those trials that helped the orphanage’s service to continue to this day.

“These are the children who got adopted this year,” the caretaker shows you a framed photo while the Prince spoke with the volunteer doctor about the health and wellness of the children. 

The kids in the photo donned innocent smiles as if they were smiling directly at you. You touch the glass of the frame and try to embed their faces on your mind just like how you did to those you have met today. 

You pray that they get to be happy forever. 

You don’t get to see the sunset as much. The sunrise, maybe. But sunsets are a rare sight for you because of how late you stay at your office every day. So when Wonwoo suggested to stop by the nearest beachside and watch as the sun sets, you didn’t hesitate to say yes. 

Wonwoo is the opposite. The sunset is closer to his heart because that’s usually the time where he catches a break. He’s go-to place to take in the majestic view is at the hospital’s rooftop. Sometimes Soonyoung accompanies him with dinner and sometimes he’s all by himself with a warm cup of coffee. 

It’s a bit cold as you walk barefoot on the sand. It’s a relief that you’re wearing the pants that Jeongyeon prepared for you among the other options. 

Wonwoo’s holding your one hand while you’re using the other to carry the heels you wore today. Security is lurking around as they give you the space and free time that you need. Today has been eventful but fun. And ending it with a peaceful walk on the beach only comforts you further. 

“You were cool today,” you speak up against the sound of the waves and bump your shoulder to his. “Earlier at the university.”

Wonwoo smirks, but hangs his head low. “I’m always cool.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever.”

After a few hundreds of steps, Wonwoo pulls you down to sit. He keeps his hands locked with yours as you take the last minutes of the ablaze color of the sky which is also reflected on the water. 

“What do you think of going to my family’s vacation home tomorrow?” He asks while smiling at you.

You pretend to think for a second. “I really can’t say no to that, can I?”

Wonwoo purses his lips. “No, not really.”

“Well then, I think it would be lovely,” you finally answer. 

Wonwoo took advantage of you facing him and stole a kiss from your lips. Your eyes widen with the fleeting contact while your cheeks burn in spite of the cold breeze coming from the ocean. The Prince laughs at your reaction and pulls you closer to him with his arms wrapped around your waist. 

“From my memory of last night, you kissed me first.”

You threw daggers at him with your glare and hit his arm. “You’re unbelievable.”

“What? You don’t want to kiss me anymore?” He acts hurt and clutches the middle of his chest. “I’m hurt, Princess.”

“I didn’t say that,” you mutter under your breath and Wonwoo grins in victory.

“You started it so you’re gonna have to keep your end of the deal,” he whispers as he snuggles his face to your neck. “You’re marrying me after all.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Wonwoo suddenly draws back and gazes into your eyes. 

“What?” You ask, confused.

“Kiss me.”

You push him away and stand up. “You know what, it’s getting cold. I want to go back to the car.”

“No!” Wonwoo holds onto your calf to prevent you from escaping. “You have to kiss me first!”

He seems to have forgotten that you’re not the only people enjoying the beach by how he’s acting and it’s starting to get embarrassing. He doesn’t seem to care as well because he remains persistent, hugging your leg and whining against it. 

“Okay, okay!” You appease him and secure your hand on his cheeks. “Just one and we’re leaving.”

Wonwoo promises with a nod and stands up. He wraps his arms around your waist again, hugging you close to his chest. You rest your hands on them and stand on your toes to finally reach his expecting lips. 

You give him a quick close-mouthed peck and that’s it. 

“You call that a kiss?” Wonwoo teases, tightly holding you because he’s not taking any chances of you escaping him again. 

“I’m starting to dislike you,” you say while pouting. 

“Not if I do this,” he refutes and pulls your chin up so that he can lean down to kiss you fully. 

Just like that, Wonwoo steals your breath again and you don’t even know anymore if it’s doing your heart good or not. 

You’re guessing it’s the former.

#seventeen #wonwoo #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen imagines #wonwoo imagines #seventeen scenario #wonwoo scenario #seventeen imagine #wonwoo imagine #seventeen fluff #wonwoo fluff #seventeen wonwoo #wonwoo seventeen #fic: ifliys

[student-by-day]

since we’re officially a few weeks into second semester and i’ve had to write another paper by now, i thought it was about time i shared some precious knowledge for the benefit of the greater good.

some basic things i can’t believe no one taught us:

wikipedia IS NOT EVIL. repeat after me. wikipedia IS NOT EVIL. just be smart about using it. (hear me out on this one.)

it can oftentimes be a great place to start because you can get a quick, simple summarization on the topic you’re trying to learn about.

make sure to check out the bibliography at the bottom---a lot of those sources are credible (which means you can cite them in your work!) and can provide further reading/context.

there are a lot of linked topics within the articles---read up on those too if they’re relevant (for a better overall understanding/extra background knowledge).

just don’t quote or paraphrase from wikipedia (the same goes for any other non-scholarly source) and cite it as a source in your paper---your teacher/prof may or not murder you, knowing this site can be edited by their four-year-old child lol.

put quotation marks around specific words (like names, dates, etc.) to narrow down your search results in case the ones that pop up first are irrelevant or too general.

narrow down domains by sticking site:.edu, site:.org, etc. to the end of a search instead of manually sifting through blogs and a bunch of “unusable” stuff.

explore the other advanced search options that don’t have shortcuts by googling something > settings > advanced search to narrow things down based on language, region, publication date, usage rights, etc.

use ctrl+f on articles to find the most relevant passage(s) if you read through the first paragraph and think “yea man this ain’t it” or if the page is super long/wordy. this will save you a lot of wasted time. 

figure out how to do a split screen and snap windows on your device! this is great for taking notes during a video/documentary or when manually retyping something that you can’t copy+paste while looking at the source for reference. it’s alt+[ or alt+] for chromebooks and windows key+left arrow key or windows key+right arrow key for windows pcs (google it if you have a mac---didn’t want to give out info i couldn’t test myself).

RECORD ALL (ALL) THE RELEVANT SOURCES YOU ENCOUNTER while you research. i don’t know how many times i’ve read a tidbit of information and didn’t think i’d use it later but then spent like an hour scrolling and clicking through my history to find the right site because it turned out i did need/want that piece of information later once i changed the direction i was going in. my method: pasting the link on a doc and writing a little reminder below it about what info it contains/what i would use it for.

if you’re extra lazy, use the docs.new shortcut to create a new google doc.

when citing, WAIT UNTIL YOU’RE DONE WRITING and then use a generator (fyi: i like easybib.com and hate the google docs add-on) to get the brunt of the work out of the way, edit any incorrect blanks, add to ones you have extra info for, and PROOFREAD THE FINAL CITATION while referencing the criteria of your standard (whether that’s chicago, apa, mla, or whatever) using owl.purdue.edu, as mistakes *do* happen, and you don’t wanna get docked points for something as simple as a citation.

remember you’ll have better results if you stop using a ton of filler words and punctation just to be grammatically correct---use fragments or list key words instead when you search things that are harder to find.

reword and reorder the words in your search in several ways. don’t give up right away if you can’t find things---you’ve gotta show some resilience.

read past the third result. please. i can’t stress this enough, considering how many people i know that don’t do this. you have to realize some things just take digging.

explore “related searches” that are suggested at the bottom. even if they’re not as specific as yours, they might pull up different/more results bc they’re common searches!

there are ways to get through paywalls. i’m *not* saying you should go find the loophole links on tumblr... i’m definitely not saying that *at all*.

#research #researching #research tips #research essay #research paper #research project #tips #essay #paper #project #resource #academia #student #studying #study #studyblr #study tip #study tips #reference #ref

[early2000smovieimagines]

Meeting and Dating Regina George

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- You technically don’t meet Regina, but she first talks to you one day after school while you’re walking to the bus stop.

- You see, you’re a part of the school yearbook; a photographer to be specific, and took photography class so you were fiddling with your camera while you were walking. You being a part of the yearbook was also initially the reason that she talked to you since Regina doesn’t give the time of day to people like you unless she wants something.

- So there you were, walking across the school yard when Regina fucking George called out to you.

- Now everybody knows who Regina is; which is why I said you didn’t technically meet, and Regina knows that they do, but she’s learned how to play people so she introduces herself. You shyly greet her back, wondering what she’s doing talking to you before she says “oh wow” and begins to ask about your camera.

- You don’t know enough about Regina at this point to realize that she’s playing you like a fiddle so you timidly talk to her for a while before your photography class comes up into conversation. She asks what you do in it and you mention the project you’ve just been assigned: having to pick one or a few subjects and photograph them for about half the year.

- She asks if you’ve chosen someone yet, you mention that you’ll probably choose one of your friends and she says an “oh” which has you hanging on to her next words.

“Well,” she says somewhat pointedly, “I was just thinking, I mean, you’ll have the rest of your life to photograph your friends, and I’m sure you do it all the time. So maybe you should pick a new subject?”

“If you wanted,” she says after you seem to be considering her words. “We’d be more than happy to help you out. You can come hang out with us and build up your portfolio.”

- You ask if she’s sure and she sweetly reassures you, writing down her number and telling you to think about it.

- Well bless your gay little heart, of course you say yes! You’re practically mesmerized by her! It’s just too bad that she only sees you as her own personal photographer ...at least at first.

- So you begin to hang out with the plastics, shocking everyone in your school whenever they actually give you the time of day. Though, of course, they have to give you a makeover and teach you the rules first.

- Everywhere you go, you bring your camera and snap some photos of them, oftentimes at their request. When you’re at school events working on the yearbook, Regina will call your name and you’ll obediently take some pictures of her/them wherever they are. Blinded by your growing crush on the mean girl, you don’t realize what’s happening, especially since she really seems to think of you as a friend.

- I mean, why would she tell guys with newfound interest in you to leave you alone or force you to hang out with her instead of your loser friends/boyfriend or call you up and tell you to sneak out and hang out with her.

- Truth be told, Regina George had taken an actually liking to you and perhaps it had started purely because of the attention you were getting from guys. Regina liked having what other couldnt and now that you were desired; and for other reasons, she wanted you.

- Things come to a head when Gretchen accidentally let slip exactly why Regina had made you their friend after the blonde upset her. The confession had come as a shock but at the same time, you felt dirty, like you’d known all along that it was too good to be true and this was just proving to you that it was.

- You were hurt, you were upset, you were ...angry. How dare she use you like that? Pretend to be your friend for some goddamn photos!

- You didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of blowing up on her, of letting her drop you from the group herself after you “overstepped your boundaries”, so, you ignored her. You didn’t answer her calls, avoided her at school, blatantly ignored her when she called after you. You gave her the silent treatment and it gave you a sick sense of victory.

- Regina hates being ignored and not having control of everything so you; someone she’s grown to have feelings for, just up and ignoring her like she was some common geek really pissed her off. God, you should have seen her after Gretchen admitted she’d told you; the blonde could have killed her.

- So now that the blonde knew what was wrong, she started working towards fixing the mess the “brunette bitch” had made. You obviously weren’t returning her calls nor letting her come near you at school, so she had to surprise you somewhere, somewhere you couldn’t get rid of her. The schools darkroom.

- No one was around there after school, well, no one besides you so when the blonde entered and shut the door behind her, tapping on your shoulder as music blared in your headphones, you nearly had a heart attack.

- Out of sheer shock and anger, you began to yell at her, hurling a few “what the hell is wrong with yous” and insults and explaining that you don’t want to see her. She remains blank faced before she tells you to shut up, successfully shocking you into silence.

- She told you that yes, initially she’d only talked to you for the photos but even then, she saw potential in you, she saw something she liked in you. She thought her interest in you was just some sort of jealousy thing but then she figured out that it was something more. When guys asked you out; well when they tried to, she felt the same way she felt when Aaron Samuels ignored her for some other girl.

- And then she asked if you would go out with her, well, she sort of demanded that you’d go out with her and for better or for worse, you said you would.

- For your first date, the two of you go to the mall together. You spend a few hours shopping around, getting coffees and talking like normal humans. It’s no surprise that you have a good time but you are surprised by how natural it feels to be with her.

- The two of you share your first kiss a few days later, after you’d gone to some party that she’d insisted you attend with her. Some guy had hit on you, causing her to subsequently pretend that she was tired of the place and wanted to go home. Once you were back in her car, she’d pulled you into a rough, obviously jealous kiss, leaving you grinning while she began to drive away.

- And thus, the queen of the plastics became your queen.

- Regina isn’t a huge fan of Pda unless she knows that someone in the vicinity has a crush on you. If there’s someone’s day she can ruin by doing it, then she’s all over you.

- You’ll usually keep your arm around her shoulder or have her arm around you.

- Blowing kisses.

- Just watch the lip gloss when she’s going to be in public, alright?

- Aggressive kisses and makeouts.

- She actually likes cuddling; particularly spooning, especially when she’s feeling upset. She’ll either hold you or let you hold her for hours, usually while watching television.

- You have your very own pair of fuzzy slippers for whenever you stay over at her house.

- Sunbathing on her balcony.

- Phonecalls before bed.

- Affectionate name calling and insults.

- Playful hitting and wrestling.

- Borrowing each other’s stuff: clothes, makeup, perfume, etc. She’ll occasionally buy you things just so she can steal them from you later.

- Small gifts.

- A surprising amount of compliments. You don’t expect Regina George to boost your self esteem up as much as she does but what can she say, she just loves everything about you.

- She likes hearing you rant, she finds it really amusing when you act all bitchy.

- Writing in the burn book, or at least being somewhat pressured into trying it; not purposefully. She just thinks that it’s cathartic so why wouldn’t you?

- Making fun of people together. She’s more mean spirited than you are but hey, you’re both being bitches, right?

- Expect her to make a few commands. She’s just used to having followers and puppy dogs for partners, don’t take it personally.

- Getting her to be nicer to her friends.

- Learning the rules of popularity.

- Getting matching jewelry.

- I’m sorry but you’re now her dress up doll and there’s no stopping it. She’ll do your makeup, buy your clothes, style your hair, whatever her little heart desires; and you’ll just have to let her.

- She actually sort of secretly likes punk/alternative music but you’re one of the few people that’s allowed to know. You bought her an Avril Lavigne cd this one time and she not so jokingly said that she’d go down on you for being so sweet.

- You’re dragged around a lot. You sort of just do whatever she wants, especially if you’re just hanging out rather than going on an actual date.

- Surrender the keys slut. Regina insists on driving no matter whose car you’re taking.

- Going shopping. She needs your advice before she can buy things.

- Holding her stuff for her. I’m sorry but your girlfriend acts like a princess.

- Getting coffees.

- Lunch dates.

- Going to parties together.

- Junk food binges.

- Having tons of photographs together. She has a good bunch of the more platonic looking ones; at least until she comes out, displayed around her room.

- Going to her sports games.

- Letting her rant to you before she has an aneurysm. You’ve certainly helped calm her down from some of her really bad tantrums.

- Hanging out with her little sister. Surprisingly enough, Regina actually really likes her and acts super cute when they’re together.

- She’s got a huge house and an aggressively supportive mom so if your parents are shitty, you’re always welcome to stay with them.

- Telling her how beautiful she is and trying to stop her from focusing on every little somewhat nonexistent flaw of hers.

- Reginas a very jealous girl. She hates seeing you with other people, particularly ones who she thinks are interested in you. She’ll ask what you’re doing talking to them and blatantly scare them away when she’s had enough.

- She’s definitely possessive of you; that’s just how she is.

- Don’t mess with mama bear. She’s sorta overprotective of you and gets offended in your honor. God forbid someone upsets you, or just accidentally bumps into you in the hallway, their life will be destroyed in a matter of minutes.

- The two of you probably fight a lot, sometimes merely bickering, other times having full on screaming matches. She’ll usually either act passive aggressive and pretend to not be bothered or be completely blunt and rude.

- You’ll usually give her the silent treatment and she’ll do the same to you, though she’ll snoop and secretly drive around to see what you’re doing without her. When she’s sick of not seeing you, she’ll give a reluctant apology and somehow always make you forgive her.

- Regina isn’t shy when it comes to saying she loves you, mainly because she usually says it playfully. Though, with that being said, she does always mean it when she says it.

- Perhaps the bus incident happens, perhaps it doesn’t. Nonetheless, the two of you are planning on sticking by each other’s sides; at least for a while.

#2000s movie headcanon #2000s movie headcanons #2000s movie imagine #early 2000s movie headcanon #mean girls headcanon #mean girls imagines #mean girls headcanons #mean girls imagine #Regina George imagines #Regina George headcanons #Regina George headcanon #Regina George imagine

[oh-my-gosh-its-j0sh]

It was a fanciful sight to see; the vast Great Stage was notable for its tranquil atmosphere, the scent of freshly-baked goods faintly resonating within the ancient oak walls. The inside of the auditorium in which people gathered was always tidy, its lavish red-velvet tapestry basking amongst the dimly lit aura of the crystal chandelier. According to many, it was delightfully comfortable, quaint, and picturesque; citizens of estates stating it was a quiet yet charming addition to the Last Resort Hotel.

To Wolfgeist, the room was a rather peaceful place; oftentimes, he could be seen sitting, immersed in an imaginary world of his own. Whether it be engaging in his beloved classical music, or simply having a cup of coffee, Amadeus would often abide by doing the same things time and time again. He would rely on instincts and schedules for comfort, which he didn't seem to mind at all. Yet, it would be the changes that would irritate him -- even the most subtle of imperfections would set him off.

"Luigi? Although I may find it hard to maintain a... 'professional' image with you, I would like... I would like to discuss something, and it best be kept secret. That is if you don't mind."

With an anxious nod, the man in green smiled, turning toward his friend while bound to the leather seat accompanying his piano. The spectral prodigy, having gently rested his elbow against its front, watched as the mustachioed plumber approached him. "You... don't understand. Do you?"

Luigi paused for a moment, saying nothing as he gazed at the pattern of ancient ivory scattered among the instrument's eighty-eight keys. Unsurprisingly, he remained as quiet as ever with the much larger, grandiose object sitting in front of him. There was a gentle, yet fearful look in his eyes; the man's heart rate accelerating as moments trickled by.

"Well?" Amadeus felt his throat tighten, having adjusted his tie while rhythmically tapping against the surface of his sacred comfort object. "Why must my thoughts plague me so?" he muttered, his lips curved to form a stifled grin. "I find it... rather amusing. Don't you think so?"

The pianist was never one for speaking his mind. Hypersensitivity and even the least bit of discomfort rarely mixed well, never mind his general lack of controlled temperament. Wolfgeist much preferred to be at ease, eating donuts while playing his soft musical symphonies. Yet, here he was, clinging desperately to every social skill he'd ever learned. While trying to find the courage to muster up what to say to his former enemy, the man was overwhelmed.

"Amadeus? A--Amadeus, where are you going?" Upon looking at his ghoulish acquaintance, Luigi just so happened to notice him levitate upward as if standing from his seat. With Wolfgeist’s gaze veering from left to right, his breathing shakily increased.

"I... I prefer..." The incorpreal’s tail curled tightly, his body trembling as a blank stare formed in his eyes. Feeling the urge to stuff his hands into the pockets of his suit, many fears subsided, having been replaced with immense irritation. "No, no, no, this can't be happening!"

"Wh--Wha? Hey... I--It's okay. Just take deep breaths, a--and maybe we could talk this out..." For a moment, Luigi could hear mumbles under harsh hissing breath, the ghost’s tail coiling around his bench.

The poltergeist stopped suddenly, shifting into a solid-state, then jerking and twisting to his audience of one. "Luigi, I spent so many years isolated in this very room! I feel so uncivilized, I... I--!" Having grown disgusted with how he was acting, Amadeus snarled, arching like a dog on its hackles -- a cobra primed to spit venom.

"What? Wh--What do you mean?" The mortal remained nearly motionless, having only slightly backed away. He looked at his so-called acquaintance and then cocked an eyebrow. "What -- What are you trying to say?"

The virtuoso's voice then fell, petering out, until just a low sigh where words once ran. "I... don't think I could tell you exactly how it started." The musical and elegant spirit grew quiet, turning toward the man whom he was reluctant to speak with; what if there was a slip of the tongue? What if he felt enraged and once more unleashed his anger? What if--?

"I... was never... well, fond of letting people get close like this in any way and no one’s ever stuck around for long." said the mauve-skinned specter, "Either death came knocking at the door all too soon, or perhaps I left myself in the dust. But maybe, just maybe, this could be different..."

Luigi watched, taking the time to listen to his explanation and the so-called attendee kept quiet although growing confused. Of course, Amadeus was never one to open up about anything at all let alone his past.

"I suppose you could consider this as inappropriate, but feelings have done me far more harm than good." the pianist stated, "It's just... I’ve been oh-so indecisive lately, it’s been strangely regular ever since... ever since..." Wolfgeist looked at his singular congregation as he cursed under his breath, stammering while having been caught up in his words.

"Ever since what?" Luigi asked.

"Oh, for Grambi's sake, what am I doing? Sometimes, I feel… as if I am flawed -- imperfect, rather..."

In a rise of frustration, the man shut his now tearful eyes and grew tense; Wolfgeist's fingertips were now clenched forcefully into the center of his palms, Luigi watching hesitantly as he couldn't help but wonder: how could he try to help comfort the person he once considered as an enemy? If anything, Amadeus seemed more distressed than angry and his living companion was bound to have recently noticed. "O--Oh! Erm… okay? I--?"

"These daunting tasks seem to just pile up on me, leaving me no choice but to... Oh, what in Jaydes' name am I, stupid?"

"What? H--Hey, don't say that!" Luigi faltered, having turned toward the distressed musician as he shamefully covered his face; at least that's what was thought to be happening, anyway. To both of them, it was rather strange -- the easily angered pianist of all people acting out and revealing his true feelings?

Of course, the living witness originally thought this was complete nonsense. However, during the passing of mere seconds, he took the time to examine Amadeus in terms of his expressiveness and vocal tones. "You're one the most -- er… Y--You're one of the smartest people I know!"

"... You're joking, right?" The maestro couldn't help but grow nervous, his non-existent heart pounding in the former cavity of his chest. "As you can see, I…”

Amadeus looked at Luigi, pausing for a moment and stating some form of utterance. “D--Don't look at me like that, you're making me nervous." Having averted his gaze away from the plumber, the deceased entity notably grew shaky, his voice trembling along with the rest of his spectral form. “Alright?”

Still, on the seat which he sat down upon, the musician shuddered, having held a tight grip upon his fingers, observing his surroundings with a nerve-wracked grin. Amadeus visibly shuddered, pushing out what meager breaths were thrusted out of him. No matter the circumstances, Wolfgeist tried his hardest to listen and hopefully cooperate.

"O--Oh! I--I’m sorry, I didn't mean to--”

Attempting to mask what rushing thoughts invaded his mind, the prodigy looked frightened, a sharp quick jab of pain emerging from him. “Ah! N… Not again,” Hearing his sudden remark, Luigi became worried as he gently placed a hand over top of his, lavender and translucent. “A--Ah! Luigi? If I may ask, what -- what are you doing?”

The man in green could see how bad Amadeus was flustering and looked worried for him, identifiable by the concerned expression spread across his face. Luigi quietly spoke and then looked at his companion, wondering what exactly was happening as he asked what was wrong.

"Hey… It’s gonna be alright. Okay?”

Amadeus’s breath skyrocketed along with his anxieties. As he looked around his supposedly serene environment, he couldn't help but dwell upon the fact that he was alone save for his former foe. Being surrounded with nothing but the prison cell of suppressed emotions was something the ghost loathed; he wanted to try and explain how he was feeling -- yet how would he be able to do so without sounding awkward?

"This… S--Something… What is this feeling? I--I’m afraid I don’t quite understand--”

"Shh… Listen to me, okay? Listen to my voice. You have nothing to worry about..”

"No… No, I just know it, I--I’m so confused, I… I feel so clueless. Such Ignorance! It’s so -- so incompetent, I--”

Amadeus groaned, mumbling loudly through gritted teeth as he looked at Luigi. Wolfgeist, now tearful, shook his head countlessly explaining how he wasn’t good enough while also declining the attempts being made. He knew that his friend wouldn't force him to do anything he didn't want to, yet Luigi wouldn’t want to see his partner feeling upset either.

"Hey, hey! Don’t--”

"Not… another word!” Amadeus shouted, “I do not wish to deal with these abhorrent messages any longer!”

"Hey! I told you to stop!”

This made the pianist freeze; never had he heard the man yell like this before, let alone raise his voice in general. Luigi stared at him; Wolfgeist’s eyes widened as he visibly jerked, placing a hand to cover his mouth.

"What in the Lost Levels?” he whispered. Spilling down his usually studious face now came an unsteady ectoplasm. “Luvbi, why must I be cursed with such indignity!”

It’s not that Amadeus wasn’t listening. He truthfully felt confused. What was he supposed to do? There was no right, nor wrong according to the situation. The musician winced, his hands immediately shooting toward his head. Feeling infuriated, he started sobbing, his jaw clenched in an attempt to muffle the screams. While trying his hardest to suppress himself from what would emerge, the prodigy slammed a fist onto his beloved instrument and produced a shrill, horrid sound.

A myriad of random keys were pressed, a shocked Luigi looking upon the scene while immediately scrambling up from his seat. Luigi gasped, rushing to Wolfgeist's aid while having seen him tug at his already-disheveled grey hair. “Amadeus! Amadeus, stop!” the man shouted. “You're going to hurt yourself!”

In truth, the wraith did feel pain, his slender body tensing up only to be released with each constant yank. Not only that, but the emotions which he was feeling were simply unbearable. Unexpectation, fear, distress, -- what else could he possibly have to endure? Luigi felt as though he was ashamed even though he did nothing wrong. Upon looking at Wolfgeist, studying his fractures for movements, the troubled bystander mentally took note of whatever was happening around him.

Like that of a neurological light switch, Amadeus’s character changed, his body exploding in ways he would be utterly ashamed of when he recovered.

His language had altered drastically. A person who wouldn’t even think about saying anything of a foul complexion was now screaming explicatives.

His nature changed, having shifted from kind and caring to aggressive and rather unpredictable.

His body, alongside his volume, had distorted itself from what was originally relaxed and calm to a now indignant and harbored state.

Amadeus didn’t deserve this -- did he? No one does. Luigi, although fearful of what may happen next, slowly made his way over toward the musician despite what all he saw. Things were thrown, punched, kicked, and broken. Though, he didn't seem to mind much.

All Luigi cared about was attempting to help out his friend -- even if the worst was yet to come. Despite feeling as though he couldn’t speak -- or vocalize at all, for that matter -- Luigi forcefully swallowed. Continuing what little steps were taken across the Great Stage, all intentions made were about finding a possible solution to this sinking hole of problems.

After what seemed like forever to the upset composer, Wolfgeist finally retreated into his world of familiarity: the very dressing room in which he stayed many years ago. Upon taking a quick gaze around the area, he sat quietly in his soft cushioned chair falling into a small decorative pillow as a result of exhaustion. Not only was his voice hoarse as a result of being strained; it seemed that he was also refusing to speak at all, if not every little.

Upon closing his eyes for a moment, there was a sudden knock at the door. Luigi could be heard wandering around the hallway, the shuffled echo of his footsteps noticeable to the frightened classicist.

Once hearing the soft communicative sound, Amadeus somehow mustered the courage to slowly lift his head, though still silent as he was being approached upon. Although dreading the thought of any reciprocal interaction, the tall and lanky spirit levitated his way over toward his private threshold; and to his surprise, there was a small handwritten note made just for him.

The confused Amadeus picked up the notably wrinkled sheet of paper, yellowed with age as he then gently revealed what was printed on the inside. Revealed to have been a small message on a former sheet of music, Wolfgeist grew a little curious having seen what it read:

Mio Amico,

I know you might be mad at me right now, though I would like to take the time to apologize if I did anything wrong. I didn’t mean to bother you, especially since you invited me over. I look forward to talking with you, and I am more than happy to try and help you out with anything if needed. Oh, and if you don’t mind, may I come in for just a moment? I have a little something for you that I think you would like! If you don’t want to talk with me after what happened, I understand and I hope that you feel better soon.

Gracie Mille!

~ Luigi

He was astonished, having taken the time to skim through Luigi’s note a few times to comprehend what he just saw. Upon looking at the piece of paper once more, Amadeus noticed a small additional section nearing the bottom.

P.S.

I forgot to mention that I brought a certain someone along with me! I hope you’re okay with a little extra company since a friend wanted to come along! I think he’d be just as excited to see you, too.

"Hmm?” Before he could finish reading the last few sentences, Amadeus couldn’t help but notice a familiar bark alongside Luigi’s voice coming from the other side. Albeit rather quickly, the musician floated over toward another one of his music sheets, this one blank and unfilled.

'I forgive you.’ Having written those simple three words, the musician’s mouth quirked and formed what looked to be a stifled smile. Having continued to write, he let his pen and ink do the work alongside his many thoughts.

You may enter if you wish. Although it may not seem like I express my emotions in a rather ‘acceptable’ manner, I truly appreciate your presence and would like to thank you for all that you have done thus far.

Musically yours,

~ A. Wolfgeist

After a series of deep breaths, Amadeus eventually opened the door, admittedly feeling a sense of both relief and slight pleasure from his work. He was much calmer than before, his breath now steady as he watched Luigi -- as well as Polterpup, who stayed right by his owner’s side. Although not quite sure of what to say, Wolfgeist offered a slight grin before handing Luigi the piece of paper which was written upon.

Soon enough, the mustachioed plumber’s pet had made himself comfortable in Amadeus’s lap, and the maestro was left to mull over what to do with the panting pup. Noticing the dog presenting his belly to him, Wolfgeist supposed he wouldn’t mind indulging with a few scratches. After all, Polterpup hadn’t attempted to lick or bother him a single time. Yet, the second he was about to touch that spectral fur...

"Surprise!” Luigi looked up, smiling brightly as he held a box of donuts in his hands. “I… I hope you like them! I ran into a friend of mine when I was out, and -- and I thought of you.”

"For me?”

"Yes, you, silly! Who else would I give them to?”

The conductor paused, having eyed the sweet treats for a moment, then turning toward his friend dressed in green. Admittedly feeling a bit distracted, he gently stroked a happy Polterpup while speaking -- stammering, in this case. “But -- But how? You didn’t have to… erm… s--steal them?”

"Steal them?” Luigi couldn't help but chuckle hearing what was asked. “Well, why would I do that?”

“...” Amadeus couldn't help but raise an eyebrow after hearing Luigi’s remark; he knew that Luigi was a gentle person with a good heart -- the man wouldn't dare to hurt anyone if he tried. Yet, there was something off about what he just mentioned. Polterpup watched, having lifted his head up and slightly tilted its direction.

"O--Oh! Is something wrong?” Luigi asked, Polterpup non-verbally implying the same.

The musician let out a soft chuckle, not saying much of anything to the so-called ghostbuster. He didn't know how to respond at all, let alone explain what he was thinking. The rather friendly ghost pooch accompanying the artist leaned into him, a crooked, toothy smile upon the canine���s face.

“... Luigi? I… Would you mind if I -- if I do something, if that's alright?”

As the ghost dog ambled his way over toward Wolfgeist, Polterpup maintained his eager grin, having quietly sat and lied down beside him. With the hound’s paws notably crossed, Amadeus couldn't help but smile.

"Hmm? Of course! I don't mind. What wou--”

Suddenly, the pianist hurled himself into Luigi’s arms, nearly knocking him head over heels given how much taller he was. “Th--Thank you,” Amadeus said, his voice trembling as he spoke. In that moment, Luigi had almost forgotten about how anxious Wolfgeist was and clasped him so tightly that they were nearly one person. “I… I hadn't felt this much joy in years.”

🖌️═══━━━─────✏️────━━━═══🖌️

Hello! As an afterthought to my story, I would like to thank my good friends for granting me inspiration. Alongside my own headcanons and ideas for characters, the work was loosely based upon personal experiences and is still considered a sort of comfort to read. As always, constructive criticism is encouraged and any discriminatory comments will be ignored.

#my writing #luigi's mansion 3 #amadeus wolfgeist #autistic headcanon

[pastelsandpining]

congrats on 200 followers!! my request: botw zelink with Selfless by the strokes :)

this turned out a tiny bit more of a Zelda piece than a Zelink piece but it's still there! I hope this is to your liking volt my beloved

Selfless

words: 1806

warnings: read with caution; grief, death mention, vague disassociation

Masterlist

------

It was quite the feeling, to be everything and nothing all at once. Zelda couldn’t recall what it was like to be physical. She couldn’t recall much more than the blank space she existed in, and the horrible sounds that encompassed it every time she was so painfully reminded of where she was. Only in those moments of remembrance, of realization, was she able to get glimpses of the land she’d given up so much for. So much of her kingdom had been lost: children, buildings, the very friends she swore to fight alongside. The Calamity claimed everything in its path and it devoured her, too. It was only fitting, fair, even that she should suffer in the void of existence with nothing but a demon and whispers of hatred as her companion.

Zelda was not in Hyrule, not really. Her body might’ve been, but she was elsewhere, using every bit of strength that she’d failed to have before, in the hopes that her one connection to her home would find his way back to her. But for a very long time, he lay buried deep inside a shrine on a hill. The only evidence he was there at all was the warm, very small, and very dormant ball settled in her chest, pulsating softly with every breath he took in his endless slumber.

It was like that for one hundred long, lonely years. The rhythm of his heart, slow but stable, was what kept her from losing touch completely. Goddess powers or not, corporeal or not, someone could only take so much of corruption, of malice, until it started to gnaw away at her peace of mind. It was a good thing that peace of mind was not an essential part of the sealing power, but she’d already lost everything. It would be too easy to lose herself as well... No, he would come, she just knew it, and she would live against the odds, for him.

So Zelda waited, ever patient, watching the land of Hyrule pass in bleary, half conscious moments. A flicker of a new birth here, a wave of grief there, a family settling down, a crack of lightning, a call of a bird, all things once insignificant—common. Now, it gave her the assurance that people were still fighting on, continuing to push forwards despite a devastating loss. They were still Hylia’s people, after all, and the Goddess herself put up many good fights.

The kingdom was as still as ever, as silent as the heavy night, when the hero finally stirred. It was nothing more than a twitch of the eyelids, a strengthening of a heartbeat, but she felt it like a fire burning through her chest, sending hope to the tips of her very fingers. He was alive, to what extent, she didn’t know. But she took that warmth and reached out with it, surfing across Hyrule until finally, at last, he came into focus.

“Link,” she called out, into the void of nothing. His eyelids fluttered. If she was corporeal, if she had any physicality at all, she would’ve sobbed. Instead, she tried his name again, begging in a whisper, “open your eyes.”

Whether he was truly hearing her, whether he recognized her voice or not, his eyes opened. They’d never looked more blue.

But she was not the only powerful being with the capability to sense an awakening. Calamity Ganon could feel it too, and for a moment, Zelda was fearful that it would get to him before she did. It would cry out, loud and obnoxious and horrible, and get into his head like the monstrous thing it was. She couldn’t let that happen, not again. Link did not deserve the horrid fate of facing him twice, though the cards had already been dealt. So she did all she could, instructing him from afar until he emerged at last from his grave. The light was brighter now. She could see him better, all of him, from the scarred skin to the shaky limbs and anxious stature. He was lovely, still.

Zelda wanted nothing more than to burst from her prison and accompany him on his journey. She wished to heal his mind and heart, tell him everything so that he was no longer in the dark, and warn him about the horrors he would face. She wanted to feel his arms again, hear his voice, hug him in those moments she knew so well: those moments when it all felt like too much. But sealing the Calamity, caging its physical form in the very midst of Hyrule Castle, a mere few meters away from where her father and mother’s thrones once sat, took a great deal of power. She could not watch him, protect him as much as she wanted to. She wouldn’t last forever, and so conserving was key. Zelda did not rush him, she did not plead or beg. It was his decision to make, it was his readiness to determine, and she’d already waited a century. What was a little more time?

She lended him something else instead, with every break he took to confront the Goddess. She gave what she had plenty of: strength. Every bit of drained power, every little increase in difficulty to contain the demon, was worth it to see him thrive. Link would come in his own time, and she would be ready for him when he did. Besides, she didn’t mind waiting. She enjoyed those moments when clarity hit, when she could see his progress from her spot in the realm of nothingness. A naturally gifted boy in many ways, but there was something so precious in the way he worked. In the years before, Zelda had come to understand him as this hard working and duty driven boy, but it was so much more intimate to see his efforts herself. Oftentimes, she felt it was something she shouldn’t have been seeing, but she was proud nonetheless. Link would always come to be the hero he was meant to be. Courageous, determined, selfless.

And when he stormed the castle, the warm pulse in her chest thundering in time with his the closer he came, she’d never seen him look so angry. Of course, he’d lost as much as she, if not more. He had every right to be angry. For one bitter but sweet, satisfying moment, she felt for the Calamity. It had its victory, and Link would not let it get another. He was vicious and cruel and precise, and it seemed now, he was returning all of what she’d lent him. Perhaps it was just his presence that made her feel stronger in the midst of the first break she’d gotten in decades. It took hardly any effort to restrain the beast to Hyrule Field, and she took great pleasure in decorating it with glowing targets for the hero to strike.

In a brilliant moment of intensity, Zelda could feel the world around her again. She could feel her body grow solid, the golden glow encasing her with a divine power her mortal vessel shouldn’t have been able to handle, and she faced the Calamity head on for a second time. With a strained cry, with the fury of a thousand lost souls, with the hunger for revenge for her friends, her father, her kingdom, her hero, the princess took her duty upon her shoulders and swallowed the darkness in the holy light of the Goddess. She willed her magic to carve into every crevice, tear it apart, cause it to feel the very pain it rained down upon Hyrule tenfold, but it would never be enough. The Beast was gone too soon. After a century of holding everything hostage, it was reduced to nothing. That was perhaps the worst part of it all. They would never be able to cause it the pain it had caused them, because it was not human. It was not a thing that could feel pain or regret. The only thing it knew was hatred, and for a moment, as Zelda collapsed to her knees and dug her fingers into the dirt, she worried if she was too similar.

She hated Calamity Ganon, hated all it had done and all it had taken from her, and she hated that she didn’t feel satisfied. She was angry, so incredibly angry, that it got to crawl back into its coffin until another ten thousand years had passed, but all of those lost to its claws could never return. She was angry that she couldn’t cause it the pain that it caused her, that it could take everything away from her and no amount of revenge could ease her pain.

She was shaking. She didn’t realize she was crying. But Link, ever the kind, patient, selfless man that he was, did not leave her stranded. His feet came into view, prompting her to lift her head and blink hard to clear her vision just enough to see him kneel before her. He extended his hands to her. They were trembling just as hard. Zelda slowly pulled her fingers free of the dirt, uncurling them just enough to hesitantly slip her hands into his.

Once upon a time, she couldn’t read his expression. A century later, on the battered ground of Hyrule Field, his eyes were misty and he looked like he would crumble at any point, but he looked relieved. She grasped his hands tighter, more desperate than before, and sobbed out a “thank you.”

His thumbs brushed against her, gentle as ever, and she had very little composure left. Her anger, her dissatisfaction in the truth that the Calamity would never truly die, dissipated like it had never been there at all. She found she didn’t care anymore, at least not in that moment, because she had something. She had hope, she had courage. She had Link, if he wanted her. It was an ache in her chest, nagging in her brain, and before she could think better of it, she whispered, “May I ask…do you really remember me?”

She didn’t want to know the answer. He was quiet for what felt like an eternity, and she wasn’t sure she had another to give. But then he answered, quieter than the wind but as sure as the sky, “yes.”

He tugged her hands, pulled her forwards into an embrace, and she clutched the back of his tunic with eager fingers. She could cry again, but she realized with a start that he was the one sobbing instead. Zelda held him tighter, buried her face in his hair, whispered into the wind that she was here, that they were okay, that it was over.

And when they finally lifted their heads, when Link smiled at her, she had no trouble believing it.

#zelink #botw zelink #requests #song fic requests #loz #botw #I don't know what else to tag #it's an ending they deserved #thanks Nintendo but I'll take it from here

[thoughts-on-bangtan]

Thank you for your informative posts. You both always do so well. I'd love to hear your thoughts about BTS carsharing. I don't personally agree, but some fans think of it as "absolute proof" that their ship is real or much more closer compared to others.

Admin 1: I’ll go first since, once again, I have less to say about this topic. I’ve been ARMY for years and up until perhaps halfway through 2020 when I noticed shippers using the “driving together” argument as irrefutable proof and holding onto it like their lives depend on it, I never paid any attention at all to which member shared a car with whom. Yes, I do know about that time vmin arrived at the airport together with Yeontan and that was super adorable, but did I think that was proof of vmin being real? No. That thought didn’t even cross my mind. And it still doesn’t.

Those cars are their company cars, meaning the ones they take during work. Those are not their private cars which they take during their private time. If they were, then I’d be inclined to discuss if two members always sharing a car might mean something (though even then not necessarily romance wise), but as long as they are company cars with a company driver and at least one manager present inside taking them from schedule to schedule, often times who goes with who being decided by their security team based on surely a plethora of factors we know nothing about, I couldn’t care less who drives with who because, in my opinion, it doesn’t mean anything in connection to ships, true relationships and how close any of the members are with each other, or (even less about possible) romances within the group.

And yes, I would say the same thing if vmin would always drive together. Or if namjin would.

My counter question, actually, would be if the same people who argue that “this proves my ship is real because they always drive together” would think the same thing if instead vmin always drove together? Or do these rules, as always, only apply to their ship exclusively? It wouldn’t be the first time their hypocrisy and double standards would be glaringly obvious within such arguments, which is why I find them rather pointless.

Admin 2: I’ll admit that I look around different sns since I like knowing things, not only about BTS but in general, even politics. I’ll also admit that I sometimes do what a true fan shouldn’t do and watch things from sources (never, ever sasa/engs) we shouldn’t pay attention to on YT (even though Admin 1 tells me I shouldn’t do it). Based on that I’ve noticed how oftentimes the maknaes will leave a building or place and be directed by their security team where they should go, instead of them deciding that they will share cars because of their own ideas or friendships. It seems like it oftentimes simply isn’t their choice to make, but their managers and security team. 

In previous years when we usually only saw them arrive at airports and award shows, the constellations of who drove with who were much different than they are now that BTS are “stuck” in Korea due to the pandemic. Often JK arrived at the airport with Hobi (or any of the other hyungs), while Jimin and Tae came together. Not always, since Jimin sometimes arrived with Namjoon, but often enough, and they’d sometimes even arrive late.

My opinion is that JK and Jimin nowadays drive together simply on the sole basis that they work closely together, they are the lead and main vocals after all and share dance parts with each other as well, and if people want to describe it as “them being closest together” then yes, I agree, but only when it comes to their work. Which is also why they drive a car together from schedule to schedule.

Let’s remember their pas de deux for Black Swan at MMA (which was magnificent). It’s the best kind of example for why they share a car since they simply have similar schedules. Just learning that pas de deux to be able to dance it so gracefully and beautifully on water no less, takes an enormous amount of time and practice.

Even from a more safety angle, it’s safer for those two to be in one car. Compared to the hyung line, the maknaes are far more “under threat” due to the sheer obsession some people have when it comes to these three and when obsession is involved, people can be unpredictable. By putting at least two out of three maknaes into the same car, their security team has it easier to keep a close eye on them and keep them safe.

Also seeing as Tae has been working on his mixtape for the better part of 2020, it makes complete sense that his schedule would be a little different than the others and by taking a car on his own, it gave him the flexibility of going to the BH building whenever he wanted to between other schedules and get in time for working on music without dragging along another member who’d want to do something else in that time, or have other obligations to attend to.

Often we see Jin and Yoongi in a car, or Yoongi and Hobi, and Namjoon being on his own or with Hobi, and none of that seems to be influenced by their personal bonds and relationships either, but rather their work related obligations and schedules.

We should keep in mind that BH isn’t a romance agency, but a company for idols, music and business, so BH doesn’t in that moment care about their personal feelings for each other, but simply goes by more business and schedule related reasonings. The only time in which I could believe that BH also follows some kind of agenda (and this is only my opinion, not fact) is when the members appear at some kind of event or place where they know people will see them exit their cars.

We don’t know anything about how any of the car sharing looks like on a daily basis, what their schedules are like, or even if the company cars pick them up at home or if the members meet up at the BH building and go from there. We simply don’t know. The only thing that is certain is that if they arrive at an award show already dressed accordingly, it’s only reasonable that they went from and will return to the agency to change back into their own clothes before going home.

JK likes driving his car, we know as much, so who’s to say that he doesn’t arrive at BH building in the morning leaving his car parked in the underground car park. Or if Yoongi or Jin or Hobi do the same thing. We also know that sometimes Namjoon used to take his bicycle to the BH building, or a time when Seokjin said he did the same and halfway there passed someone who greeted him though in the moment he had no idea who it was and later it turned out it was Yoongi on his bicycle returning from the BH building. As vminnies we should remember what Jimin said, that due to their differences in schedules Jimin and Tae weren’t even able to record any of Friends together, which is why they left those messages in the blank moment of the song behind for each other. Remember that vlive that Jimin and JK did making gimbap? On a weekend? Tae said he was at the BH building since the morning working on his music, which again shows how different their schedules on a day to day basis are.

When it comes to the “popular” opinion that’s being spread across all sns about “two members driving together must mean they are super close/are a couple”, I disagree with that. Sometimes when I look at those comments and the things they are implying, I actually kind of feel a little sorry for JK. It seems like those who push their agendas involving him don’t “allow” him any private life with his own thoughts and wants, but merely see him as this pawn that’s supposed to act just the way they want him to and as attachment for one or the other ship. They don’t “allow” him any time for himself, any time to recover and relax after a day of hard work, but just see him as part of their ship that always has to be together, that’s basically fused together at the hip and sees no other reason for anything they do other than being together (some even claiming that they do naughty things in the company cars on top of everything else). It’s almost like some don’t see him as his own person, which just is plain wrong.

Why doesn’t the same also apply to Jin and Yoongi, who oftentimes also share a car? Why do people accept and see it as obvious that Yoongi also needs some time on his own or to spend it with different members doing different things, or just being in his studio doing something for hours without anyone around? Why do people respect that and not immediately conclude that he’s “moved away” emotionally from the group like they so often imply with a certain maknae?

One observation I’d like to share, which shows that sharing a car doesn’t have to mean anything at all, would be the time after Bang Bang Con. The members left the building one after the other, and sure, JK and Jimin went together, after JK was directed toward the car Jimin was in by their security staff, but the interesting part is this: Jimin was the only member that left the building without a bag or purse or anything. Meanwhile Tae left with two, one of them looking like his own and the other like a bag that clearly belonged to Jimin. Both bags left with him. Or the time when they had their KBS interview where they arrived in one constellation yet left in a different one where Tae, Jimin, JK and Hobi shared a van even though they hadn’t done so upon arrival.

Both these instances, and many others, show us that their car sharing arrangements simply don’t mean a thing, in my opinion. 

If you’ve ever worked in a team or been part of a sport team or even a dance team, you know that you develop an entirely different level of closeness, especially as dancers where physical closeness is oftentimes key to certain choreographies and poses. But this closeness in conjunction to work is something entirely different from the type of closeness a couple has and can’t even be compared to it. Just look at figure skating pairs where the guys lift the girls into crazy poses while holding them by their butts or thighs and they have no issue with such closeness, which you might assume could mean they are also actual couples, but the thing is that most pair skaters are not. Most of them have other partners or marriages because that closeness to a romantic partner is entirely different from your skating partner, even if they are your closest friend.

Vmin don’t share cars, and yet at the end of the day Tae still texts Jimin that he’s too lazy to move and that instead Jimin should come sleep next to him.

#answered ask #answered ask by admin 1 #answered by admin 2 #a discussion on BTS sharing cars #bts