#now . like this isn’t a rarepair. New territory for me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spockandawe · 3 years

Text

I doubt this is something I’ll ever even try to write, because I rarely have the energy these days to devote my energy to a ‘lol but what if’ ship. But never say never, and I legit wrote the emilonni and tlj/sqq fics, after all, so I’m going to write this down and maybe, possibly, someday come back to it.

Now, hear me out

Wei Wuxian/Jin Zixun

Yes, yes, I know, but give me a second. It’s the sort of ship where I kind of want to do it just to see if it can be done, and where the idea of ‘textual support’ is kind of laughable, and it’s not like I’m smashing together two super-popular characters who just never happened to speak, and it’s the kind of ship where I think I could only shake one fic out of it before I was repeating myself, BUT.

First, a quote:

The person at the head of the group was Jin Zixun. He said, “Zixuan, is that Wei making trouble for you again?!”

Jin Zixuan said, “None of your business, don’t worry about it for now!” Seeing that Wei Wuxian grabbed Jiang Yanli and was about to take her away, he added, “Stop!”

Wei Wuxian said, “Oh, you want to fight? That’s fine with me!”

Jin Zixun said, “You Wei, just what do you mean by going against Zixuan so many times?”

Wei Wuxian looked at him. “Who are you?”

Jin Zixun paused in shock, and fumed, “You don’t know who I am?!”

“Why should I know who you are?”

When the Sunshot Campaign had first broken out, Jin Zixun had insisted on defending the back lines, due to an injury. He hadn’t had the chance to see what Wei Wuxian was like on the front lines, and most of his knowledge had come from rumors. He hadn’t care much for him, thinking that the rumors were simply exaggerations. However, a while ago, Wei Wuxian had summoned all of the dark creatures in the forest with a whistle, calling away the fierce corpses Jin Zixun’s group had been about to capture, causing their efforts to be wasted. He was already displeased.

Now, in front of his face, Wei Wuxian was asking who he was, stirring up a strange sense of indignation within him— He knew Wei Wuxian, yet Wei Wuxian didn’t know him, and even dared ask who he was in front of everyone. It was as if this had caused him to lose too much face. The more he thought about it, the more irritated he became.

Now, there’s a thoughtful meta I hopefully reblogged to my sideblog, which I would have to dig up or recreate on my own, about the most sympathetic possible reading of Jin Zixun. If memory serves, it has a lot to do about the precarious nature of his social position, where he’s part of the Jin clan, and kind of the closest thing Jin Zixuan has to a brother, but also, everyone knows that Jin Zixuan has half-siblings coming out of the woodwork, and many of them would be stoked to get Jin Guangshan to accept them into the family. At this stage in the story, Jin Guangyao is already a major player and a hero of the war and part of the venerated triad, where Jin Zixun spent a lot of time... not in the thick of things, like most other peers of his generation.

Is he an asshole? Yes! Is... Wei Wuxian an asshole? Also yes! One of them may be a more likeable asshole than the other, but that’s part of the excitement of a story like this, trying to coax people into holding a fannish position that they’d never considered before, and aren’t particularly eager to be convinced of. I don’t think I’m bad at that uphill climb, it just takes a lot of energy that I don’t often have to begin that journey in the first place. Also, one of these assholes is a certified grade-A torturer, and it’s probably not the one you dislike. Jin Zixun isn’t starting from an insurmountable disadvantage here.

And see, the thing that got my attention is this: Earlier in this chapter, Wei Wuxian is a little melancholy, thinking about how since the Sunshot Campaign, lots of people are scared of him, hardly anyone is willing to be alone with him, and almost nobody would ever be willing to approach him alone. And here, we get the information that because Jin Zixun was injured early and wasn’t on the front lines of the Sunshot Campaign, he doesn’t know to be afraid. He tried to provoke Wei Wuxian before the hunt, he’s about to keep provoking Wei Wuxian, he’s Jin Zixun and he doesn’t afraid of anything. Yes, he’s about to say some very hurtful things, but I look at that, and I think ‘okay, now how do we recover from this?’ Giving Wei Wuxian someone who just... plain isn’t afraid of him (but is also derailed by me, your author, from taking that to unrecoverable places) would be good for him. Jiang Cheng will antagonize him and isn’t afraid of him, but they also share years of history and are dealing with a lot of other stresses in this situation, and Jiang Cheng is asking things from Wei Wuxian that Wei Wuxian is struggling to provide, and the golden core thing is still hanging between them. Lan Wangji isn’t afraid of Wei Wuxian, but Wei Wuxian parses his concern and worries as antagonism and criticism, and those stress him out in a whole different way. This dynamic, as much as I would have to work to make it happen, would bring something new to the table.

One of my favorite activities is crackshipping with sincerity, and when I poke at this, it genuinely feels like richer territory than it looks at first glance. A lot of the antagonists share some fascinating character notes with our lead, and what’s most interesting to me here is an elevated-but-precarious social position and the various stresses that puts upon our characters. Jin Guangyao is the most obvious example, and Su She echoes it more quietly, with how he struggled within the Lan Sect and eventually left (honestly, kudos to him for him and mianmian to be two of the only characters to realize that their home was hurting them and to leave). Jin Zixun is in a family position that’s close to being brothers with his sect’s heir, but isn’t quite brothers, and is close to the seat of power, but also in a precarious social position if someone acts against him. Jin Guangshan and Madam Jin create a dysfunctional family dynamic to grow up in, where Jin Guangshan’s heart attention strays from his wife, and his wife has beat at least one kid who wasn’t biologically hers in the household.

There’s some common ground, is all I’m saying

I don’t even know what would happen, necessarily, I’m talking this all out here right now, and the interesting part of ships like this is digging in extra deep, and seeing what unexpected thing shakes out. It isn’t quite in the style of the other notable rarepair fics I have managed to write, which tend to follow a paradigm of ‘[person] is floating unmoored from the world, and [love interest] gets them engaged with life again’, but it’s not totally out of line with my interests. Svsss won’t give us more detail about Tianlang-jun? Okay, what happens if I make him hopelessly fond, what happens then? What happens if I properly re-engage his sense of humor? I hardly had anything of substance to go on with Horuss, and that fic is old, but I managed to pull interesting things out of him with Roxy. And I mean... what does happen when Jin Zixun stops self-destructively antagonizing the people around him and starts acting in more neutral ways? Not even positive, I think this relationship is going to have a strong antagonistic component, but what happens if he stops basing his interactions purely on who gets the higher rung on the social ladder?

Now, I do have a problem, which is that plot is something that happens to other people. See also: the reason there has not been a tianlang-jun sequel. I think that it would almost definitely have to do with repairing the situation between Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli and both of them managing to dial it back a LITTLE so as not to completely sabotage their family member’s happiness, and that leading things forward. And in a ridiculous pipe dream that will never be realized, because either possible pov will be completely oblivious, I would also want to include Jin Zixuan’s confused bisexual awakening and his resentful (also confused) attraction towards Wei Wuxian, even if he still ends up with Jiang Yanli, but... wei wuxian isn’t going to notice, and neither is jin zixun, SO. That’s probably right out. And the plot implications would have to be... significant. Setting it post-Sunshot campaign means that the Wen situation is simmering, and any plot that involves me untangling that mess... terrifying! I wouldn’t know where to begin! But like, also. What if I could write this ship in a compelling way. I bet I could do it. Nothing feels as good as the sensation of ‘I have scored points on my own darling readers by convincing them to like something they didn’t want to like’, and usually, I only get that from the second person pov. It would be so hard to write this ship. But also, what if I did it.

#the untamed #wei wuxian #jin zixun #don't judge meeeee #joke's on me #if i do write this i will have to be entirely self-motivating #because i am 99% sure my usual sounding boards will be 1000% uninterested XDDDDD #if i do another bingo document tho....#which i have been considering......#we'll see!#for now we see what my underutilized tag for this is #fic ideas #there we go #long post/

34 notes · View notes

cryptenby · 3 years

Text

an abundance of green

so i’ve been watching critical role over quarantine and apparently it’s impossible for me to half ass anything so i’m obsessed, and obviously my love of rarepairs has gone nowhere, so im basically contractually obligated to write about Fjord and Caduceus. this has no plot, is completely indulgent and i really hope that whoever reads it enjoys it anyway lmao it’s also on ao3!!

They’re at the Xhorhaus at Caduceus’s own insistence. He told everyone he wanted to check on the tree and their makeshift temple, and Caduceus never asks for anything so the Mighty Nein is packing up before he’s finished the question. It almost makes him feel a little guilty, considering he really just wants to get his hands on Caleb and Essek. They need a good pot of tea and a solid talking to. Realistically, he thinks he could have just said that but Caleb is skittish about matters of the heart, especially when he didn’t initiate them on his own.

Beau knows though. She corners him before they leave, out of earshot of most everyone. “Duce. This about Essek?”

He laughs a little to himself, an airy thing. “Kind of. I would like to check on him, I'm hoping he’ll come see us. Or let us see him.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“You probably shouldn’t,” Caduceus grins.

“How is it possible that I know that you mean that but I still feel a little guilty?” she says, a little sheepish as Caduceus laughs. “How can you trust him so easily?”

“I have faith that you guys will ask the right questions. If he doesn’t care for us, or have our best interests at heart, I’m very confident the more suspicious of us will be on top of it. But I trust Mr. Caleb, and he didn't condemn him,” Caduceus says with a shrug. “Neither will I.”

Beau just looks at him for a moment before sniffing harshly and blowing out a loud breath. “Fucking fine. I won’t tear him a new one but don’t think I didn’t notice that you gave me permission to pull every possible piece of information out of him.”

“Of course,” Caduceus says, barely containing his smile. “I know who you are, Ms. Beau, and I expect you to be yourself.”

Beau blushes, for some reason, and clears her throat. “Right. Thanks, Duce.”

He gives a mock, half salute that he’s seen her give to their captain, and it makes her laugh before she strolls off. It doesn’t take them much longer before they’re off, Caleb finishing off the teleportation circle with a dramatic flourish that makes Jester giggle, the whole point of it, Caduceus is sure.

The familiar trek to the Xhorhaus seems to take no time at all, the tree he’s grown so fond of twinkling with a soft light the closer they get, a beacon, of sorts, welcoming them home. He’s a little surprised by how much he loves their place here; he’s not like the rest of the Nein, he already has a place that he considers home, so the new one was not so significant for him as for the others. In fact, it took him a while to even accept the place as theirs and not expect some ulterior motives to come to light. The feelings were unfamiliar territory for him at the time, suspicion and a lack of appreciation for a gift so grand, and the planting of the tree was a way for him to apologize and make peace in the space. It definitely seemed to work, if the happy flutter in his heart at the sound of the chimes when they enter is anything to go by.

Everyone goes to their respective rooms to store their things, chatting genially before they go their separate ways.

Everyone other than Fjord.

He does a loop around the common room, getting familiar again with his steps before he centers himself in the room, inhaling, and mumbling something under his breath with the exhale. The gentle reverb that follows confirms what Caduceus assumed he would do; the blade glows blue and Fjord glows with it, his See Invisibility spell activated.

The bunch in his muscles draw his attention first as he holds the greatsword aloft, inhaling again and opening his eyes on the exhale, their blue glow matching the runes on his blade. They highlight the depth of his cheekbones and strength of his jaw, his already handsome features softly accentuated. Fjord starts to walk the room with a more keen gaze, his steps strong and sure in a way Caduceus has only noticed since he accepted their Mother’s grace. He decides to turn tail and head up the stairs before Fjord has a chance to ask questions about his lingering that he isn’t prepared to answer.

The smell of dirt greets him as he ascends the stairs and he takes a deep breath, entering the roof with a grin. Everything is as he left it, the twinkling lights from their tree painting the room a soft yellow with their glow. Every bit of life to be seen seems to reach toward him as he enters and he greets them brightly, apologizing for being gone so long and asking each that he passes how they’re getting along.

A breeze warms him a little while later and it carries a friendly warning as it leaves him, explained when he hears the footsteps of someone approaching.

Too large to be Veth or Jester, too loud to be Beau or Yasha, too heavy to be Caleb, leaving only—

Fjord knocks gently twice before he lifts the hatch.

“Hey, Ducey,” he says with a smile. “Can I come up?”

“You know you’re always welcome, Mr. Fjord.”

Caduceus turns to greet him happily and sees some of the plants turn towards Fjord in his peripheral; he chuckles a bit at Fjord’s look of awe that he catches at a glance and shuffles over to grab the kettle and start a pot of tea. He turns back to ask Fjord if he wants any and stops, blinking slowly.

Fjord is saying something but Caduceus is barely paying attention, distracted as he is by the fitted, soft linen Fjord is adorned in. It’s not as though he’s never seen him in underclothes before, they’ve shared a space too many times for that to be the case, but those clothes all bore the wear and tear of the life the half-orc led, and politeness ensured Caduceus never let his eyes linger too long, for obvious and other reasons.

Never before had Caduceus seen Fjord looking so dressed down, so comfortable, cozy, safe. It fills him up inside, butterflies with wings stronger than any he’d encountered in Melora’s fields fighting for purchase in his belly. He wants to touch him: his face to memorize the laugh lines there, his chest to feel the steady beat of his heart, his back to guard it and ensure no one ever catches him unaware again.

He wants to protect him. He wants to tell him. He wants to keep looking and never say anything else ever again.

And that’s. Well, it’s weird.

Caduceus Clay, infatuated? Enamored? With one of his own party? How could it have happened without his notice?

“Uh, Caduceus?” Fjord calls, and he sounds closer than before.

Caduceus blinks slowly and looks down at his concerned friend now standing close enough to touch, and he takes advantage, grabbing him around the elbow, his dark green skin and black claws clashing prettily with Caduceus’s pale sleeves and light grey fur.

“Alright?” Fjord asks, sounding a little more concerned this time.

Caduceus blinks at him and clears his throat around a little white lie. “Yes, sorry. Sometimes I fall deep into my conversations with the Wildmother. Um, tea?”

Fjord looks closely at him before nodding and releasing him, and Caduceus takes the first chance to hide his face, cheeks blushing with his new revelation as he walks over to the little fire pit he’d dug out just for the kettle. He can hear Fjord walking closer, slowly, probably taking in the roof like he does every time he’s here, even though he’s seen it many times over. It’s endearing, and those butterflies from before seem to have made themselves at home in his belly, fluttering madly. He takes a couple deep breaths that don’t help at all and curses his luck.

“Man, I never get tired of that,” Fjord says, having finally made his way over and sitting down close by.

Caduceus looks at his smile and thinks, yeah, me either.

“It never really gets old.” He says instead. “Is that what you came up for? Not that I ever mind, just curious.”

“Oh, no, I wanted to thank you actually.” Fjord says. He’s looking at Caduceus with such earnest sincerity that Caduceus’s heart swoops in his chest. “I’m loath to admit it but I think I needed a break and I know I would never have bothered to ask, even once I figured out I needed it.

I know you don’t do it on purpose, but just having you around makes everything easier, better. And I feel like we don’t tell you that enough, or tell you thank you often enough. So, thank you.”

Fjord squeezes his hand, smiling softly at him, his lips finally used to the tusks that are growing in proud and strong. Caduceus grips him back and hopes that the answering squeeze and tears in his eyes are enough to express his gratitude.

“And also. I’m not around all the time obviously, so forgive me if I’m wrong, but you’ve never really talked about, you know, anything, really. You’ve gone through some pretty fucked shit like the rest of us and you deserve the care you keep trying to give everyone else. So, if you ever need to talk to anyone,” Fjord says softly, cupping one of Caduceus’s hands in both of his and smiling a self-deprecating grin. “I’m here. I’m a mess, but I’m a good listener.”

“Okay,” Caduceus says, around the lump in his throat. “Thank you, Mr. Fjord.”

“Okay,” Fjord says back, cheeky grin turning into a relieved smile. “Thank you, Mr. Clay.”

Caduceus nods and looks at him for longer than strictly necessary, and it doesn't escape his notice that Fjord lets him, stealing in some glances of his own. Caduceus’s heart swoops again and he finds himself wishing he could ask Melora for a bit of guidance, knowing her answer would be vague and leave him feeling more confused than ever. The frustration barely has time to take hold before he feels a warm breeze like fingers caressing his cheek and Fjord must soon follow, if his gentle chuckle is anything to go by.

He feels selfish for his frustration, fleeting as it was.

He looks at Fjord, and he wants.

He takes a deep breath.

He makes tea.

#fjorduceus #fjord x caduceus #critical role #teahaw #JUST A COUPLE OF BOYS BEING DUDES #just two polite guys!!!!!! being nice!!!!!#anyone else haunted by fjord saying hi caduceus all small and happy after he saved him #also listen melora is in the wind and she is always talking to her boy i dont know what you want from me #also beau just wants to be understood by the people she admires okay.....#tori writes

34 notes · View notes

danwhobrowses · 4 years

Text

Valentines 2020: A Celebration of My Ships

So it’s valentine’s day again, and...yeah it’s not too great when you’re single is it? Considering that I’ve already gone through a tub of ice cream...

But, it doesn’t mean I’m a cynic, quite the opposite. Most of my fandoms involves a ship in some shape or form, hell I shipped before I even knew what shipping was, so I’m gonna talk about some of them...the ones that still make me happy and didn’t crash and burn in heartbreaking and frankly insulting fashion (looking at you Homestuck ¬_¬), gotta mention that these are not all the ships I ship, they’re just some of the ones I’m quite consistently high on

New Entries So with new fandoms come new ships...as is the usual formula anyway, though my pattern of watching things is usually with some delay, I only watched Rurouni Kenshin and started My Hero Academia in 2019, I still hold off on Attack on Titan and My Hero Season 4 because if I get in, I get IN. So these fandoms may not be new, but they are new to me Steven Universe is very new to me, I’ve been aware of how good it is and their concepts like Fusion. I like it, particularly Lapis Lazuli I really relate to her, but ship wise the two I really like are the obvious ones; Steven x Connie and Ruby x Sapphire (Garnet)

Garnet is badass and chill at the same time, but when she unfuses we see the stuff that makes me smile, the pda between Ruby and Sapphire is adorable, the little pecks and whatnot softens me up like no man’s business. Steven and Connie also have the mushy dynamic with both of them deeply into each other but still being strong individuals. The love for each other is equally platonic as it is romantic as they gel together, both being strong willed in different ways. The laughter probably gets me the most with both of them, the genuine laughter is so sweet and so realistic it’s hard not to love. My Hero Academia seems to be our next wave of shonen anime and for good reason, it does high notes so well and the cast of characters are vibrant and exciting. I haven’t hit Season 4 yet since I’m waiting till it’s all done to binge so I may be a little behind on some stuff (sadly it’s hard to avoid spoilers, I know about Infinity and Unbreakable). While I do like Deku x Uraraka, Tetsutetsu x Kendo and Eraserjoke but the two that I find most enjoyable are Todomomo and Kamijirou

(artist nonoko135 btw, bit tough to find a single image with both ships) Fairly popular ships in their own right, Todomomo doesn’t get many hints but they are sweet, naive rich kids with their own confidence issues, it also feels like they look out for each other especially after the final exam they did together. With Kamijirou though it’s probably one I favour if I had to choose between the two, simply because it’s a dynamic I really like; she busts on him so hard to mask her enjoyment of his company and he takes it because he feels at ease around her, the best part is when Kaminari goes 0 volts, he makes her laugh and that’s kinda big for Jirou given how self-conscious and stoic she can be. Rurouni Kenshin was always on my list, I have often heard about the Swordsman with a blade that cuts no-one. The anime is a bit up and down, after Shishio it’s just filler, but as documented in my Redemption Arc post it is at its core a great story of redemption for the main character, and the driving force for Kenshin’s redemption is his love for Kaoru

While Sano and Megumi have a unique dynamic hinted to be romantic at times, nothing can really beat Kenshin and Kaoru, she literally became Kenshin’s conscience, a representation of his hope to be a good man away from the shadow of Battousai the Manslayer. It may be your traditional romance of the two wanting to be by each other’s side in danger but it works so well given the kind of danger Kenshin is often in. Kaoru still strives to protect herself and aid Kenshin in a way that doesn’t make her continuously wonder about being a burden and Kenshin does everything in his power to keep Kaoru from pain, physical and emotional, even if it meant leaving to keep her safe. The main part of what makes this lovely is the fact that not only did Kaoru’s influence make Kenshin value his own life once more but after continual torment in his past she still saw him as the person he wanted to be, and welcomed in a new home, a new family he was able to live a life he never imagined he could deserve. The Regulars Our Regulars are the ships I still consistently ship, they’re not very old but they’re still pretty great and they still stand the test of time. Marvel’s Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. has quite a few ships over its 6 (coming up 7) season lifespan, being the longest surviving MCU tv series and one of the most consistently great shows MCU offered - especially Season 4, some of the best TV was on Season 4. But while Philinda is close, Mack and Yoyo or even Piper and Davis (don’t, I don’t care if you believe she’s a lesbian with the hots for May these are my ships) there is one one ship in Shield you can all rally behind, Fitzsimmons

Even when canon it is a consistent emotional rollercoaster. One of those ships where the writers know you love it and decide to put you through as much pain and emotional torment as humanely possible. But you endure it, because these two smart kids are worth it. They have sweet moments, badass moments, emotional moments and even though they get brought apart time and time again, they still find each other, the universe cannot stop them - and it better end happily for them come next season. Overwatch was a phenomenon when it came out a few years ago, Blizzard may have caused it to have some heavily bad rep but I still look forward to its sequel coming out. Given its large roster and most of the characters’ sexuality and relationship status up in the air, it leaves a lot of room for shipping. I do still love Anahardt, Mercy76 kinda falling due to 76 being gay but I like Gency too, my rarepairs include McPharah and Symmzo but my favourite is actually Meihem.

Now I know, Mei’s only voice lines towards Junkrat are cold, they have differing views in terms of omnics and...due process of the law. But there’s a lot they do have in common; both are quite intelligent engineers having made their weapons by hand, both endured trauma and both love their puns. But even the stuff that make them different can compliment one another. You don’t have to like it, but I do, I enjoy the dynamic of Jamison being so head over heels that he embarrasses himself to try and get Mei’s attention, while Mei softens to the fact that his very nature is warped by his lawless upbringing and that deep down he is an exciting and in his own way sweet guy. Back to anime, because what else do I do with my day, getting into One Piece was always going to be a long effort, keeping tabs on the Manga does make it easier and I’ve been able to catch up quickly. Ships are shaky territory with One Piece because Oda does make a point of not having romance happen a lot, not to existing living characters at least. But I still have the ones I like; Shanks x Makino, Sabo x Koala, Franky x Robin, Sanji x Pudding, Rebecca x Koby, the list goes on, but my favourite has to be Zoro x Tashigi

May not be up there with the ‘big ships’ of One Piece but I do enjoy them the most. Individually the two are characters I have deep interest in; Zoro is well Roronoa Fucking Zoro, santoryu swordsman extraordinaire, master of nothing happening and will cut you 8 ways to Sunday, but Tashigi is a character I like because she also tries, unlike Zoro she isn’t blessed with 2 years training with Mihawk and she’s at constant arms with this self doubt that as a Woman she won’t be as strong (and probably whoever of influence to her made her believe such a thing), people may get on her back for never winning a fight but she fights strong people without a second thought. But back to the pairing, they have an interesting dynamic; two very similar people on different sides of the law, I don’t think Tashigi continues to chase him simply because he refused to cut her in their fight and I don’t think it’s just her former resemblance to Kuina that gets Zoro so riled up about her, I mean Zoro is usually so chill to side characters to the point where he’s ready to throw down but with Tashigi, it’s different, they bicker but he also came to her aid. I still continue to hope that Tashigi shows in Wano for more Zoro interaction, and to prove herself to fans and to Zoro that she is strong and capable. One of my favourite anime of all time is Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, a combination of laughter, tears and deep philosophical character journeys in a 20th century world with the alchemy fantasy element drawn from actual legit alchemical sources. It just hits all the right notes for me, and ships hit right too; I love most of the ships from EdWin, AlMay and LingFan, but like Fitzsimmons there is one ship that stands above even the main characters, Royai.

Mustang and Hawkeye right from the bat have that connection that needs no dancing around, they care for each other but they work together. Like the rest of the ships they banter, argue but always have each other’s backs, to the point that they go into an insane rage at even the threat of the other being hurt. I don’t think anyone can not ship these two, that’s how strong their chemistry is, even if they can’t officially label it as a relationship because of their jobs it’s that line in the sand that everyone knows it, because it’s impossible to ignore. The Old Guard So we get to the oldest ships in my catalogue, the fact that they could stand the test of time is for a long time what shaped me as a shipper. I still ship these to this day so I ship them pretty hardcore Comics is probably the hardest place to ship something, because different writers will try different pairings at the drop of a hat. Even consistent pairings like Spiderman and Mary Jane, Batman and Catwoman, Beat Boy and Raven, Superman and Lois and more can end up being split in favour of Cindy Moon (I do love Silk), Wonder Woman and others. But I can’t ignore the fact that I’ve always loved Dick Grayson and Barbara Gordon

I may’ve liked Teen Titans, but I was never on Team Starfire, it’s fine if you are but to me I have always been in with Dick and Babs. Not only do they have excellent banter but they gel well on and off of crime fighting, no matter how many times DC break them apart (like seriously, how many times do you have to try Bruce and Barbara until you realise that it creeps people out?) they always find each other again someway down the line, they are one of DC’s best couples and while they may never get a definitive ending because of the nature of comics, I still love that there’s a relationship of two strong individuals who can stand as equals and continue to keep their charm and wit after years of being together. When I was young, decades ago as it pains me to type, Digimon was the prime competitor against Pokémon’s tidal wave. Its anime had an awesome opening, more characters with some deeper themes and a quicker pacing. While many could quickly connect to Tai or Matt for their leaderlike attitude or Joe and Izzy for their intelligence or Mimi and Sora for their determination, I gravitated towards TK, a child who had room to grow and the greatest of potential, so when the Dark Masters came in we saw one of my oldest ships take form, Takari

TK and Kari’s pairing was popular that it managed to carry on into Adventure 02 and we got plenty of lovely moments in TRI (though they shorthanded both by having Ophanimon quickly fused and Seraphimon - one of the strongest Digimon - digivolve as backup in a Sora episode). 02′s epilogue is of course a sore spot we can hope Kizuna retcons because these two have been through thick and thin and their bond is clear. Even as they reach their late teens and TK has become master of hats and joined Matt’s band, they still hang out, banter and tease but they still are comfortable to hold each other’s hand and be vulnerable with one another too. Digimon may’ve been a contender, but Pokémon was still the clear winner, even to this day it is one of the most popular franchises in the world. The anime may be an up and down slope (current series seems a tad boring, 10 episodes before Ash caught a Pokémon, plus I don’t like that Ash won in Alola and now thinks he doesn’t have to try) but you can never take away the nostalgia, or the ships. I’ve shipped many in Pokémon in various media; Mallow x Lillie and Jessie x James in the anime, Ruby x Sapphire in the Manga, Looker x Anabel in the games (with Emma being their adoptive daughter dammit Looker you could’ve taken her with) among others and from Pokémon comes the oldest ship I’ve ever shipped, Pokéshipping

Before I even knew what Shipping was I shipped this, Misty may also be mostly the reason for my attraction to redheads but that’s neither here nor there. People may not like it, may prefer some of the softer spoken female (or male) companions Ash has had or feel they’ve grown out of it, but not me. I loved Misty’s feistiness and determination but also the fact that she could reign Ash in (sometimes) to make him think things through, as much as Misty was a companion to Ash she was a rival, a teacher and a supporter of his goal, but she also had her own goals which she fought for as well. They may bicker but they have also had tender moments as well and even with Misty’s return in the excellent Sun and Moon episodes they had their chemistry is palpable. To me, Ash and Misty were kindred spirits and the feeling has never changed since. So with another year of Valentine’s Day going the way it usually does, I’d like a moment to thank these ships, and all my other ships I didn’t have the space to mention, for being something that brings out happiness and a soft joy deep within my being, and for all the fanartists and fanfic writers that bring that love to life Happy Valentine’s Day

21 notes · View notes

im-the-king-of-the-ocean · 5 years

Text

RWBY Rarepair Week Day 1, @rwbyrarepairweek

Prompt: First Meeting

Pairing: Nuts & Dolts (Ruby/Penny)

(this is the only one I’ll have above the preferred 100 fics line. I wanted to kick things off with a pairing I’m a little more familiar with, before moving into more obscure ones)

Where We Began

“Oh, I knew this was a bad idea.” Ruby groans. She looks around, but recognizes no one. Well, except for her dad way on the other side of the ballroom, but he’s surrounded by other teachers and faculty-types. One of them seems to be in the middle of a funny story. They’re all laughing. Ruby doesn’t really want to interrupt. That would be awkward. Well, more awkward than her current level of awkward, which is already very high and…

Ruby sips her drink to distract herself. She just needs to make do. She can’t leave. Dad’s her only means of transportation back to where they’re staying. Also, he’d be disappointed in her if she tries to sneak off in the first half-hour, and she really doesn’t want to disappoint him. Ruby knows he worries about her, especially now that Yang has started her first year at Beacon. It’s not completely impossible for Ruby to make friends on her own, but it’s still hard. Especially without her sister around.

Maybe she could try and guess what type of weapons the other guests have? Yeah, that could work. Almost nothing is better than weaponry—

“Salutations, fellow party guest!”

Ruby yelps. Her brain realizes what’s about to happen, attempts to stop it, but fails. Soda shoots out of her nose. She coughs. So much for making a good first impression on whoever just spoke.

“Are you alright?” A hand places itself comfortingly on Ruby’s back. “It was not my intent to startle you.”

Ruby looks up into the brightest pair of light green eyes she’s ever seen. She blinks. They can’t really be that bright, her mind thinks, but they are. “Um, I…”

“If you’ve been injured, I can notify the house doctor right away. Just let me get my scroll out—”

“No! No, that’s fine! I’m fine!” Ruby grabs onto the girl’s hands. “I just, errr, got lost in thought I guess. Hehe yeah, I do that sometimes. but I am toootally fine.”

The girl smiles. “Okay. May I ask what you were thinking about?”

“Nothing really.” Ruby rubs the back of her neck. In a mumbled tone, she adds, “Weaponry.”

“How interesting! I like weapons too,” the girl gushes. “I don’t have one of my own quite yet. Father says it’s still in development. But it’ll be ready soon, and then I can start training to become a Huntress at Atlas Academy.”

“Oh, um, me too, except I want to go to Beacon.” Ruby relaxes. This is familiar conversation territory, and the girl isn’t giving her the frustrating, ‘humoring’ looks that others sometimes do after she’s been awkward around them. “It’s where my sister goes. I’ve visited a couple times. It’s so cool there!” She sighs happily. “I can’t wait to forge my own weapon, and start training.” Ruby glances at the other girl, but she’s still listening attentively. She probably won’t mind if Ruby starts rambling.

Ruby takes out her scroll. “Here, see, these are my blueprints for my weapon. I’m going to call it Crescent Rose. It’s going to be so cool. It’ll be a scythe, like my uncle’s. Except mine will be way cooler because it’s also a sniper rifle.” She flicks through image files. “Just don’t tell him that.” Ruby snickers, mostly to herself.

The girl giggles in return. “I’ll be sure I won’t.” She pauses. “Though, who is your uncle? Just so I can be sure I know who to not say the wrong thing to.”

“Qrow Branwen. He teaches at Signal Academy, on Patch. At least for now. He keeps saying he’s going to leave.” Ruby holds out her hand. “I’m Ruby Rose, by the way.”

“Ruby Rose, daughter of Taiyang Xiao Long, who also teaches at Signal Academy,” the girl recites back to her. “Both him and Mr. Branwen were invited to tonight’s event, but only Taiyang is in actual attendance.”

“Um…I guess? Yeah? Dad brought me along, so I’m here too.” Ruby shifts her weight from foot to foot. She didn’t think it possible for anyone to be weirder than her, but here they were. “So, uh, what’s your name?”

“Penny Polendina.” The girl—Penny—takes in Ruby’s facial expression. “My apologies, did I say something wrong?”

“No, not really. It was just a little weird how you said all that stuff about my dad and my uncle.” Ruby shrugs. “But it’s not a big deal. I can be a little odd sometimes too.”

“Thank you for understanding.” Penny brightens. “I’ll try not to be as weird in the future.” She pauses. “But I’m still learning all the right social protocols. My father worries about me, so I’m not allowed out much. I don’t have many opportunities to talk to other people.” She frowns. “You’re the first person who’s wanted to talk to me all night.”

Ruby isn’t quite sure what to say to that, so she pats Penny on the shoulder twice. “Well, I think you’re pretty nice to talk to, Penny. Everyone here is old and boring anyway, except, you know, my dad.”

Penny grins back at her. She leans in conspiratorially, and whispers, “would you like to see something cool? It’s a secret I’ve never shown anyone before.”

“Sure, I gue—whoooa!” Ruby has no time to react. Penny has her by the wrist. She’s pulling her along behind her. They weave between party guests—at a speed that causes Ruby to consider if agility is Penny’s semblance—before exiting the ballroom. Ruby has only a second to wonder what sort of trouble she’s gotten herself into this time, and then they arrive at a library.

Penny opens the door and tiptoes inside. Ruby figures she’s come this far, she may as well see things through. She follows Penny. They pass tall bookshelf after tall bookshelf until they arrive at the back. Before Ruby’s eyes, Penny pushes a bookshelf aside with strength that Ruby wouldn’t have believed possible if she wasn’t witnessing it for herself.

There is no wall behind the shelf, but an opening leading onto a staircase, a secret passage. Penny glances back at Ruby, chews her bottom lip nervously, and then heads up. Again, Ruby follows. Penny seals the secret passage after them.

“So, errr, where are we going?” Ruby finally asks. She doesn’t want to distrust Penny. She seems so nice and Ruby always tries to think the best of people, but she’s beginning to get nervous herself.

“To my secret place.” Penny doesn’t turn around. “I come up here when I want time to myself to think.” She leads the way up the stairs. “I know we just met, but I’ve never been able to share anything with anyone before. I must ask you to pardon my hastiness.”

“That’s okay, I think—whooooaaa.” Ruby gasps.

At the top of the stairs is a small, forgotten nook. Leftover from a time before a remodeling of the manor house closed it off from the rest. The wall opposite Ruby and Penny is entirely paned-glass window, with makeshift, tattered bedsheets-turned-window-curtains framing it on either side. There are soft, but ancient-looking, cushions scattered across a woven carpet that had to have been dragged up from somewhere. Against the walls lean worn storybooks, much-cherished toys, and odd, quirky objects like a twisted up spatula.

Slowly, tentatively, Ruby wanders into the nook. She gazes out the window at one of the most scenic views she’s ever seen. Atlas sprawls out before her, gleaming in the moonlight. All smooth walls and shiny metal. It’s not home, certainly, and some of the things she’s seen walking the streets with Dad make her stomach churn, but, from this distance, it is kinda beautiful.

Penny walks up beside Ruby. “I like to think one day I’ll be able to go out there on my own, and experience the world for myself. Not just see it from a distance.” Penny says, without taking her eyes off the city. “I’m sorry to have dragged you up here, Ruby Rose. But I very much would like to be your friend and to share secrets with you like friends do, but I do not know when, or if, we’ll even meet again.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Ruby takes Penny’s hand in her own. “I’m glad I got to meet you.” She smiles at Penny. “And become your friend.”

It would take a lot of time and struggling to be together, but Ruby and Penny would eventually become something more than just friends to each other. They’d think back to this moment, lying together in their bedroom on a calm morning or side by side in a tent while on a mission, and grin at each other knowingly. Their past selves may not be aware that they’d just started something new and marvelous, but they did.

Their story would end happily, and they had all the time in the world to get there.

#rwby #rwbyrarepairweek #nuts and dolts #ruby rose #penny polendina #whirls writing #rwby rarepair ficlets 2k19 #firefly roses

47 notes · View notes

ptw30 · 5 years

Note

Hey op, tell me about Sendak and Shiro

I wrote a theory way, way back in the days of old - or prior to Season 3 - that said Sendak was the key to Shiro’s past.

A recap is that - Sendak ordered Pidge’s death in “Fall of the Castle of Lions” without blinking a glowing monocle, but Shiro gets a -

Also, neither Sendak nor Shiro give a killing blow in the castle later, in their first dance - I mean, fight! - of the series.

Coupled with the fact that the paladins find the Red Lion on Sendak’s ship, Shiro said he’d been on Sendak’s ship, and Ulaz released Shiro after the Galra located the Blue Lion on Earth - well, one can assume that Shiro “helped” the Galra find the lions. One can also make the leap to say Sendak and Shiro found the Red Lion together.

Thus - Sendak and Shiro have a history.

Ah, the beginning of a rarepair.

We could go a bit farther to say that Sendak might have even helped Shiro learn to use his arm, considering Sendak, too, is missing an arm - but that’s a leap.

And perhaps another leap is this -

- why would Haggar ask if Sendak can be trusted? Because he just failed his mission - or for some other reason, like Sendak having a soft spot for one of the paladins?

Going into later seasons, this line is very telling.

“New master?” When has Voltron ever had a master? Furthermore, “new” master seems to indicate Voltron had a different master at one point, but maybe Sendak was not talking about Voltron. Maybe one of the paladins did, and that master seemingly was specifically Sendak.

And who is the only paladin to ever be in the empire and perhaps was a subordinate to Sendak?

Before we venture into headcanon territory, Sendak and Shiro have the most emotionally gripping scene in the entire show, in “Crystal Venom.” Say what you want about “The Black Paladins,” but we all knew Shiro or the clone didn’t believe those things he said to Keith. Those were Haggar-influenced.

The closest scene is Honerva and Allura’s argument in “Clear Day,” but Allura never really has a “Honerva is right. I’m going to the dark side” moment. It’s more, “Don’t go into the basement, Allura!” moment.

In the conversation between Shiro and Sendak, we don’t know that Shiro isn’t worthy of being a paladin. We don’t know how the empire “defeated” him, and we don’t know if Shiro can defeat Zarkon. These are legitimate questions that continue Shiro’s internal struggle, introduced in “Return of the Gladiator.”

Now it’s a hard scene to watch because it didn’t age well. Shiro isn’t a paladin by the end of the series or even a character. He’s a plot device, and Sendak goes all “pure Galra” and ends up dying by Keith’s hand, not by Shiro’s. In fact, Shiro doesn’t win either his internal and external struggle, as Lotor delivers the killing blow to Zarkon.

(I really, really hate what the series did to Shiro.)

Re-focusing - in “Crystal Venom,” Sendak has one message to Shiro and one message only - “You are part of the Galra Empire. Come home.”

If that isn’t rarepair material, dude, I don’t know what is.

I also want to add one more thing here. Prior to Season 6, Sendak isn’t shown to care about being all Galra. After all, he left the empire after Shiro ejected him. He only resurfaced because Lotor’s generals went looking for him. Plus, Sendak was the only commander in the Galra Empire to show he valued his subordinates.

That means - Shiro wouldn’t be just a soldier to Sendak. He’d be a cherished subordinate, if not more.

Moving into headcanon territory -

We know both Keith and Shiro were in prison, Keith in Juvie, Shiro in a Galra prison. So I assumed how Shiro sprung Keith from prison, perhaps Sendak sprung Shiro.

Thus - Sendak was to Shiro, what Shiro was to Keith.

And Sendak was also poised to be the “Strickler” of Voltron - the subordinate to the Big Evil who sees the error of his ways and turns sides. To do that, Sendak would need someone to turn for, someone to be a positive impact, and that person would be someone who knew Sendak before the story began.

That person would be Shiro.

Final thoughts -

Shiro and Sendak are on even footing, with Shiro being Allura’s commander and Sendak being Zarkon’s. I also think Sendak could support Shiro, like he supported the previous Black Paladin, and Sendak would understand the issues Shiro had in the Galra Empire. Perhaps he’d be the only one on the castle-ship who would or could.

TL;DR: Shiro & Sendak - MFEO

See how I came to like Shendak here.

#Shiro #sendak #shendak #voltron #vld #vld season 1 #vld season 7 #shipping #relationships

112 notes · View notes

scandalsavagefanfic · 5 years

Note

Do you have any tropes that you especially love reading and/or writing about?

I’ve been thinking about this for DAYS, anon. Because I don’t know the proper, official-like names of tropes and a lot of things that I wouldn’t necessarily consider a trope IS considered one in fandom…? I’ve only been doing this since September (though Oct. is when I really dug into it) and wasn’t as immersed until I got a Tumblr (in like, Nov. I think). So, I went searching online and just fell down a rabbit hole of fanfiction data and essays, research, and analysis (which I love, btw, so thank you).

So I’m just gonna respond with what I look for and if it’s a trope then yay! :D

When I’m reading (and even writing) I’m drawn to a lot of AU’s. I like familiar characters in fun, new settings. There was a time when I wouldn’t touch these. I just didn’t see the point. But a couple great writers pulled me in anyway.

Mpreg also used to be squicky and now I really like it. This is probably the weirdest one for me because I have a very real fear of pregnancy. Which makes the fact that I also like ‘forced pregnancy’ in fic super confusing.

I like age differences (this is probably my oldest ‘kink,’ my friends and family still make jokes about my attraction to old men, though I think my parents found it significantly less amusing when I was 12), size differences, sketchy ass power dynamics, power dynamics in general.

And I think it’s pretty obvious that I like when all the above dips into darker territory. I like villain/hero pairings and AU’s with villainous versions of heroes.

I also really like fluffy stuff (as long as it has sex… I often filter by rating). I like those coffee shop AU’s and no-cape AU’s and delightful little fics where everyone is nice and the interactions are sweet.

Sadly I can’t write fluff to save my life. I REALLY want to… I’ve been trying. And because most of my multi-chapter fics are darker, I try to write lighter one-shots (though all these Ra’sJay asks are skewing my ratio ;) ) But even then, they’re not ‘dark’ but they often have angst or rough consensual sex or dom/sub overtones…

Honestly, when I look for stuff to read I go by pairings, then rating, and I’ll pretty much read anything there. Sometimes I’m in the mood for whump, for darkfic, sometimes I’m in the mood for something a little lighter, but I’m almost always in the mood for angst.

For pairings, it’s pretty much any batfam. I don’t read much Dick/Tim but I go there when I’m caught up on the others. I’m one of like 17 people who like DamiJay and one of probably 3 people who are head over heels for Flashpoint Thomas Wayne Sr./Father Todd and I did that rarepair hell to myself (my favorite fic I’ve written is the Flashpoint AU with adult!Damian al Ghul, Father!Todd, and Batman!Thomas Wayne).

I like SuperBat with bottom!Bruce. I like Midnighter with Dick (and to a lesser extent Jason) and I like Apollo with Jason (and to a lesser extent Dick) and since that last one isn’t really a thing, I’m going to write it myself :D I like TimKon.

And I like everyone with sundry villains :D

Sorry this was so long. I hope I managed to answer your question in there somewhere :D

#asks #my thoughts #tropes #I will take every opportunity to shamelessly plug my DamiJay Flashpoint fic #Beautiful and Good

11 notes · View notes

kirasderek · 7 years

Text

Day One of the @twrarepairnetwork Teen Wolf Rarepair Countdown

Written for Favorite Rarepair -> Dira

“Are you coming or not?” Kira calls out, the deep purple of the last dregs of sunset falling over her. In this lighting, she doesn’t look a day older than she had when they met. The only thing missing is that uncertainty in every line of her body, in the set of her teeth splitting her bottom lip. Fifteen years have erased the doubt from her, and now that she’s in control, she’s always barreling headlong into something. “Well?”

Derek sighs and slings his pack higher onto his shoulder. “Under protest.” She waits for him until he tops the hill, looking out over acres of the same rolling landscape. He can just barely spot the small cemetery they’re heading toward through the cover of trees and brush. “We’re really going all the way out there tonight?” He’s exaggerating the distance, but considering the trip is pointless, he’s decided he’s allowed to complain.

“What’s the matter? Are you scared?”

“Of a ghost? No. There are no ghosts. Maybe of being bored to death.”

She’s smiling at him even as she’s rolling her eyes and it makes him think of the trip here, amiably arguing about the detour. Mason had taken Kira’s side when they’d dropped in on him with a late wedding present, and even his husband, fully human, had heard of the place. For Derek, that had been the problem. Anywhere getting constant visits from humans for decades had nothing to offer them.

“You’ll survive, old man,” she teases, shoulder bumping gently into his side. “It’s nine miles in, nine miles out. And you can always sleep out here in your fur coat if you’re too lazy to go back to camp.”

His mouth is half-open to insist that was one time, but he thinks better of it. That night in Greece has haunted both of them a little since, more than any other trip - ‘investigation’, if Kira has her way - that they’ve made in the last fourteen months. The less they dwell on their failures, the brighter this whole endeavor starts to look. Bit by bit, they’re gaining their own knowledge of people like them, untainted by the cruel eye of hunters exploiting weaknesses. Already they have more information than the bestiary on a dozen things, including the godforsaken lamia that ruined the tail end of a perfectly nice trip to Greece full of authentic food and sunshine. At the very least, this pet project of Kira’s is safe. A morbid little camping trip.

They walk along for a mile or two in comfortable silence, the sounds of the night softly filling the lull in conversation. The overgrowth here softens their footsteps, and already a mile out from the mostly empty campsite, there are no other human noises to drown out the world around them. Passing through a patch of firs, Derek can point out a tree vole nest, silently catching Kira’s attention when he spots the evidence on the ground below. Their eyes adjust quickly to the sliver of moonlight in the sky, and Kira navigates with the small device loaned out to them when they’d signed in. The cemetery is a popular site to visit, for obvious reasons.

Not every thread they’ve followed has led them into places like this, suited for nights out under the stars. Derek’s almost thankful for it, at this point. The both of them are familiar with cities, though neither of them has had the heart to try New York again, and there are a surprising amount of nearly-true urban legends around the world. Hurrying through crosswalks and grabbing street food keeps them busy in the downtime outside of research and wandering into places they probably shouldn’t be. Hiking trips unravel into long conversations, dragging old memories into the light, things Derek mostly wants to forget. Even when they trail off, there’s a lingering intimacy that he’s not sure what to do with. They know each other too well now.

“So you really think there’s something out here?” he asks her, when they’re much closer to the cemetery, wrought iron gates stark among the greenery. “Other than college kids scaring each other.”

Kira shrugs without turning to look back at him. “The screaming could be a mountain lion,” she allows, and Derek quirks a smile he’s glad she doesn’t see. “But put together with the ‘ghost’ sightings, I don’t think we can rule out a banshee. It’s not like we even know how long they live naturally, with what happened to Lydia’s grandma and her and Meredith being so young. There’s nothing in the bestiary because the hunters don’t care about a bunch of screaming women unless they’re getting in the way, and it’s not like we got a lot of information out of...well” He doesn’t have to see her face to know she’s blushing, the way she always has when she gets on a roll.

“Out of Jennifer,” he finishes. “Julia. You don’t have to pretend it didn’t happen, you know. It’s been a long time.”

“Uh-huh. And that’s why you talk about me and Scott so much.”

He has no defense for that. If it were anyone but Kira, he’d think it was meant to be an insult. Both of them are in touch with Scott, of course, but he’s never thought it was his place to ask about when Kira came home. There are bits and pieces of stories, the burnt sugar smell of that feeling you get thinking of how things might have been, but he doesn’t have the whole picture from either of them. He’s not sure he wants it, if Kira isn’t willing to offer it on her own. Both of them have histories. Someday, Kira will have more years of longing and loss than Derek has lived. If Scott is a tender subject, he won't dig his fingers into the bruise on purpose.

“Banshees age,” he says instead. “Lydia already has a cabinet full of high-end cold cream. Lorraine got old.”

“But she didn’t die on her own. Not everyone looks young forever just because they’re going to live that long. Satomi’s been old as long as my mom has known her.” She does look back at him this time, braid whipping around and eyebrows lifted. “Are you going to live that long?”

This conversation follows him around, especially now that he’s starting to find more than just the subtle suggestion of silver in his beard. For his own part, he’s mostly watching Peter - not a normal case by any means, but at least something he can measure by. “I’m not an alpha. I’ve never met a beta as old as Satomi, but I also grew up in Argent territory.”

“So you’re just going to be...waiting?”

“No. I’m going to be living.” He tries to parse the way her expression shifts, a flicker of sadness too deep to belong to someone her age that disappears into a look of approval. “If I don’t get myself killed, you’ll be able to mark it down. How long nature took to run its course.”

“Documenting isn’t my part of this job,” she reminds him, smiling. “Mister history major.”

By the time he’s done defending finishing a degree that he’ll never use for a real career, the air between them is a little clearer, less fraught. On the other hand, when he finally registers his surroundings, he can see the jagged lines of headstones southeast of them, growing smaller as they trek around a small copse of firs toward the thicker forest ahead.

“GPS isn’t broken,” Kira corrects before he can open his mouth. “We’ll circle back around to the graves. I wanted to check out something that isn’t plastered all over the website.” She doesn’t stumble even as they start to encounter briars and thick brush, so far from the clumsy way she’d made her way through the woods in Germany on their first official research excursion. Years of uninterrupted sand had spoiled her, but the turned ankles are behind her now, leaving her as sure-footed as she may ever be outside of direct battle.

Even his eyes don’t notice the remains of what was once a clearing before they’re at the edge of it, barely illuminated by the waxing crescent moon directly overhead. It’s a good forty or fifty yards across, a yawning gap punctuated by small trees, shorter and not as sturdy as the ones they’ve passed through. The edges are still too clean for it to have been natural, even with the work the land has down to reclaim it. “I think we’re about sixty years late to see the house,” he jokes.

“We’re not here for the house,” Kira answers easily, pointing across to two logs laid over one another into a sloppy point like an arrow. She grabs his hand, pulling at him with surprising strength as she follows, only now giving off that aura of excitement she gets when they’re on the verge of something. He can still see a faint orange glow around her when things are falling into place, settling into the picture she’s been building from the outside in. “We’re here for the tree. It was here before the house.”

It’s huge. Not nemeton huge, an ancient giant, but thick and towering over the others like a guardian. There’s nothing else special about it at first glance, no nests or hollows, the kind of thing he’d usually be the one to notice. The warm pull of Kira’s hand curled into his tugs him the last few steps around, over gnarled roots. “Here,” she breathes out, the aura around her seeming to vibrate with pleasure.

The gouge isn’t as deep as it once might have been. The edges are fading into the texture of the bark, blending into the tree the way the clearing is slowly becoming just another patch of the forest. But he’d recognize it anywhere in the world, and without thought he drags a finger through the groove of each spiral, rough texture pleasant to the touch - something rugged and alive, weathered but strong. “How?” he asks, foregoing the smalltalk of it all, the obvious.

“Malia,” she explains, her smile growing. “She may have had help, but. She wanted to know more about this part of her that wasn’t just...Peter. And she found this. The triskelion, and-” She does a half-twist, pointing over their joined hands back into the clearing. “What’s left of what used to be a root cellar. When the house was here. Before...before your family moved further south.”

He’d never bothered to ask about what came before Beacon Hills. When he was young it was all there had been and, so he thought, all there ever would be. Something about it had felt like it belonged to them, always had. He knows now, in the long absence of it, that the feeling had only been that of home. Of course there had been somewhere before him, before his mother or her uncle, before even Peter would’ve bothered poking into. “There’s no way this can still be here.”

“Malia said there was no scent left here, but that someone might have come before her. Marked it deeper, made sure it stayed just a little longer. She said would’ve too, but-”

Derek shakes his head, dismissing it out of hand. “It doesn’t mean anything to her. Her family is with Scott now, her pack.” He traces the two rings against the back of her hand with a fingertip, feels the tiny shiver that runs through her. “If anyone’s going to make sure it stays, it has to be me.”

Kira hesitates, glancing at him for approval before she reaches up to touch it as well, pensive. “I wanted you to have the choice. It doesn’t have to mean anything. You don't see me moving back to Japan. But...you could. This could be here, for a while longer.”

She lets his hand go reluctantly when he pull, holding back the shift until he’s clear of her soft skin. His claws don’t run deep enough on the first pass, or the second. She watches patiently as he digs his own history into the wood, whatever legacy he has or will have, his mother’s memory. By the time he’s finished, it almost looks brand new, an old thing remade in its own image, stronger. He remembers a time when he would have carved it deep into his own skin if he could, and when he burned it there instead, something to make the dark ink stay to remind him.

“We can touch it up,” she tells him, after they’ve examined the half-caves in shell of a cellar and the rest of the trees, searching for signs of life or death - both, really. They come together in pairs, always, eventually. “In a while. Twenty years, maybe thirty.” It’s too casual to comfortably question, and he wonders when she became as sly as the fox inside her. “It’ll last for now.”

“What about the banshee?” he asks, when she gently leads him back the way they came, past the cemetery, slow and steady toward the camp waiting for them, fire and something to soften the firmness of the ground.

She laughs at him, eyes bright, and digs her elbow into his side for good measure. “It’s a ghost story, Derek,” she reminds him. “There are no ghosts. Only us.”

#twrarepair #twrarepaircountdown #dira #derek x kira #derek hale #kira yukimura #my fic #teen wolf

21 notes · View notes

saturatethe-written-whitewa-blog · 7 years

Text

oikawa rarepair week 2017, day 1.

oikawa rarepair week, day 1: height / birthdays / soulmate

pairing: oikawa tooru & kuroo tetsurou

Everyone was once a child, though they do not remember much of a time so pristine, except for a broken line of memories (featuring blinks of things they hope are memories and not settling concrete to fill in abysmal gaps,) and the most embarrassing of stories that are unforgettable, sometimes twisted a little bit from what originally was, the kind that's passed around when you come with faces you've seen before until everybody's too distracted by the frozen display in their minds and the trapped laughter set free.

When Oikawa Tooru was a child, he did not know, did not want to know, what soulmates were (Now, a long enough time later, he knows- maybe a little too much,) far too busy adventuring through the mapped territories of fields as golden as the sunset he still needs to squint to see, skipping past the bobbing headpieces of plants he didn't know the name of until his legs would become itchy and he'd grumble as he scratched them painful. Between then and Oikawa's sixth birthday, Iwaizumi Hajime was added to the newness of Oikawa's ever-awake span of sight through an event too everyday to make its own landmark in the lost city of Oikawa's childhood, an example of dull concrete to add distinctiveness to the landmarks pointed to heavens, that would scratch the soles of Oikawa's bare feet if he ever took a trip and went back stinging with nostalgia.

Nothing particular happened when Oikawa turned six, it was just the earliest birthday party he remembers. The cake was a flavor he decided, on his next birthday no less, that he didn't like, iced with vanilla and eaten with plastic forks because Oikawa's stumpy fingers are yet to become the ferocious setter's fingers that they are now, the friends he had invited, found at their own pockets of the small fraction of Miyagi, he doesn't have now, with the exception of Iwaizumi, who only greeted Oikawa a happy birthday because his mother told him to through a pinched smile and a poke of an elbow enough that Iwaizumi frowns and blushes.

(The parent Oikawas were scared that Tooru would have stabbed a child's eye out, it's ridiculous, they know, and they still breathed with relief two hours after the last of the guests parted with one last wish of wellness for good measure; the last of the parents' tasks were to pick up the plastic utensils on the floor, including the ones that'd been stepped on and snapped with a frightening sound. They put Tooru to bed without so much as a fuss, wiped icing from his mouth with the same shirt that's rubbed against lots of presents wrapped in colors from baby blue to lemony yellow only hours ago.)

Now, if you look below instead of ahead at the outline that appears much larger when you're no farther than fifteen footprints from it, there's some more concrete that goes unnoticed. Weeks have passed, weeks are forgotten. Oikawa learns about soulmates then, in a suddenness that doesn't surprise him; children belong to the same species, tried and tested, though they really do seem strange, entirely different. He was with Iwaizumi, doing something typical of the summertime high, when words start falling onto his wrist with the speed of whipping winds, and they stay there no matter how frantically Oikawa scrubs at his wrist, no matter how many tears he lets darken the ink. Iwaizumi had no idea what to do when Oikawa cried, now, Iwaizumi's got a hold of the tip of an inkling- which is better than nothing, he supposes.

The words are something everyone receives at their own times (and some don't ask for it, similarly to a mid-life crisis, or any sort of crisis- unless you were the flowering kind of strange masochist that liked flavoring days with the feeling of suffocation.) Whether they want it or not is not up to them (but choosing to obey it or covering it up with pretty cherry blossoms or the forlorn look of a deer was a choice they were offered.)

The words are the first thing your soulmate says to you, or so the old wives' tale goes. The connection doesn't come at the swift blow of an instance. It was vague and unexpected with an impact still all that groundbreaking, a cruel touch of the gods that tied strangers together with a thread so fine only their eyes can catch it in the rough world of misguided youths and minds lost to business.

(Iwaizumi gets his before his eighth birthday, in a show not as spectacular as Oikawa's waterworks display. The words on the wrists of Oikawa's parents were a gentle "I'm sorry, were you going to borrow this book?" and "No, no, we can share it- I'm, um, Oikawa..."

Iwaizumi had taken Oikawa back to his parents, a journey of careful steps and gentle telling of Oikawa to stop crying (Oikawa doesn't stop crying, Iwaizumi understands,) as if Oikawa had been bitten by a wild animal, though the scared look that pours over Oikawa's eyes like poison dismays Iwaizumi all the same. Oikawa learns he's awful at looking like he isn't crying, and he's having a hard time keeping up with the sturdy pace Iwaizumi walked in. Iwaizumi only keeps looking ahead, and he still does nineteen years later.

The Iwaizumi of six years recognizes the half-open door of Oikawa's house before Oikawa does. Modest, welcoming everything from early sunlight to a neighbor asking for one of the spare tires they keep in a garage too dark for Oikawa and Iwaizumi to want to play in; what was not welcome, however, were animals from the street: dogs, cats, anything else on four legs and a brain turned so famished that it loses all rational thought. An exterior and interior painted just as how they had first purchased it when they were but young and inexperienced and twinkling from the honeymoon. Breaking and entering, all that, was a caution softly reassured by the iron will of Oikawa's dad, who still remembers a few things from the days when he was a teenager that only sought liberation from academical expectations.

Iwaizumi takes to the inside of the house, door unlocked and warm enough not to protest when its slammed curtly as Iwaizumi exclaims too many things all at once. Oikawa's parents are stirred from the stuffy lull of television and iced water, and they would have responded to Iwaizumi with slurred words if they were so careless as to miss the rare, panicked look that possesses Iwaizumi's usually unshakable countenance.

(Iwaizumi was never scared, even when faced with the moist, curious frogs that wandered after the rains and always made Oikawa cry if he'd ever touch one or if ever one touched him.)

Oikawa's parents swarm the newly-turned six year old as they investigate his free skin for any cuts, grazes, scrapes, blink openly a few times when they discover none. Oikawa's words were nothing more than blurbs, unhelpful; his eyes were still teary, the swell of his cheeks pushing down the drops, and his hands were busy crumpling appall onto the hem of his shirt.

Oikawa's parents made their conclusions quickly- the words on his wrist were bold, washed in tears, hard to miss.

Oikawa tells them about the words on wrist when his speech gains some kind of coherency, most of them he had trouble reading, and his parents only take on pitiful faces and take Tooru by his hands and lead him inside with a promise of an explanation. Oikawa's mother smiles at Iwaizumi and tells him to come inside, too. Iwaizumi is given a cold drink, one he doesn't recognize, but it sets his tastes buds ablaze with the sharpness of tropical fruit; Iwaizumi furrows his brows and wonders whether he likes it or not.

Not beside Iwaizumi, Tooru and his father sat, and the middle-aged man tried the best of his jests until Oikawa smiles in between his sniffles. Oikawa drinks the mysterious drink, too, and he doesn't go 'blegh!' in disgust like Iwaizumi expects him to, instead finishing everything fast enough the ice cubes clink against its comrades in shock. Oikawa asks for seconds, finishes only a quarter of the new glass and his dad laughs and finished it for him.

Meanwhile, Iwaizumi only realizes how hot the outside had been when he can feel the sweat on his skin like clothes he wasn't actually wearing when he braves the mightiest of the what the taller electric fan blows at him. Oikawa's stopped crying, sat between his parents who wonder how to begin their talk, and Oikawa's lips shine because of the drink that fills him enough he pats his stomach ("Like in the TV!" Oikawa pronounced 'TV' in a way that makes his dad crack up again, and his mother hides a snort well behind the back of her hand,) and not because of the tears caught and occupied on his trembling lips earlier.

Oikawa doesn't remember exactly about what his mom explained to him, but it was something about soulmates and love and promise and all the other things Oikawa was only supposed to care about later. Oikawa tries not to think about it too much, but it'll always be there, when he reaches for a bar of soap his parents know but forget that he can't reach, when he peeks through his fingers and four times out of ten Iwaizumi barks at him not to cheat, but Oikawa does it anyway, until Iwaizumi's temper is turned rotten and Oikawa has to make a promise as thoughtlessly as a businessman has to write a check.

He was six years old, for God's sake, and Iwaizumi was, too; they were supposed to remember things like the inedible rock-looking objects they'd put into their mouths regardless or the insects they'd try to give names to, and keep in cups to look at until they learn nothing interesting is going to happen. He was six years old, for God's sake, he used 'badder' instead of 'worse' had gotten corrected in second grade quite loudly by a teacher just after Oikawa had, just as loudly, argued that "No way! Iwa-chan's badder than me at cards!" and it takes him a while, but he does start using the word. They were kids hardwired to want a good time, no matter what nook or cranny they find themselves in.

Oikawa doesn't know what to make of soulmates, for not even his closest of friends know about it, not even the ones that are years older and heads taller than Oikawa and Iwaizumi are, not even the neighborhood girls who talk about foreign things like stickers and braids. Without anything to define it by, the talk about soulmate withers quickly, gets forgotten for most of Oikawa's childhood, gets lost in a sea of things that will never have light shed on it.

The next event Oikawa can remember in his timeline of broken lines and gaps recklessly replaced, sort of like a constellation but without the intricate prettiness, is in a year he can't put a name to, but it's when he first picks up a volleyball, rough and strange in his hands, tilting his heads with the weight of the questions he can't wait to ask Iwaizumi, so unaware.

(Oikawa doesn't know how much of his years are going to be consumed by the sport until he picks up another volleyball a second time that week, and then a third.)

Nineteen years later, Oikawa wishes he could be as careless as he was in his childhood, could wake up at not paralyze his brain cells with worry, could play with Iwaizumi for as long as the sun blazes. Nowadays, he feels like he's made of more parts preservatives and ramen than he is circulated oxygen and capillaries.

Oikawa's thankful for the busy life, because he forgets all the things he doesn't want to think about, like soulmates- especially soulmates. Oikawa knows better than to fuss about unimportant things, like the words that define something of a person's dreams is unimportant (which, to Oikawa, is, or so he likes to convince himself.) Two out of five of his friends (and that's a simplified fraction, because Oikawa has far too many contacts than he knows what to do with besides group projects and contrived smiley faces and besides the people that really mattered were at the top, labelled with witty sarcasm,) have already fled with their soulmates, e.g: Matsukawa and Hanamaki, and the notorious two were even happier turning Oikawa's daily life into a bittersweet species of eternal torment.

(Oikawa realizes then that's he's the kind of fellow that didn't ask for the words to flow on his wrist that one summer afternoon.)

It's not exactly a trouble to wake up with it, though some days he feels stupid when he's got a literal joke on his wrist and the person beside him has something polite and adorable like: "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!" or "Isn't that a little bit too much coffee?" or "This your seat? Oh, you too, buddy?"; Oikawa's forever favorite is Iwaizumi's, a funny little thing about sardines that he laughs at just thinking about, definitely in a sad attempt to nurse his own feelings back to a sense of stability.

If he could put a name to the feeling, it was something like a cursed black sheep (he's proud that he stills remember that English idiom from once upon a school day in third grade,) among a pictureesque meadow of cloud-like whites that sing baa-baa, meh-meh, or was that a goat?

Oikawa can still remember, clear as ink, when Iwaizumi was old enough to understand how the less happy parts of the world worked, he had laughed long and loud enough Oikawa's face turned a pretty red and he'd spent the rest of the day pulling his sleeves as far as they would go. Iwaizumi, however, thoroughly wore himself out cackling at the oddity on the wrist of an oddity itself; Iwaizumi's face had kept the color of red pepper a little longer, and the breaths he took were more remnants of laughter unreleased than sips of oxygen.

Oikawa's distracted from his reminiscing, blessedly, for the pit of shame was a treacherous one, by the ringtone he'd chosen from his ultimate days in Aoba Johsai, caught surprised by Makki's contact photo: a picture he'd taken a fair summer day, with sunglasses ridden on the top of his head and his beverage spilling gloriously on his shirt for everyone to laugh at.

(Makki had asked Oikawa to take a picture of his OOTD, because Mattsun would always laugh and it would make Makki laugh, the picture losing the essence of its solemn moment. And Iwaizumi's fingers, unlike the rest of his body, were shaky and trembled for no reason at all, like when he'd brought over the iced drinks or when he'd held a camera phone for the first time. A fly had buzzed a language into Makki's ear, startling him and his drink, sloshing out of the cup and onto his shirt. Oikawa took the picture anyways. When Makki, quite flustered, asked him to delete it, Oikawa sneers and sticks his tongue out; Makki's tissue, thin as Iwaizumi's patience with Oikawa, does some sticking of its own: onto his shirt, a cause for more of the group's laughter.)

Oikawa views the new message involuntarily. Any distraction was as valuable as gold to him. He'd books to read and ink to waste and more than enough nighttime to regret it all.

hanatikimook1 sent a photo

hanatikimook1: look at us free and not doing any last minute school work because we know how to do shit on time oikawa t-hoe-ru: ffs oikawa t-hoe-ru: i have better things to do than look at you and mattsun making bad kissy faces oikawa t-hoe-ru: btw oikawa t-hoe-ru: i make better kissy faces (◕ε ◕｡ )

oikawa t-hoe-ru sent a photo

hanatikimook1: hahahahaha in what universe? oikawa t-hoe-ru: this one

Oikawa sets his phone down where he vaguely remembers putting it the last time, ignoring it when it hums another few times. He focuses on the unfinished things in front of him for a record-breaking two minutes without any stretched, exasperated groans. Oikawa had made the mistake of resisting a cup of coffee that makes his fingers feel like he's pulling some beast out of Hell, but it did good to feed him the illusion of wakefulness, without it, he feels as disoriented as a newborn calf and he's surprised his handwriting hasn't crossed each other yet in an underwhelming explosion.

Oikawa's phone makes another noise, and what the hell, he hasn't even continued his work yet, but he picks it up anyway for another bite of the distraction. He sees his reflection in the screen unlit, all tired and heavy with the unfulfilled urge to yawn and all wrapped up in bags (no, not the ones decorating the underside of his eyes,) ready to be thrown away the next morning. Oikawa had another personality in the campus, a whim to be set apart from the zombie-made college students that donned clothes as dark as their moods.

Oikawa blinks, feels more awake at the sudden self-awareness and he turns on his phone again hoping that the feeling is more long-lasting than until he finishes reading Makki's ridiculous text messages.

Oikawa's work, an essay fueled by a total of two hours, on and off, of sighs, self-indulgent breaks and invisible tears sits to collect Oikawa's neglect. Oikawa knows it's a bad thing to leave it for his phone, and the Oikawa Tooru several minutes more regretful in the future is going to feel it settle into him like a disease.

(With all these late nights made early mornings and just as many lectures on proper health from friends, family, Iwaizumi and a starving lack of opportunities to actually put the plan into motion, Oikawa thinks something's bound to happen to one of the organs he's got in him. He would have Googled it if the voice of reason in his head reminded him of the essay he'd covered with purposeful ignorance, so he texts Makki a quick "srsly i have to finish this shit" and he receives a "sure lmao sux to be u" that Oikawa rolls his eyes at.)

(He spots the words on his wrist again, grunts, and it makes him roll his eyes, too.)

Oikawa groans another groan, but it doesn't change his circumstances. He would have liked to spin in his chair if he was not so weak as to get dizzy after the first one, or do something, anything, that felt freeing if he was not shelled up in the darkness. Oikawa despises the essay the further he constructs it with each odd syllable he can think of. The man-made lights are his only companion, because he's sure even Hanamaki and Matsukawa have already tangled themselves in appendages and giggled and poked noses until they fell asleep for this was the ungodliest of hours. Oikawa yawns again, feeling complacent when it takes him more than a few flicks of the touchpad to scroll to the top of the document, where the bold text feel like screams at Oikawa's eyes.

It takes all Oikawa has to skim through what he's made, relying far too heavily on the spellcheck he knew the laptop had. He decides that it's enough, reassures himself that little bit more that nobody really gives a shit anymore, that even the smartest one in class (and Oikawa, resigned to the bitter spot of second place,) probably sat in front of a screen as begrudgingly as he did, probably groaned into the closed windows as much.

Oikawa sighs as he gets up, Alright, he tells himself, with this much cleared away I should treat myself.

And that was how he tried his best to keep the door as quiet as possible as he sneaked out into the protesting night gusts and slow, chilly, anticipating, he makes his way to the convenience store, frequented enough that one of the cashiers that worked a ten hour shift had become fast, good friends with Oikawa. Obviously, he wasn't there when Oikawa enters the convenience store- the cashier was probably somewhere, happily sleeping, and Oikawa was scornfully kept awake by the pressures of the older society.

The cashier working there doesn't greet him, good, because Oikawa doesn't want to greet him either.

The cashier looks like he's seen better nights of sleep, and as Oikawa, probably the only customer-and-meathead stupid enough not to tuck (or be tucked,) into sheets at this hour passes past the cashier that chooses to remain in silence, they both swear a voiceless oath to the night, and all its terrible beauties.

Oikawa gives the man in the refrigerator's glass door his best zombie look (that's his reflection, by the way, for all yous just as without sleep as our dear Oikawa Tooru is,) wicked enough to make blood curdle, turn milk sour, and make babies cry.

The temperature of the refrigerator's insides make him lose the feeling in his fingers, and the cheese slices he began craving out of nowhere are far away enough he has to tiptoe despite the six-feet-and-something he's put between himself and the soap-white tiles of the floor.

The dairy products section of the local outlet of college students' everything-you're-ever going-to-need, or so one of Oikawa's friends liked to call it (a guy that knew how to make just about anybody laugh, and distinctive hair the color of a yellow flower Oikawa can't name for lack of sharpness of his thinking,) was not a fraction of the quaint store that Oikawa visited a lot, only when he was hosting a friend that liked to milk in their coffee, or cheese on their toast. Oikawa's territory was the section with all the kinds of instant ramen, ranging from extra spicy to seafood that smelled exactly like seafood.

This foreign land, marked by a sign with light blues and whites and a beaming cow with a bell around its neck, introduced itself coldly; Oikawa wishes he were examining the racks of instant ramen instead, secure and organized, his lifeblood, practically; wishes he entered the store sometime other than the first hours of post-midnight, like perhaps the embracing warmth of the endings of an afternoon. Here is all pale colors and brand names Oikawa puzzles himself trying to wonder how they'd come to conceptualization (the ramen packets had unusual names, too, but bias was a force just as powerful as the sorts like centripetal works and inertia.)

Oikawa takes his cheese slices and doesn't stay for longer than he has to. The refrigerator resumes its closed position with a last condensed breath.

Kuroo has no more reason being outside than that Kenma had wanted something unhealthy to eat, and Kuroo, out of kindness, and because he'd already been rudely awoken anyway, volunteers to buy it for him.

Kuroo leaves behind his sleeping clothes for something more decent, although there was nobody around to critique him, and he enters the store with a handful more of sleep than our Oikawa Tooru, stricken open-mouthed by a yawn.

Kuroo, by the purest of coincidence or the decisions of a god made ages ago finally falling into rightness, walks past where Oikawa has a hand buried deep in a coldness Kuroo's already shivering from just imagining. He buries his own hands deeper into whatever he can bury them into, coddling the coat he's glad he's put on. He's got earbuds on, a gift from Bokuto when their friendship was still a new, shy thing.

The song flooding his senses into a state that makes him feel that least bit more alive was what kept Kuroo from counting his footsteps and tipping over afterwards.

He passes Oikawa without even a first glance, unimpressed by his backside, and to a superficial eye, the god's structure of a plan would have crumbled into ridicule. But look on some more.

"Stupid hoes is my enemy, stupid hoes is so whack. Stupid hoe shoulda befriended me, then she coulda probably came back."

Oikawa, he. He had no words. Just all the profanities he'd taken under his wing all molten and acidic and clawing to escape from his mouth. His mouth opened and closed, so cross his head would have burst in red color and empty steam if it were a cartoon, and the offender, in a big coat and a carefree gait, continued to walk past.

Those were the exact words on Oikawa's wrist, the same kind that ravaged him, annoyed him, and they seemed to glow in sick joy. All Oikawa has in his left hand is the packet of cheese slices with liquefying frost, and in his right is a fist.

He doesn't know why, but he throws the cheese slices at the passerby, hits him right in the back of overgrown horrors he called hair.

The cheese slices make a pathetic thunk on the tiled floor and are nearly stepped on as the stranger turns around with an offended face.

"What the fuck?" he asks, in a voice so eloquent (charming, even, if Oikawa's mind wasn't on imaginary caffeine and painfully real willpower,) despite the accent of early morning tiredness.

"Don't 'what the fuck' me, you're the one with the hideous taste in music!"

The stranger pauses, or maybe it's a malfunction in time, and his eyes go wide as if Oikawa's just split his head on the display case standing next to them.

"It's you!"

Oikawa flicks his hair. "Oikawa Tooru, at your service."

There was no handshake, no kind greeting. Just silence as the two regarded each other differently. The stranger's eyes were the kind of gold he could get addicted to, injure himself on a jagged stone for.

(No, not stranger, Oikawa corrects himself, but soulmate.)

"Wanna go somewhere? Get to know each other more, develop something stupid and typical and a little bit too far into the wild side?"

"Well, since you asked, Tetsu-chan, take me to the Tokyo tower?"

Oikawa tells Iwaizumi all about the story of how he finally met his soulmate, of course he has to tell Iwaizumi. Oikawa tells Iwaizumi everything. At the end of it, Oikawa was expecting a congratulations, maybe lavished with it and a platter of praise, but all Oikawa receives is a deadpan and a "Why the fuck did you throw a pack of cheese slices at the person you're supposed to spend the rest of your life with?"

(After some very deep thought and reflection, Oikawa comes to the realization that, yeah, why the fuck did he throw a pack of cheese slices at the person he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with?)

#oikawararepairweek2k17 #oikawararepairweek2017 #oikawararepairweek #haikyuu!!#haikyuu

17 notes · View notes