#I just don’t get why he’s in the start XI honestly

[stokesy55]

Look, all I’m saying is we held onto Jonny too long through twisted loyalty and we need ten wickets going to Australia next year, not nine.

Sorry, Ollie. To me enough is enough

[angel-kyo]

Pay it no mind

Part XXIV

In which reader confesses their feelings to Gojo, but it seems these are not returned (maybe?).

Warnings: reader is on the receiving end of rejection (kinda), and the fact that I'm obsessed with unrequited love is a warning itself. Drinking is mentioned, and there is a bit of cussing. I'll admit Satoru does not look good in this one, neither does reader honestly, but thanks for bearing with me.

Previous: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part IV, Part XV, Part XVI, Part XVII, Part XVIII, Part XIX, Part XX, Part XXI, Part XXII, Part XXIII

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Ping.

Satoru heard the notification sound from your phone, which had been left unattended on the table in the teacher’s lounge, but he did not pay attention to it.

Ping.

You had gone to the restroom, and he was watching videos on his phone. In fact, he had found a funny video to show you when you came back.

Ping.

Whoever it was probably had a lot to say though.

Ping.

Satoru took his eyes off his phone and looked at yours.

It started ringing, then stopped.

Could that be something urgent? Satoru knew how to unlock your phone; you had showed him. You could access his phone too, although none of your ever used each other’s phone without asking first, but if it was urgent, he should maybe take a look.

He grabbed it.

4 new messages. 1 missed call.

Haruki: I did not want to say anything before, but I’m sorry if I weirded you out last night when I called you. Haruki: I was emotional and talked too much. Haruki: The whole thing with my father makes me drink more than I should and do things I should probably not do, and it’s… well, you know. Haruki: But I don’t regret it at all.

Satoru thought he did not need to read that. It looked like Ikeda had some family issues he vented to you about.

However, even if he did not want to, he could almost sympathize with the guy.

“Is that my phone?” you asked, reappearing before Gojo.

He stretched his arm out so you would take the phone he was still holding. “It was ringing.”

A moment later, your words confirmed what Gojo thought. “It’s Haruki… His father has been bugging him for money, but he does not really want to see him again.”

Gojo recalled you had told him something about how complicated his relationship with his father was.

I guess it makes sense he wants a friend to call, someone who will listen to him.

Not that he could make peace with you being that friend just yet, but he knew better than to say that aloud, so he hummed in response.

“Must be tough for him.”

***

Now that he looked back on it, that had happened two weeks ago, the morning he had returned to Japan only to find out that you would be clocking in late that day.

He had wondered what your friend could have said to "weird you out". What was the thing he did not regret? Why had you left the room to give him a call after that?

Satoru had tried, really tried to live with the fact that Ikeda was your friend, a friend that might have called you being wasted out of his mind to complain about the awful father he had. That was the explanation he had given to himself.

He never imagined you would have gone out to drink with the guy, maybe even spent the night with him, and then what? Eaten breakfast at his place just before clocking in at work to greet your obliviously hopeful best friend, if he could still consider himself as such, as if nothing had happened?

To think Satoru, overworked and sleep deprived as he had been after that trip, had wanted to get back to work immediately to see you...

He felt stupid.

“Are you okay?” Satoru heard you ask hesitantly.

He took his eyes off his reflection to briefly look at you. “What are you doing here?” he asked, moving to wash his hands for the third time.

You watched him hold his hands underneath the water stream, not really moving them.

So he still does that.

When he was younger, Satoru sometimes did that as a ritual to calm himself when he felt anxious. You could not remember the last time he had done it in front of you.

“You did not come back to the table, and Shoko said you looked pale when you left.”

And I’m afraid I know why.

“If you want me to call her to check in on you, I’m sure I can convince her to come into the men’s restrooms.”

Satoru knew those words were only meant to try and walk around the elephant in the room, or should he say the elephant that was sitting back at the table?

He grabbed a paper towel. “I’m fine. You should go back.”

You were standing from a distance but still saw his jaw tighten. “Aren’t you coming back?”

“What for?” he asked, throwing the used paper sheet into the bin.

“They already served the dessert, and…”

“What am I doing here, [name]?” Satoru’s eyes connected with yours.

What do you mean? You asked to come.

That is what you were going to tell him, but he did not let you.

“Is it true?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing, the ghost of an expression he almost never showed to you. “That night you went drinking with him, where did you sleep?”

Now that was a tricky question.

“At his place, but…”

Satoru’s face contorted into a broken smile and the forced laugh that escaped his mouth echoed through the empty stalls. “Of course.”

“Let me expla-”

“And? Was the breakfast worth it?” His venomous tone was not something you were used to.

You frowned. Was he really implying that? Did he really think that was the kind of person you were?

“I get that what he said sounded weird, but that’s… I can’t believe you’re asking that.”

“I can’t believe you’re not answering,” he replied dryly.

You took a step closer. “Satoru, what do you think happened between him and me?”

“I have no fucking idea.” The sternness of his words made you take that step back. “Because you did not even mention going out with him while I was gone, let alone that you spent the night at his place. Oh, but I’m sure that whatever happened he does not regret it at all, because that’s what he told you, isn’t it?”

What was he talking about now?

“What do you mean? Why would you say…?”

“Is that my phone?”

“It was ringing.”

The realization left you stunned. “You read our conversation?”

You were not expecting that. Knowing that Satoru was nosy at times was one thing. That he had actually violated your privacy and read a conversation from your phone without telling you was another one.

“Can you believe I almost felt bad for him? But why should I? He has you to comfort him in his oh-so-many hardships. What a lucky bastard...”

“Gojo, stop right there.”

He wanted to. Satoru really wanted to stop talking now before saying anything that would hurt you both, but he did not think he could. He had held it in for too long.

“No, don't Gojo-me. You did not tell me to stop before.” His eyes were burning blue.

The blue part of a flame is the hottest spot.

You could not remember who had told you that, but for the first time, it made sense, because it felt like Satoru was burning you under his gaze.

“No, scratch that... You told me to stop once, and I was foolish enough to think you needed time, that I was rushing you, but that was not it, was it? You had already made up your mind. You just did not have the guts to tell me.”

This was a side of Satoru that you were not sure of how to handle; your arguments were never like this; they could be ugly, yes, but it was never him yelling and reproaching while looking this agitated. He usually kept his emotions in check; you just lacked the experience seeing him like this.

What was that thing Suguru said once? That those who felt deeply will love you and hate you the same? That their love and their wrath was equally dangerous, or something like that?

Satoru’s agitated breath was all you could hear for a second, but then, as if regaining strength, he continued. “Tell me, did you ever think of him when you kissed me?”

Even before he finished the question, you had started shaking your head. "Of course not! Satoru, just let me explain. It’s not what you think, and I’ve never…”

“Now you are talking!” He advanced quickly towards you. “Yes, please, [name], please do explain what’s going on.” He was not exactly yelling, but he had raised his voice again, more than in any other argument you could recall, but it suddenly dropped. “What’s this? You play house with me Monday through Friday and fuck him on the weekends?”

“We are not playing house,” You were trying to avoid shouting, but it still came out sharper than you had intended.

“But you are fucking him.”

“I’m not!” That was it, you could not avoid shouting at him anymore. “Stop, just shut up. You know it’s not like that. He’s my friend, and you…”

“Then answer me, what are we playing at? Because I’m also your friend, right?! But looks like that’s all I’ll ever be, the friend that has to sit back and watch the person he loves fall in love with someone else. What a freaking great game, but guess what? I don’t want to play anymore.”

He had it all wrong and that irked you that he did not want to listen, but at the same time, it was breaking your heart to hear him. Was that how he had felt all this time?

You tried to touch his face to wipe away the tear that was about to fall down, but he pulled back. “Don’t… Don’t touch me. Just pick. It's him or me.”

What?

One look at your expression, and Satoru understood why he had put off asking you for a definitive response for so long. Maybe, deep down, he knew you could not pick him; he was flawed, he was selfish, he was always too late.

When you were younger, you had not been able to pick his friendship over Ikeda’s. This was just the same, was it not?

No, this hurts much worse.

“Satoru, I…” you started saying, but he shook his head and interrupted you…

“You seriously can’t, can you? You know… You were right, I’m selfish” he pointed to the door, “I’m nothing like Mr. Perfection out there, with the magazine face, corporate job, and just mundane problems..."

At some point, Satoru had given in and tried to get some intel on who the great Haruki, who had had you head over heels, was, but what he had found was just an average man that was perfect in everyone's eyes. In a way, that was worse than finding dirt on him.

"He may be a fucking saint, and I’m selfish all you want, but you…” the finger that had been pointing outside was now pointing at you “You are cruel beyond repair, and I’m an idiot for falling in love with you.”

He had lowered his voice, but the atmosphere could be cut with a knife, and his words certainly sliced it through.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” a young man, a waiter called behind you. “I’m afraid your… Umm… conversation is preventing some customers from coming in. May I ask that you continue this somewhere else?”

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Note: No notes today, just my love.

Thanks for reading!

Next: Part XXV

@mavs-stuff @witchbybirth @crookedlyaddictedone-blog @tqd4455 @maybe-a-bi-witch @mo0nforme @maliakealoha @zacatecanaaaa @blushhpeachh @astriarose @missesgojosatoru @ba-ks @sukunasleftkneecap @songbirdlully @cole-silas @heijihattorisgf @chokesonspit @hersheyzzz @smolbeanzzz @luciledreamz @avidreadee123 @moonmalice @ratscandaler @sadmonke @allie-jay @username23345 @spin-garden @ashehateaccount @kayzens @blehtotheblehtothebleh @stellasloth @bloopsstuff @cheesemachine44 @tetsuski @rosellerinfrost @catowru @bi-narystars @wondermilka @fortunatelyfurrygiver @shrxui

[ad0rechuu]

hi!! i love your writing. for the prompt event, could i please have yeosang with either 47 in touching or 4 and 42 in kisses? <3

❪ # xi ❫ : YEOSANG. ━━ PROMPT 47 + 4 & 42

hug by seventeen

🏷️ gn! reader , hurt / comfort / fluff , tw: crying , wc: 506 , notes: i wasn’t supposed to do this request since it was late but i immediately got an idea when read it so let’s just say it’s for my 200 follower milestone!!! >3< but thank you anyway for requesting <3 i’m looking forward to reading never say never when i have time !

You laughed at the show playing on television. You two had spent the entire day binging it but surprisingly you still haven't gotten close to tired of it.

You absentmindedly nudged your boyfriend's elbow to point something out. Normally, you would’ve heard or felt him move on the couch and get closer to you. But this time, he stayed uncharacteristically in place.

A slight worry started to bubble up in your chest as you turned to face him. When you did, your feelings proved right. His beautiful face wasn’t staring back at you, signaling it was joke or something. He was not even looking at you.

His head was turned to the window as he kept his eyes on the blue-grayish sky outside. His shoulders moved subtly as if he was trying to keep something in.

“Yeosang?” You asked carefully.

He didn’t respond but you could see a tear rolling on down his cheek.

You didn’t try to push him further, deciding it was best to keep quiet as you grabbed his hand, caressing it softly.

You two continued to sit in the uninterrupted silence for awhile until he finally turned to you, you could feel your heart breaking as his tear-filled dark brown eyes met yours.

It was honestly jarring to see. Your boyfriend was never one to cry. The fact that he was awkward around such emotions caused him to try and avoid it most of the time. But here he was, quietly sobbing. Yeosang grew visibly frustrated with himself. He wanted to explain his behavior to you but his words were not coming out.

You scooted closer to him, kissing his hand as you allow his head to rest in the crook of your neck. You could still feel the tears falling but his breathing got slowly more rhythmic the longer you stayed in that position.

The people on television continued to talk away but it served as nothing more than white noise. It didn’t matter. Not much mattered to you other than the boy with an unexplainable sadness in his eyes right then.

He spoke up for the first time in a while, his voice shaking as he did. “I-I don’t know why I’m crying.”

You took a little break from comforting him in your arms and he allowed you to cup his face with both of your hands. You placed a quick kiss on his lips, followed by kissing both of his cheeks and then on his birthmark until it escalated to placing ghosting kisses over his entire face in an attempt to kiss away the tears away.

Your heart could finally calm a bit when he let out that familiar giggle. Even if it was only a short period of time, you sincerely hoped he didn’t cry like that ever again.

But it was okay and he knew it too.

“You don’t need a reason to cry. It’s okay to cry, my love.”

Yeosang knew he would be okay as long as you’re by his side.

[re-re-redline]

-Confession Headcanons: Constantine XI-

-No Spoilers For Traum-

In the main headcanons at least, it’s in the Endnote, though, and it will be highlighted in blue. So look out!

Foreword: If you haven’t read the Romance Headcanons I did for Constantine, then I advise that you do since this is a direct continuation of concepts and events that happened (or would happen may be a better phrase) in that set of headcanons. In less words, you may find yourself a bit confused. At this phase, I don’t have that many posts so scrolling through my profile shouldn’t be too much of a chore at the time of writing. But once I have more things under my belt, I’ll make a Masterlist.

That in mind, this time I’ll be going into the process of how Constantine confesses to you. It’ll start off with how Constantine plans the whole thing, how he executes the plan, and the aftermath. Now, good ol’ Redline is nobody if not someone who writes ridiculously long lists of headcanons, so all that good shit will be under the ‘Read More’ for the sake of everyone’s scrolling convenience as I have a feeling that we’re going to be here a good while.

Now, let’s get into how this pathetic bastard (affectionate) will confess to you.

Alright, post agonizing slow burn we have a Constantine who no longer has his head up his ass. Great. So, this is the part where he confesses immediately and everything’ll be all hunky dory and this list of headcanons is gonna be a short one. …Is what I would say if things were that easy.

Let me ask you something real quick. We all know that Constantine had two (2) wives, yes? Well, can anyone tell me how he proposed to them? Was it: A. He visited her home country and proposed in person and discussed the deets there, B. He spent ages writing the world’s longest letter as a proposal, or C. It just happened, fuck if I know, why are you asking me this, Redline?

If you picked any of these options then you are wrong. His first marriage with Theodora Tocco in July of 1428 happened because her uncle, Carlo I, got his ass beat by Constantine’s older brother, John VIII, and had to give up some of his territories along with marrying his niece off to Constantine to seal the deal. Micheal had jack all to do with this aside from helping his brother take Mystras and beat up Carlo.

His second marriage with Caterina Gattilusio in 1440 was the result of his wingman George doing the negotiations. The only part Constantine played in that whole thing was deciding on who he was going to marry.

Now why am I telling you this? I’m telling you this to inform you that Constantine has virtually zero experience in this field. He had John and George pull it off for him and even then the marriages were political in nature so there likely wasn’t any feelings to confess in the first place. Now, he may have grown feelings for his wives during their short time together but honestly, we have no idea. So it’s safe to err on the side that he’s got nothin’ since it does not require proof of any kind to hold this position.

This means that it isn’t a stretch to say that Constantine has no idea what he’s supposed to do or how he’s supposed to go about this. The only confessions this man has probably ever made were at church and even then it’s unlikely that he poured his heart out to whoever was listening on the other end thanks to how clammed up he is in regards to his own feelings, so this is new territory to say the least.

Yes, yes. He does know that a confession of one’s romantic feelings for another person is basically at its core just saying “I love you.” But HOW does one say “I love you?” It’s not that simple. It can’t be that simple. Constantine already feels pretty bad for being an idiot and making you put so much time and effort into romancing him, so he can’t in good conscience just give a plain old confession and leave it at that. It needs to be something more. It has to live up to your expectations and then some. It has to be perfect.

…And that kind of thinking is why this is going to be much harder than it needs to be.

The Planning Phase:

Instead of getting stuck on the words he’s going to say as that will certainly leave him hopelessly chained to his desk for far too long, Constantine decides to plan everything else first to be efficient. Namely: the time of the act, the location of the act, how he’ll get you into position alone without cluing you into his true intentions, and countermeasures for if things don’t go as planned.

…If this sounds to you like he’s planning your assassination then you aren’t too far off the mark concerning the angle he’s attacking this from, no pun intended. Constantine is framing this alien situation in a way that’s closer to the ballpark he’s more familiar with: violence. You may find this rather easy to forget and I don’t blame you for it, but this man is from the 1400s and his bread and butter is military affairs. Not a slight to his ruling capabilities, but Constantine is said to be a soldier at heart. We already know that Constantine not only has zero experience in the way of romance but also hasn’t exactly been one to make such direct statements about how he really feels. So it isn’t unreasonable to say that he would frame the issue in a way he can comfortably work with, it’s just that this angle only makes sense to Constantine and anyone who isn’t him looking at his notes would think he’s genuinely trying to end you. Which is NOT the case.

Anyways, let’s get into how Micheal plans what time he should kill you. Ideally, this should take place at a time where there aren’t many people out and about but he also has to account for the victim’s schedule so as to not make this seem like a premeditated action with a defined purpose. It has to look natural and based on a simple whim. It has to look like an accident. After he goes through what he already knows about you—whether you’re a night owl, a morning person or neither—he picks his time and hinges the rest of his plan on the chosen timeframe. The location must be open within the timeframe and it must be normal or at least not unreasonable for people to be there at the chosen timeframe. Ah, but it can’t be when there’s too many people and it can’t be when you’re likely to get called for something either. It’s a delicate balance to be sure but trust the emperor here. He’s got it in the bag now that he has this framed in a way he understands and excels in.

With the time chosen, the location is next on the dock. The ‘where’ of it all should be a location that, ideally, is large enough for him to comfortably steer you away from any potential witnesses or unwanted third parties and has the adequate cover to obscure the both of you to, again, keep away witnesses. It can’t be a place where it’d be strange for a group of people to be based on the chosen timeframe and the nature of the location. There’s plenty of choices no doubt, so let’s rule out a couple obvious locations that wouldn’t fit the bill.

Your Room. One would think this would be the ideal location. There isn’t a need to worry about third parties since this is a personal dormitory for one singular person: meaning that more likely than not, it’d just be you in there. Plus time is not that much of a concern since it isn’t necessarily strange for a person to say, be up at midnight in their own room. And this would be the premier location for the crime—er, confession had it not been for one thing. Servants have a strange and frankly rude tendency to barge into your room for literally any reason. Everything from having a strange dream to stubbing their toe is on the table for reasons to open the door and walk-in. Hell, he’s even heard of someone just walking in and sleeping on your bed without even asking first. With such ridiculous and wholly unpredictable occurrences being the norm, calling this location ‘unsuitable’ would be an understatement. Your room should be a potential contingency for terrible luck at best.

The Cafeteria. Hiding in plain sight is the name of the game for this one. The ideal timing would be during either breakfast, lunch, or dinner to reap the main benefit this location offers. The room would be filled to the brim with people conversing on and on at their respective tables, meaning that no one would actually be paying attention to him or looking for him at all as they’d be too focused on their own food and chats with others. It’s the perfect cover so long as no strange physical actions or particularly loud statements are being made. Not a problem for someone as naturally low-key and conspicuous as Constantine XI. The only variable he’d have to account for is your reaction. …At least that would be the only variable in a vacuum. The problem once again has something to do with you. You are the master of nearly every single servant in Chaldea. You are the first person they meet and your bond with them is tight from the word go. You are, in no uncertain terms, everyone’s friend. And that begets a variation of the previous problem: people being inclined to walk up to you for literally any reason. The ‘in plain sight’ buff that this location boasts only really works if both parties involved have the same level of notoriety as your average Joe or Jane Doe. If you saw Keanu Reeves, Marilyn Monroe, or Wendy Carlos sitting down to eat at your local burger joint wouldn’t you walk up to them to say a few words? Even if you’re not the type, the same can’t be said for everyone else. You are, as the Master of Chaldea, famous in a strange way and that fame brings with it many, many people in public spaces.

Your notoriety is the problem that rules out several locations and forces Constantine to—in general—get a bit creative. This is and should be a private affair between two parties, no more and no less. …Ah, but I should mention now, as I see the proverbial written corner in the distance, that I can only keep this vague façade up for only so long. I can only generally make passing comments about the details of this plan for so long. Constantine’s plan is based on what he knows about you as a person and thus the brass tacks ultimately comes down to exactly that. So, in the spirit of staying detailed, I’m apologizing in advance and politely asking you to step into the shoes of a slightly defined person. I hope you don’t mind.

Picture yourself a morning person. A morning person who isn’t one to hang outside of their room during non-work hours because you’re just that tired from running around farming all day, and that exhaustion sticks around even when you wake up in the morning. The timing in this scenario would be—obviously—bright and early in the morning and the location would be in the library when it first opens. The library has plenty of cover in the form of its several floors and towering bookshelves, giving it a good sense of privacy. With the timing being early in the morning, Constantine won’t have to worry about making it before closing time nor about witnesses since—while there are presumably a good amount of morning people—not many would just head to the library first thing. Plus, the library isn’t a place where you’d be inclined to refuse since it’s a low energy type of location with rather simple activities to do there, y’know like reading or watching old educational films. It’s perfect.

See how the brass tacks of knowing you fits into things? There are several different answers and plans Micheal could cook up based off of surface level info—just imagine if I painted a full person instead of a tabula rasa with a small wash. We could be here for hours. Our boi has definitely been writing for that long and then some with the several crumpled up paper balls in his trash bin of scrapped locations and times, the sorta-kinda accurate maps drawn from memory with lil’ X’s indicating potential positions and notes on the pros and cons of them. This is some serious business, you know?

Getting back on track with generally describing the planning process, let’s talk about how he’s going to get you alone without you catching on. Most of it is just him keeping his composure and acting natural, any excuse will work so long as he doesn’t give anything away. Besides, it’s not THAT hard to get you to hang out with him anyways. You’ve been hanging out with him for ages at this point (because the whole romance thing wouldn’t have happened otherwise), so just asking for your time and saying something along the lines of “I just felt like hanging out with you” if you ask why will do the trick. I mean, what are you gonna do? Interrogate him? Why? You’d have zero reason to since—from your perspective—there isn’t any reason to suspect an ulterior motive. As long as he doesn’t visibly panic or fumble his lines, everything will be fine.

That’s how he gets you to follow him to the location, as for how he gets you away from witnesses…Well, we’d have to get into brass tacks again. Please recall the previous example. Early in the morning, library. This one is actually pretty simple. Lure you to the film room, quietly lock the door behind him and go in for the kill. Easy. You’ll be bleeding out before you know it!

Now. You may have noticed the words ‘pre-planned conversation.’ Yes, the man is planning and leading the conversation you’re going to have with him and is planning on having at least 15 different backups in case the conversation veers into the wrong direction. The last thing Micheal wants is for you to say something like “Man, that mochi Muramasa made a while ago really hit the spot. Hey, actually, let’s stop by and see what he’s making today!” and you head in a completely different direction, throwing the entire plan out of whack. He’s also going to write a script for his confession, but that’s a brand new animal to be studied after…

The countermeasures. The old adages: “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong” and “If it simply cannot go wrong, then it will anyways” are words Constantine lives by. Considering the nature of the universe this is taking place in, the scope of how things can go wrong is much, MUCH larger than you think it is. So. Let’s get into the most riveting ways that things could go horribly wrong.

The Apocalypse (Again):

It’s highly unlikely that an apocalypse could occur considering the state of the earth at the moment, but honestly. When have constraints like these ever stopped anyone from pulling insane shit ever? Maybe there’s a new Beast that slipped under the radar and has decided that now—just when Constantine decides to shoot his shot—NOW is the time to I dunno, evaporate the earth, atom by atom, with a black hole or something.

There isn’t much that can feasibly be done by our friend here. It is the apocalypse and he is, at the day’s end, just a man. So, the ‘countermeasure’ is really just postponing the execution and waiting for things to cool down before striking again.

Assassins:

Not the class, but actual assassins that are trying to kill you. One may think that it’s next to impossible for anyone to break in unnoticed, but if Koyanskaya can poison a cake (Lostbelt 3) without anyone noticing then enemy assassins breaking in to kill you is a possibility. It’s low, but the percentage is nonzero.

That in mind, the solution is just to kill them. Easiest decision he’s ever made. The difficulty comes in with HOW he’s going to kill them. You getting involved is a distraction that could potentially lead to you calling for backup and boom! Him getting you alone will be much more difficult since he has to get these people away from you without cluing them in on the plan. It’d be nice to be able to assume that everyone would dip after the job gets done, but there’s always that nonzero chance that even one could just so happen to ask to join. So really, it’s best that you are unaware of the dangers lurking in the shadows.

Constantine’s planning would hit a dead end here since the hypothetical assassins in this situation could appear at any point between him getting you to the location and him exiting the location and parting ways with you, hell, the hypothetical assassins could strike literally the moment he turns away. This means that, instead of planning a kajillion different ways to stop hypothetical assassins from killing you at various different points, Constantine would rather rely on his quick thinking and flexibility to resolve the issue.

If this frankly absurd scenario were to come to pass, then it’d end up being like that scene in The Amazing Spider Man 1 with Stan Lee jamming to some classical, completely oblivious to Spider-Man fighting The Lizard behind him with the room getting totaled in the process. It’d be hilarious, so much so that I’d recommend turning right back around and pretending like nothing’s happening for the sake of the bit if you end up seeing it.

That Asshole Sultan is Meddling Yet Again:

Ooh, you just know that Constantine’s fuming while drafting this section in his notes. From his perspective, Mehmed has been doing nothing but flirting and trying to steal you away from him. Hell, he even had the audacity to slip a letter—wax seal and all—under his door, written in Byzantine Greek that basically said “You know you can come to me for advice on romancing Master, right? I have a lot of experience in the field of romantic affairs so—” and the letter was promptly torn to shreds and burned. Who does he think he is?! And just what is he playing at here?! It’s almost like Mehmed is trying to seriously help Constantine here and is being sincere for once! Hah, as if that’d happen in a million years. Don’t worry Mehmed, you’ll get him next time.

If Constantine is unlucky enough to catch Mehmed on the way to the planned location then he’ll straight up just turn around and cook up an excuse to take a different route there. Maybe he forgot something, maybe he wanted to get a snack from the vending machine; whatever the excuse, he’s going to avoid Mehmed at all costs and is crossing his fingers that Mehmed didn’t notice the two of you.

If the sultan does notice, then that iconic yet infuriating smirk will crawl onto his lips as he saunters over to the two of you. And the moment he speaks to you, the whole thing goes bust. Mehmed is an unpredictable variable of the highest order and Constantine wouldn’t be shocked if Mehmed was some sort of plant who’s sole purpose in life is to piss him off and ruin his plans. There’s no telling how Mehmed will derail the whole thing or how salvageable the situation will be after the fact, so the best countermeasure is more preventative than anything. Head on a swivel, eyes peeled and fully prepped to make a 180º turn to a different route. If that fails, then Micheal will save it for another time.

Enemy Love Interest:

While this concept warrants its own list of headcanons, for the sake of this exercise I’ll skip to the end so to speak. Off the bat, I’d like to start by saying that I believe that Constantine would have noticed way early in the game if someone was pining for you. He may not have any real romantic experience, but he’s not dense. He can read people fairly well and he’s heard George gush about his wife enough to know what a person in love looks like. At this phase in the game, Constantine isn’t as worried as one may think. In fact, he’s pretty confident. You were the one to go out of your way to stick around him no matter how purposely stiff and awkward he was being. You were the one who tracked him to the most obscure places in Chaldea to hang out with him specifically. You were the one who put up with playing 4D Chess and Chinese Checkers because you knew that he liked those games. It’s safe to say that you do like him that way and the enemy has nothing on him. Constantine already has your heart and he knows it, he also knows that it’s highly unlikely that his opponent will change your mind if they do confess. So their really isn’t a reason to be hasty about it.

The solution is to simply go in for the kill, he’ll shoot his shot with you and that’ll be that. His opponent who, for as long as this has been going on for, has done jack all to sway you onto their side. There is no tangible threat here, there is nothing to be worried about. The only reason Micheal feels compelled to move fast is because he feels bad for making you wait. The opps can do as they please but it will amount to nothing in the end. And if they keep trying after Constantine confesses…well, let’s just say that the devil doesn’t hold a candle to a legitimately angry Micheal and leave it at that, ‘kay?

…Whew. That was a lot of words, huh? Well fortunately—or unfortunately depending on your perspective—we’re only halfway through. We still have Constantine writing what he’s gonna say and the execution of his plan. So strap in because I’m not letting you leave just yet!

The Scripting Phase:

This is the definitive hard part for our friend here. He can no longer frame this as something he’s vaguely familiar with, now he has to actually tackle this alien issue as it is for what it is. A matter of opening the door and proudly showing what is inside, as all people do. For a man drenched in denial and secrecy, to call this daunting would be an understatement.

After some deliberation and tossing a ball at the wall for about an hour, Constantine manages to break this task down into smaller pieces. In order for one to confess one’s feelings, one must know how one feels about the other person. Otherwise there wouldn’t be a confession in the first place. It is from putting words to the sensations felt by one for another that a confession would bloom naturally in one’s mind as an explanation for red faces and bashful words. That is what a confession is at it’s heart, no? An explanation for behavior that serves as an admission of romantic feelings.

Constantine sighs, he’s getting ahead of himself here. Simplify it into a few words. Understand feelings, define feelings, ruminate on now defined feelings -> write down thoughts, refine thoughts = Confession.

Seems, at its surface, simple enough. Self introspection is something that Constantine is familiar with, something he knew well from life and knows still after death. Close ‘friends’ they are to this day, meeting clandestinely when sleep runs late and distractions flaking when needed most. Yet here and now, in the sanctuary of his room, Constantine calls for an emergency meeting. Thus begins a long undefined period of intensive pondering.

He rises from his seat and lays down on the rug, its soft yarn soothing the aches in his spine from hunching over his desk for the past couple days. He closes his eyes. Start from the fundamentals, understand them, and the rest will follow.

The first question that must be answered is: “what are his feelings concerning you?” Admiration, something that is considered platonic at its base, is the first feeling that comes to mind. He doesn’t care, anything to get the ball rolling is good enough at this point.

To be plucked from normalcy into the world of the strange and mystical is something that most would buckle under the pressure from. Coupling that with the responsibilities that come with being humanity’s last hope makes for an ordeal that only few can truly stomach and even fewer can thrive in. Your rise to the occasion and continuance to persist with your goals in spite of the weight on your shoulders is deserving of high praise in Constantine’s eyes. But what deserves even higher praise is how true to yourself you’ve been throughout this journey, something that begets tinges of envy in the former emperor.

Tragedy after tragedy has befallen you and your comrades with parting words as common as their opposites, yet even with this awful state of affairs being your undeniable reality, you still have tears to shed each and every time. As tender as it was the day you set foot in Chaldea, your heart hasn’t changed one bit. No callouses, no scabs or scales; simply a raw, colorful mass in your chest beating and bleeding as it does, uninterrupted and unchanging. You’ve matured, became more knowledgable and wise but those changes have not brought the frigid chill that desaturates the lives of many. You’re still you. Kind, heartfelt, and honest you. This is a fact. A fact that Constantine can’t help but envy.

To be true to himself and to be honest about his feelings—to remove the hardened paper covering the tender heart shaped thing in his chest would undeniably be a show of weakness. Something an emperor cannot afford, no matter the era. He is supposed to be the paragon of strength and resilience, wise beyond his years and unflinching for his empire. He is the face of it and is often one of the first things thought of in relation to it. He is the person often attributed to its achievements and its failures. To show weakness would be not only an invitation for invaders, but an insult to everything his empire and people stand for. So he swathes himself in denial and lies to mask the truth of his composition, in hopes of one day being the man he’s supposed to be. When that day comes, he’ll be true to ‘himself’ and the loathing will come to an end. But for now, he’ll play the role he covets and stand at your side, envious yet admiring.

The second feeling that comes to mind is peace. The whiplash from distinctly recalling his cracked ribs, sprained wrist and the blood blinding his eyes to the calm of the present era was immense. Your nonchalance concerning the state of the world, however, hit him harder. It took a long time to get used to your calm disposition and it was in large part spending time with you that made the initial tension dissipate. The grand majority of your time with him was not spent conducting exercises or sorties into the battlefield, but rather recreational activities and dealing with the week’s Wacky Incident™ when it occurred. Somehow he found himself playing checkers with you weekly and somehow he found himself holed up with you in his room late at night to help you with the history homework Mehmed II tossed your way. It was a normalcy that was odd for the current state of affairs, but not unwelcome—no, it was sorely missed for the former emperor. When was the last time he had played checkers? Before his coronation…? No, maybe further back? Either way, to have these moments as a constant rather than a fleeting dream was perhaps the greatest gift you could have given.

This is not Rome and it never will be, his family is gone and so are all the people who knew him personally, yet while those things sting tremendously…it doesn’t hurt nearly as much when he’s with you. Your smile, your gentle fleeting touch, your eccentricities or perhaps lack there of, the conversations you two have had; they’re something akin to a campfire. Bright, beautiful, and most notably…

Warm is the word that comes to mind. Ever since he materialized in this paper colored world, he was cold. A fact that he didn’t quite register until he held your hand in his one day. Ever since then, he longed for warmth. Blankets, mittens, and jackets—they all served their purpose nicely, but that was all. They provided nothing more than an artificial way to retain the little heat his body gave. But even so, Constantine yearned for something more.

Another time, you hugged him. At its face it was nothing special, simply a gesture of gratitude for aiding you in getting out of having to do extra push-ups. The moment lasted for less than a minute, yet it’s presence lingered for long after. Through his extra layers, the blazer and waistcoat, he could feel it. Warmth, but of a different kind. It was something much more full and hearty, intense. It was you and it was overwhelming for the short duration that it happened, a burning sensation. What lingered thereafter kept the all too familiar chill at bay, and Constantine couldn’t help but feel bereft upon its disappearance. He wanted more.

Not too long after, Constantine found himself with burns from you again. But this time was different, you hadn’t even laid a finger on him. It was a discussion shared in his room. You had come to drop off a letter from Don Quixote but ended up sticking around for longer than intended. A point of interest on the walls. A single acrylic tile containing various flowers sat above his bed. At the time, his room wasn’t fully decorated nor nearly as organized as it is today, thus casting a spotlight on the lonesome, colorful square. You inquired about where it came from to which he happily explained. The flowers came from several people at several different points in time for several different reasons. The roses were from Nero as gift for helping her put together a concert, the chrysanthemums were from Miss Crane for New Year’s, the dandelions were from Paris and Asterios—so on and so forth. The conversation then turned into how the tile came to be, the trials and tribulations of creating something of this nature for the first time. He paused midway through after not hearing you respond for some time to check on you, only to have your visage set him aflame. Your expression at that point in time was unforgettable, something he’d think back to frequently. Your eyes shimmered with curiosity and attentiveness, your lips curled into a small smile—both zeroed in on him and him only. You hadn’t once spaced out during his, admittedly, long winded explanation and it showed in the way you were patiently waiting for him to continue. The burning sensation left him stunned, so much so that he almost didn’t catch you asking if he was alright. He managed to catch his breath and continued his explanation once more, his face several degrees hotter than normal.

With the raises in temperature you brought lay the signs of something under the surface. Something that Constantine had been ignoring just fine until one innocuous look backwards in time. Constant thoughts of you, wondering when you two will hang out again and being excited at the prospect, noticing things you’d like or would need and the subsequent desire to give them to you, the warmth he feels because of you…They all pointed to a disturbing conclusion. One that made him reject his feelings down to the very circumstances of their existence.

Then he felt cold.

Constantine opens his eyes. Admiration, a touch of envy, peace and warmth: these are the most notable feelings that Constantine feels around you. The second one, for obvious reasons, should be omitted from his confession. Admiration feels too platonic, too general—not romantic enough. Peace and warmth are what’s left.

To explain even a fraction—an iota, even—of the peace you have brought him during his materialization would require opening another door and showing what is inside that one as well. That prospect is less than pleasing as what lies within is not only unimportant to who he is now, but would most likely change your perception of him for the worse. To shatter his current veneer could quite possibly sour your taste of him, leaving an unsatisfying conclusion to the months of frigid misery he had carelessly inflicted on you and himself. It’d give you a strong reason to give him exactly what he ‘desired’ at the start of this mess.

No. No, it’s far to risky to make an opening like that. He can’t make a play like this at such a critical moment, it could ruin everything. It’s not…It’s not integral for you to know. It’s just supplementary information, stuff you can infer based off of the events that took place in his lifetime. He doesn’t have to confirm anything, not for now at least. It’s best to leave this be for another time.

What remains is warmth, something he has no qualms speaking of. The only thing to be weary of is to not sound like a madman or a wraith when he does. It’s very clearly romantic both as a concept and as a feeling. Only you have brought his temperature up like this and so consistently too.

The importance of the time when you held his hand and the time you hugged him could be attributed to his lack of touching people in general, that he will readily concede. It’s a strange thing to not only invade another person’s space but to go so far as to touch them as well. Why would someone do that? Is it to check if they’re real? Or is there simply no reason at all? Does there have to be? It’s weird. It’s a weird thing to think about. And it is also a divergence from the topic at hand. Constantine squints, trying to find his original train of thought.

Ah, right. Warm. That is how you make him feel. This should be the focus of his confession. He could add tiny bits of prose on how cute you are, but ultimately no more. The objective of this task is to—in written form—rip his heart out and serve it to you on a silver platter, not his eyes. It would be nothing short of superficial and insulting to the complex and charming sort of person you are. And Constantine would much rather snap his own wrist off than to give you the impression that he not only sees you on the surface level, but desires you that much too. He could wax poetical all day and night about how he could look at you forever or something but it’s just a nice bagatelle in comparison to the bigger picture here. Really, if one day your skin melted off and your hair went with it, so long as you carry your same warmth and remained yourself, then Constantine would love you all the same. It’s just a minor difference at the end of the day.

A hand slaps his cheek, it’s his own. This line of thinking will certainly lead to places too dark for the task at hand here, so he pivots and walks back a little bit of the way he came. …Right here should be good. Yes, this is where he’ll start.

Constantine gets up off the floor, sits back at his desk and begins writing. It starts off as disjointed paragraphs with only a barely tangible through-line but as time goes on, it becomes more coherent. More…straightforward. No more beating around the bush, no more forcing you to have to guess his thoughts and feelings; just clear and direct statements.

To have let you stumble in the dark looking for him while he sat curled up in a ball nervously peering at you through the gaps in his fingers is something he regrets deeply. How many bruises have you sustained from bumping into things unseen? How many times have you tripped and fallen over your own shoes? He couldn’t put a number to it even if he tried, not that he wants to anyways. It already hurts knowing that he put you through this unbearable limbo without even stopping to consider your feelings, imagining your pain through it all would only make his eyes sting.

So he writes and he writes and he writes and he writes—draft after draft after draft after draft with minor changes in between. There can’t be any misunderstandings here, so he continues ironing out even the tiniest of wrinkles in the fabric. The process is quite time consuming, so while we ‘wait’ for him to finish, I’ll answer some questions you might be having.

“If Constantine was so utterly lost at the beginning, then why didn’t he watch romance movies or read some romantic novels? Surely those would’ve gotten the gears in his head turning faster than making up an assassination plan and the subsequent marinating in his own thoughts.” And you’d be correct, it would have sped the process up significantly if Constantine simply took notes from various romantic media. But with that comes the potential for confusion.

At the beginning, Constantine only had a vague understanding of what he felt for you as result of the heavy mental censoring and retconning he subjected himself to in the early phase. His feelings at that point were an undefined, multicolored and shapeless thing that he just knew was love. So, if he were to just study fiction’s romance and shape his confession around that, he’d be left with various words that don’t fit quite well with his actual feelings. They’re not necessarily wrong, they’re just… The definition is… I-It’s actually…AGH! It’d either lead him down the path that he has already taken or cause him to use those words anyways in a janky mess based off what he’d think you’d want and what is commonly accepted. It wouldn’t be sincere. It wouldn’t be enough and he knows it.

“With all the writing he’s doing, wouldn’t it be easier to just send out his script as a letter? He could just skip the whole plan and rest easy knowing that he doesn’t have to worry about holding his composure or fucking up his lines and stuff.” And you know what? You’d be correct on that count as well. It WOULD be so much easier if Constantine just converted his draft into a letter and slipped it under your door someday. It WOULD be less hard on him to hide away from seeing your initial reaction. But you know what else this method is? Cowardly. It’s a coward’s way of confessing his feelings.

Constantine already uses several negative adjectives to describe himself: selfish, good-for-nothing, unfit, undeserving, weak—the list goes on. But one he will never ever apply to himself is coward. He’s the guy who stayed in his crumbling empire, ripped off the one thing that id’d him as himself and rushed into battle—not as himself—but as just some dude and died fighting for what he believed in as just some dude. He could have ran to the Morea then—hell, he could’ve ran years before the siege. But that would have meant forsaking everything he cared about, and that was something he couldn’t bare. This scenario is infinitely less intense and arguably less important, but is still deserving of that same attitude, that same passion. So no, he’s not going to chicken out of confessing in person and that’s based on principle.

The other reason is that you deserve better than just a simple letter. He, again, really regrets putting you through what he did and wants to make up for it. And being a coward is a terrible first step in that direction. This confession has to be something special, something that will stand out in your memories for years to come and act as a satisfying resolution to the struggles of these past few months. This confession needs to be something more than what it is. It has to live up to your expectations and then some. It has to be perfect. Constantine refuses to start with anything less.

Oh, hey. Would you look at that? Constantine’s finished writing his final draft. Let’s see here… It’s number… Fifty-three. Yeesh, I can’t imagine writing that many drafts since I mostly do everything in one doc and rewrite everything as I reread it. But I guess this is just a testament to how serious he is about this, huh? Fifty-three drafts, the first starting off a stream of consciousness and drastically changing until the last twenty which only had a few words replaced between them. Really, the only way you’d notice the changes is if you had the whole thing memorized beforehand. In his mind, a single word could change the meaning of the entire paragraph, so somewhere in the middle of this he got up to grab the dictionary and thesaurus from his bookshelf to just be sure. It’s not enough to know the general vibe of a word, you gotta know the definition too.

Contrary to the planning of how he’ll ‘kill you,’ Constantine hasn’t thrown away any of his papers. Not a single draft has been crumpled and sent to the graveyard next to the mahogany structure he writes on. The reason for this being is that these drafts symbolize his growth. Before this mess, Constantine wouldn’t have even given the idea of confessing anything to anyone—you especially—a glance, let alone writing his thoughts down at all. Writing these drafts was nothing short of monumental for our friend here, so he elects to keep them within the locked drawer of his desk for safe keeping. A memento of his first step in the right direction.

Someday, in the distant future, he’ll show them to you. He’ll read each draft one by one to you and you’ll both look back at this point in time with joyful nostalgia.

But that era does not exist yet, so I’ll leave it at that.

What comes after the final draft and a long break outside of his room is practice. The repetitive process of repeating the same set of words over and over again is intensely dull, so there isn’t much to be added here. Just know that he’s practicing a lot to make sure he won’t fumble his lines. Oh and he’s also going over the conversation he’s going to have with you on the way to the location where he’ll confess. But all that was in the previous phase, so I don’t need to repeat myself here.

After practicing a lot and feeling comfortable with the material, Constantine decides that it’s time to go through with his plan.

A Minor Interlude:

Hey. Do you recall all the way back in the Planning Phase what I said about brass tacks? No? Ah, well I don’t necessarily blame you if you forgot since that was…what? About 5,000 words ago? Anywho, I’ll restate it here.

The Planning Phase had two sections that relied on Constantine knowing you, so I couldn’t quite continue on with the same level of detail as I normally do without applying a definition to who ‘you’ are. That was when I painted a small wash on the tabula rasa known as ‘you.’ The brass tacks in the example scenario I am going to present to you are: you’re a morning person and the confession will take place in the library, early in the morning. Why the library? Scroll back up and find out! Nothing wrong with a lil’ rereading, right?

With that in mind… Final stretch, here we go!

The Execution:

“Deep breaths… Breathe in… and breathe out… Breathe in… and breathe out…”

These are the words that the subject of our observation had been mumbling to himself for the past twenty minutes, his body trying and failing to follow his mind’s commands. He is tense and has been for longer than his time leaning against the wall in the dim reserve lights of the hallway. But his initial tension tripled the moment he attempted to set foot outside of his personal sanctuary. His legs seized up and refused to move past the doorframe, his feet were comparable in weight to blocks of lead too. Getting here was a slog to say the least, but admittedly nothing he hadn’t seen before. He had been through worse and he knows that. The oddity this time around is that the situation at hand doesn’t even hold an ember to his past experiences. So why is his body acting like it is?

He supposes that this situation, in the back of his mind, holds that weight to him personally but not objectively, if that makes any sense. Constantine XI will not die today as a result of mishandling the situation, this is a fact that cannot be denied. But it holds that same weight since the change that would come as a result of his failure is, arguably, on par with if not more terrifying than death itself. Or at least that’s what it feels like right now, even though it wouldn’t affect him much outside of his feelings. Which Constantine himself hadn’t taken much stock in until recently, mind you.

This whole thing is ridiculous from start to finish, something he is painfully aware of, but he knows he can’t deny these feelings. Doing so would put him back on the path he walked on for so long—the path that led him to create this whole mess.

It would be so easy, wouldn’t it? To just walk back to his room, or anywhere else for that matter and forget that this ever happened. He could retreat back into the safety of denial and wait for this to die its slow and agonizing death. Hide in between the lines of non-answers and excuses so that he never has to confront you directly about anything and force the responsibility of ending this onto your shoulders. The pain will subside for the two of you eventually and will be forgotten quickly after the fact, this is something Constantine was sure of at the time. But his recent introspection made him question if this was really the right method of achieving his initial goal.

There were originally two ways to go about your romantic advances in the early phase. One would’ve been to accept your feelings and the other would’ve been to reject them. Neither option was appealing. The first would have ended in your eventual demise and the second would have him snap your heart in half with his own two hands. In Constantine’s eyes there was no lesser evil between the two as they both ended in a form of misery, one by his direct action and the other by something he cannot control.

The first one couldn’t be spun in any direction to sound appealing. But perhaps he’s missing something in his views. Perhaps he has to look at things from a different perspective to find the solution. Maybe he can have his cake and eat it too.

Death comes for everyone. This is an immutable fact that no one can deny nor fight against, it’s the inevitable. With that in mind, does it really matter when that end comes for someone? Dying in 5 minutes, dying in a week, or dying in 30 years; does that really make a difference in the grand scheme of things? Under a darker worldview it doesn’t, so why should he deny his and your happiness when he clearly can’t do anything to stop your demise? So long as the short months you have with him are priceless and enriching, surely sealing your fate isn’t as much of a crime as originally thought since it was just going to happen regardless.

…As if. Death may be inevitable, but that isn’t a reason to condemn an innocent person to death for the sake of being happy. That’s not right. Nothing is worth killing you for and no amount of so-called ‘hard truths’ will ever persuade Constantine to believe that. You have an entire life left to live, cutting it short before you even see the fruits of your labor would be horribly selfish at best and demonstrably cruel at worst. To be the person that stole your happy ending would utterly crush this man’s heart to pieces. Something he knows for a fact that he can’t live with.

The only other option that remained was rejecting you, but thinking on it more made it clear at the time that he couldn’t bare that either. The undefined feelings he held for you made Constantine a little selfish, you see. He enjoyed being the person that you hung out with frequently. He enjoyed being one of the first people you came to for assistance. He enjoyed having a piece of your schedule all to himself and he enjoyed having that spot so close to your heart. Were he to kill things off here, then you would most likely begin to drift away from him and move on to greener pastures. You’d find someone else and they’d make you happy, much happier than a man who couldn’t even do the bare minimum of what was asked of him so long ago. The thought of that, much to his own confusion, brings the bitter taste of jealousy. He should be happy for you in that scenario, right? …So why didn’t he feel that way? The answer would not be found until his introspection months after.

Both options led to a form of misery, neither of which he wanted to bring upon himself or you. So what’s left? The third option, a secret option, was to not do anything at all. It sounded infinitely better than killing you or losing you.

Silence is also an answer to a question, a lackluster one to be sure but an answer nonetheless. If he simply ignored your advances, then eventually the situation would resolve itself. He could frame his inaction as ignorance and prevent the scale from moving either way simply by doing nothing. He could still be as close to you as he is and not squander his chances with you break your heart. It’s the perfect solution.

…Not.

Those few months were the most miserable he’s been since he materialized and as he stands here outside of your room, he can say with absolute certainty that he never wants to go back. It’s that reaffirmation that shakes off most of the desire to turn around and keeps his shoes planted where they are.

Constantine lets out a long sigh, reminiscing isn’t going to do him any good at this phase. He needs to be here in the now and focused on what’s to come. Nothing will change if he doesn’t. He starts from the top, and—

“…Hm?”

Constantine flinches and whips his head in the direction of where the voice came from. His eyes catch their identity, but doesn’t stick around. His gaze averts to the wall behind, stealing glances from the safety of his periphery. He knows exactly who this is.

“Oh hey, Constantine. What’re you doing at this hour?”

It’s you, clad in your pajamas with a water bottle in hand, standing in the direction of the exit. From what he could guess, you had come from the cafeteria to get some water to help you sleep. No matter how exhausted you were the day previous, you always woke up on time. A blessing for your duties and a curse for yourself.

Constantine moves to stand up straight to greet you properly, raising his hand in a small wave. It takes him longer than he’d like to form a genial smile, and if he had to guess his own reflection then he’d say that this was on the lower end of his forced smiles. That said, it doesn’t take him long to respond.

“Good morning, Master. I see you’re well?”

Beside your head was the white wall everyone was well acquainted with. Mostly a metallic white and a nice blue section off at the bottom to spruce things up a bit design wise. Though I suppose depending on who was asked the color was more akin to a pine green, which Constantine disagreed with. On another note, a noticeable pause hung in the air before your reply, he’s sure that you shrugged.

“…Eh. Deathly exhaustion aside, I guess I’m alright. But pleasantries for the sake of pleasantries isn’t your style, so I have to ask…Why are you standing in front of my room at five forty-something in the morning?”

You never did miss a beat, did you? That’s fine. Constantine came prepared.

“Well, I was resting a bit from my walk. I didn’t sleep very good last night, so I’m trying to tire myself out by doing a few laps.”

“…”

“Uh-huh…”

You made zero effort to conceal the fact that you were unconvinced. You probably had your eyebrows raised and your arms crossed too to add to that, if he had to guess. In other, more ’important’ news…There was a bit of a dent in the wall just a few feet away from your shoulder. It was barely noticeable, even for someone who was scanning the walls it’d have a decent chance of being missed on first blush.

Whilst Constantine was staring at the wall, you dropped your two cents.

“Well, good for you on exercising, I guess. But that stuff only makes you more energetic. Just go lie down and read An Elementary Treatise on Determinants. It’ll put you to sleep in minutes.”

Constantine shook his head. As good of an idea that was, he’d probably focus too hard on understanding what he’s reading than letting himself sleep. Plus, mathematics reminds him of a certain four-eyed bastard and he really doesn’t want math related dreams either.

“A good suggestion, but the book would have to be something like how water boils or the history of paper clips. …I’d rather not think of math before bed.”

Constantine hears you chuckle and unscrew your water bottle, in the corner of his eye he sees you raise it up to your face.

“I feel that.”

You pause for a moment and lower your water bottle.

“Well, that Lewis Carroll book aside, I can’t really help you. So, I hope your walk goes well. Good ni—”

Constantine immediately rushes to cut you off, the distance between the two of you cut by over half.

“A-Actually…! I…I’d like to ask…Would you mind accompanying me? We haven’t seen each other in some time, so I thought I’d—“

“Sure.”

“I know you’re tired, but—“

“I said sure, stupid. Now where are we going?”

Your hand connects with his elbow, a playful love tap he presumes was to reorient him back in the now and away from what’s in his head. He takes only a second to silently appreciate the gesture, before giving you an answer.

“The library. It’s about to open soon and I heard that a few films and radio recordings have been added to the archive as well.”

“Oh yeah, War of The Worlds is one, right? I read about that one back in school. I still don’t believe that people thought an alien invasion was going on just because some dude on the radio said so. Y2K made more sense.”

“Well, why don’t we listen and find out why they might have thought that way? I’m sure that it wasn’t just an average reading that frightened them to that extent.”

“I’ll believe it when I hear it, Micheal.”

So far so good, if he had to say so himself. Aside from a few hiccups on his end, the conversation went exactly where it needed to and he’s pretty sure you haven’t caught on to his plan yet. After all, that initial awkwardness would most likely be attributed to the fact that he’s been avoiding you, not that he was going to confess. He just has to keep steady.

The walk to the library was, fortunately, uneventful. Thanks to the time, not a single soul crossed their path and there didn’t seem to be anyone shadowing them either. The tranquility and the ease of everything made Constantine wonder if he wasted time with planning as thoroughly as he did. The conversation between the two of you flowed so naturally that he didn’t need to pull out any of his backups or redirect it any way. In fact, it was so smooth that it felt just like old times, before this mess happened and before he realized what that fluttering feeling in his chest was.

This nostalgic feeling pushes him forward and takes out a good chunk of the tension in his shoulders. This is what he wants to return to and if he succeeds then he will have this and much more along with the ability to give that much back to you. The prospect…makes him feel warm.

You both walk into the library to which the daytime librarian, Murasaki Shikibu, greets you both and kindly asks if you two need help looking for something. You asked where the new radio recordings were being stored and Murasaki gladly told you their location: Film Room C. They were in a box on one of the tables since the night shift librarian forgot to put them away yesterday.

The film room—or more accurately rooms plural—was located on the second floor. There were three separate viewing rooms, each with their own: projectors, phonographs and gramophones, old timey radios, and one of them even had a pianola! All of which were either donated, made, or were here from the ‘beginning.’ The biggest contributors to the whole shebang being Thomas Edison, Antonio Salieri, Marie Antoinette and, surprisingly enough, James Moriarty. Er, the younger one, specifically.

The shared interior of any one of the rooms is difficult to describe if you haven’t been inside, but I will do my best.

The layout can be simplified with two shapes. Picture a vertical rectangle and, in the middle of the southernmost line, draw a small square. The square is the projection booth and the rest of the rectangle is the auditorium. One exits the projection booth from either one of the side doors. At the northernmost line would be where the projection screen is, and in front of that would be three rows of seats clustered to the front. The rest of the auditorium is devoted to holding the various records, cassette tapes, and film reels. In the gaps left between the wall and projection booth are shelves for these things, and those shelves move along the wall some more and stop at the middle of the room so as to not block the light of the projector. In front of each one is a wood table that seats six people. The aesthetics of the room, such as the wallpaper and flooring are the same as the library, so I need not waste time recounting it here.

Constantine led you to Room C, the room next to the one with the pianola. He opened the door and stepped aside to let you pass first as he usually does. As soon as he stepped in after you, he gently closed the door and reached behind him to turn the lock. This is it…after this radio broadcast will be his confession.

It didn’t take long to find what you both were looking for. The 1938 CBS broadcast was stored on a small cassette tape with the barely legible note: “Ask Tesla for…” something or whatever. Clearly the person who wrote this was very tired at the time of writing since the ink was smudged beyond recognition on the latter half of the message.

You placed the tape down on the table and Constantine could feel your gaze settle on him.

“So. Do you want to play this on one of the cassette players with some headphones or use one of the radios?”

“Hmm…I’d like to use the radio for immersion’s sake…but I’d imagine that they don’t take cassettes.”

“Wrong. They do take cassettes, look here.”

You reached over to one of the radios on the table and pulled the top half off to reveal…a cassette player. You make a hand gesture towards it and speak once more.

“Edison wasn’t too happy with the fact that we had a bunch of records and tapes, but nothing to play any of them on. So he made it his personal mission to make the phonographs and cassette players for them. After that he made these radios for playing old broadcasts more ‘realistically.’ So that’s how we got these. Pretty cool, right?”

“Huh…I had no idea that Thomas Edison felt so strongly about these sorts of things.”

“Contrary to popular belief, lionhead has a life outside of one upping Tesla. Shocking, I know.”

You huffed.

“But that’s neither here nor there. Take a seat. The runtime on this is about an hour so if we don’t start now then I’ll pass out on your shoulder twenty minutes in.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Yeah, well it’ll be your last if you don’t shut your trap already.”

Constantine couldn’t help but chuckle at your crabby remark. You may be fully awake in the mornings but that didn’t mean you were happy about it.

“Huu huu huu. Keep laughing and I’ll strangle you with your own tie.”

The sounds of your unceremonious shoving of the cassette echoed throughout the small auditorium, and the tape began to play in all of its crunchy glory.

What followed for the next hour was a surprisingly quality reading disguised as an actual news broadcast. There were some portions of the dialogue in the beginning that were a bit too descriptive for normal conversation or reporting and the immersion shattered to pieces with the time skip near the end of the professor at Princeton recalling his memories of the martian invasion and how the world is after the fact. It did make sense since this broadcast WAS supposed to be just a dramatic reading of the H.G. Wells book of the same name, so that’s not really a dig at the people at the radio station. All in all, a solid use of a single hour.

Constantine could see you stretch out of the corner of his eye as he put the cassette back where he found it. Next came your voice.

“Well, I’m officially convinced. The people who tuned in after the beginning announcement definitely had no idea that they were listening to a reading, not with the quality of the voice acting and sound effects.”

“Agreed. Though there are some lines that do sound as though they’re from a book, it did sound mostly real. …Until the end that is.”

“Yeah, that time skip was way too jarring. I think they should’ve cut the reading off earlier.”

“…………”

“…………”

The legs of a chair scrape for a few seconds and the chair, he assumes, hits the desk. The soft pitter patter of your slippers inch closer to his location before stopping a comfortable distance from himself. You cut through the silence.

“Hey…”

“…………”

“…I don’t want to sound like a broken record, but I really…”

Oh… Oh no…

“…Are you alright?”

“I’m fi—”

“………”

Constantine manages to cut himself off from playing that automated message. He can’t start off with a lie, no, he has to be honest. You deserve better than lies. Well, really, you deserve better than him but your pursuit for his heart lasting for as long as it has must mean that you’re okay with that. That you’re okay with settling for someone like him and that…Well, that boggles the mind, doesn’t it? But he’s not complaining. No, he’s glad. Very glad. And he’s finally going to let you know that.

“You know what, Master? I-I’m not…”

Constantine takes a deep breath and forces the statements from his mouth. The amount of effort it took to dislodge the words from his esophagus left him feeling a bit tired, but…

“I’m not alright. I haven’t been alright in a while, actually.”

Relieved. Constantine is feeling relieved. His shoulders have gotten lighter and his throat doesn’t feel as closed as it used to. Hehe… Maybe this isn’t so bad.

“It’s not because of you, or anything. No, this… This is all my fault and I take full responsibility for everything that has happened between us recently. And… There aren’t many words I know of that can accurately describe how utterly apologetic and regretful I am of these past few months. Ugh…”

Constantine was slouched over the table with his head in his hands. He wasn’t quite ready to look at you yet and your vague blob-like appearance in the corner of his eye was beginning to make him nervous because, ironically, he isn’t sure how you’re taking this. Which is exactly why he didn’t look at you in the first place. You could be very pissed right now for all he knows and the fact that he doesn’t know if that’s true or not is both making him feel better and worse at the same time.

Regardless, he continues, hoping that you can hear him through the wall he put in front of his face.

“I haven’t been this miserable since…since a while ago and I-I don’t want to go back to that.”

Constantine pries his hands off and lets them hit the table with a bit more force than necessary. He stands up straight and exhales. This is it. This is everything he’s been working towards. Just stay calm and recite the script.

“Which is why I need to tell you—”

Finally, after about and hour and a half of purposefully avoiding your countenance, FINALLY does Constantine look you in the eye. And what he sees gives him pause.

It’s you, clad in your pajamas and fluffy slippers with an empty water bottle in hand, bedhead on full display. That makes sense since you weren’t really expecting him or what he’s dragged you into. The sight, in the initial few seconds of him registering it, brings to mind a potential—no, near future that you will share. Someday, maybe very soon, he’ll get to see you like this everyday when he wakes up. But that’s if and only if he can get the words out.

Which he can’t.

Your expression stole the air from his lungs and suddenly the room feels much smaller. On your face sat that same look that you gave him that set him on fire. Your eyes shimmered with curiosity and attentiveness, your lips curled into a small smile—both zeroed in on him and him only. You weren’t angry or anything of the sort, no you seemed… You seemed happy with him and that, well, that’s amazing! That means that he hadn’t lost you yet.

Ah, that face… That beautiful expression… It’s positively strangling his ability to recall just what he wanted to say. Not a single word of any of what he wrote is coming to mind, but maybe… Maybe that’s for the best. Maybe this is how a confession is supposed to be.

Constantine, after a moment, chuckles and simply lets the words fall out as they go.

“Haha…Master… I had planned this meeting from start to finish, but it seems to have fallen through at the most critical moment. I should have expected as much, really, with the way you affect me. …While not ideal, I’ll move forward anyways. I have to. For your sake… And my own.”

It’s a great feeling for one to speak their mind like this after ages of keeping everything under lock and key, but it’s not as easy as it sounds. Not even after getting the foot in the door. The embarrassment of forgetting his heartfelt and perfect confession is already enough to drag him back to his room, but the real thing Constantine has to contend with is the rather incessant fear of what you’ll say to him when he’s finished. That face, for all he knows, could be a mask for what you’re truly feeling at this time. And that idea scares him to his core.

Constantine takes a step forward, removes his gloves and places them in the pocket of his blazer. Hesitantly reaching to grab your hand from your side to hold in both of his. This is not a gesture of affection. Just like how he locked the door soon after entering, this too is his way of forcing himself to go through with this. At least that was the initial idea. The man sighs upon feeling the warmth of your hand, he can’t help but consider falling into the temptation of placing it on his cheek like he had pictured so many times before. Mm, maybe later. The elation of feeling the warmth he had missed after so long of denying himself of it being enough for him for now. Constantine can feel his face getting hot as he musters up the courage to continue talking.

“I… I have so many things I want to say to you… But the words disappeared the moment I look you in the eye. Holding your hand isn’t making things better either, but I can’t seem to let go. The feeling of both… Is—it’s so… How do I put it? It’s… It’s warm. You are warm. You keep the cold away long after we part ways and every time I think about you… I feel as though I’ve been set ablaze. Not literally, of course! I-I mean it in more of a metaphorical sense. You don’t set me on fire, it’s just…”

Constantine raises one of his hands to cover his face, though it only really obscures his eyes from you. He knows the way his lips are pursed and the red on his face will give away what he’s feeling at the moment. Flustered. An emotion that he’s certain that you’ve seen on him before, but not as strong as it is now. He breathes a long sigh before speaking once again.

“Master. Your feelings for me… I reciprocate them in full. I know that may be hard to believe due to my…recent actions, but I do feel this way. I do cherish you deeply and I find myself thinking of you a lot in my off time and I… I…”

“………”

The thing about change is that it does not happen overnight. No matter how hard a person tries, you just can’t build Rome in a single day. It takes time. As commendable as it was for Constantine to take his first step into being more honest with you emotionally, that is all he can do right now. Take that first step, I mean. He can spare nothing more as forcing as much of his feelings out as he did left him drained. This is not his default state, after all. The amount of energy it takes to commit an action like this is twice if not thrice more than normal, leaving him now with not even fumes left to burn.

It’s important to pace yourself and find out what your limits are, but ultimately one will never know where their limitations lie until they push them. And right now, it seems Constantine XI has found his and, at the supposed moment of truth no less.

His mouth not complying with his mind causes his already high stress levels to increase, his legs beginning to shake in response. Constantine wants to start this off right and petering out at a time like this would only serve to force him to play catch up with you when he could be spending that time joyfully on equal footing.

This is, of course, under the assumption that you’ll accept…whatever this is.

Luckily for him, he doesn’t have to worry about that for much longer as he feels something warm touch his face. It’s your hand resting on his cheek, your thumb slowly drawing circles.

“I know.”

“What…?”

“I already know, you don’t have to tell me.”

Astonished, flabbergasted, and stunned: these words are close but simply not enough to convey his feelings upon hearing this revelation. Those two words have done no less than recontextualize everything that has occurred during and perhaps a bit before those few months. It makes much more sense now that he’s been made aware of this. But the newly formed ideas rattling around in his skull are, as of now, assumptions. In order to be sure, he does what any slightly confused person would do. He asks you to clarify.

“Since when?”

“Hm?”

“When did you know?”

“Ah…”

You place your free hand up to your chin in contemplation for a few seconds before sighing in what appeared to be defeat.

“Well, I’ve had a bit of an idea that you did a long time ago… But it wasn’t really confirmed for me until that time we watched Pride and Prejudice together a few weeks ago.”

Constantine felt the visceral desire to cringe upon recalling that night. He had always prided himself on being the bigger man in most situations, but something in him—which he now understands to be jealousy—just wasn’t having it that night when the Father of Conquest decided to sit next to you and sling his arm on your shoulder. The whole thing ended in Constantine swapping seats with you and throwing a punch after not being able to resist the very normal urge to punch people you don’t like.

Oh, of all the ways for a person to figure it out, WHY did it have to be the one time where he couldn't keep it together in front of you? Just…why?

“Hehe… Don’t look like that, Micheal. I thought it was pretty cute.”

Shaking his head free from the cringe, Constantine swiftly moves the topic onto something that doesn’t make him want to bash his head against the wall out of shame.

“Another thing, if you knew already then why didn’t you tell me?”

You simply shrugged.

“I just thought you needed time and space. You’ve always been the type to keep to yourself and deal with stuff on your own, so I didn’t want to butt in on something you weren’t ready or wanting me to see. So I waited.”

Yep, that’s exactly what he assumed. Ever the considerate person, you patiently waited for Constantine to get comfortable enough to act on his own. You weren’t worried since you had the knowledge that he liked you that way and you likely were confident that you were clear about your feelings. All that was left to do was to wait for him to make a move.

You chuckle.

“Guess I made the right call considering that you look like you’re going to pass out any second now.”

“Do I really?”

“Yeah, you’re sweating bullets and your legs are shaking real bad. I think you should go to bed, I know I want to.”

A tempting offer to be sure as he is feeling rather exhausted, but he knows he can’t leave just yet. He still has to say at least those three words before he can call this a successful confession. But the moment he opens his mouth, you pinch his cheek and cut him off.

“Don’t. If you have to try this hard to say it, then maybe you aren’t as ready to say it as you think you are. Telling someone you love them should be easy, almost as easy as a slip of the tongue but more genuine than that. It should be like saying the sky is blue or that fire is hot or that Emiya’s cooking is top notch—y’know like stating an obvious fact. That’s what that should be.”

Constantine attempts to respond only for you to gently shake his face a little and cut him off yet again. If it were any other person, he might well have been pissed for their audacity to treat him so disrespectfully. But your adorable pout contrasting your no nonsense attitude—plus the fact that it was you doing this—was melting his heart down, leaving him neither wanting nor able to do anything about it. You huff and add onto your previous statement.

“I’ve already waited for you once, and I’ll gladly wait some more if it means I never have to see you like this again. I don’t like seeing you struggle this hard just because you think I’ll hate you for something as ridiculous as not saying ��I love you’ out the gate. Besides, it’s not like we’re on a time limit either, so we can take this as slow as you want. So no more of—”

You wave your free hand around in the air.

“—this because you look like you’re going to keel over. Okay?”

“Haha… Sure, sure. I’ll pace myself.”

“Great. Now that we have that sorted out, can we please go to bed? I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“Er… We?”

“Yeah, we. If you’re not comfortable with it, then that’s cool, but I want to take a nap with you. Again, only if you’re okay with that.”

After months of barely seeing you, the answer was obvious.

“Sure, just give me a moment to change when we get there.”

You nodded, taking your hand off his face since it didn’t seem to you like Constantine was going to say something silly anytime soon. It rests at your side for only but a moment before being taken by Constantine, who—despite the awkward way he went about it—was smiling to himself and looking off to the side.

This whole thing was messy from start to finish but it was a success nonetheless. That in and of itself is something to be proud of and no amount of stutters and stiff phrasing could take that away from Constantine. Sure his preparation was ultimately a huge waste of time and perhaps an unconscious stall on his part, but it got the ball rolling in how our friend here was going to go about this. A long winded warm up if you will.

He hasn’t told you everything and fumbled in forgetting his explanation as to why he avoided you for months. But maybe that’s for the best. It took Constantine a tremendous amount of effort to tell you the surface of his feelings for you, explaining what happened over a decade ago to make him do this is probably going to be like pulling teeth. And it’s not like he’s necessarily gotten over it either, but he is less worried after thinking about it more rationally during that long introspection he had before today.

It’s the modern era with modern technology and modern medicine, leaps and bounds ahead of his time. Dozens of debilitating illnesses are extinct, curable, or manageable. That being said, does he really have to worry about you suddenly falling ill and perishing when you have legendary physicians at your side? Probably not. Plus you’re not his spouse, so maybe the curse isn’t after you yet. Maybe he’ll have much more time with you than he initially thought.

But thoughts like those are for a different time. For now, Constantine is content holding you in his arms as he drifts off to sleep. His last coherent thought being:

“Why didn’t I do this sooner?”

The Aftermath:

HAHAHAHA! What? Did you really think I’d make it that easy? That I’d let this all wrap up nicely with a neat bow and call it a night? Absolutely not! That’d be unrealistic.

The floodgates wouldn’t just open up all the way just because Constantine decided to change and be more open about his feelings. Things don’t work like that. You know why? Because the hinges have rusted over, not only from disuse but also from Constantine himself adding water and salt onto the hinges themselves for years. He had not nor did he ever desire, in the past, to have the proverbial floodgates open completely, let alone as much as they did now. Really, he preferred to have the gates open about…hm. About three inches. Just enough to let a little bit of water through and just enough to deceive you of the water’s color. After all, water in a glass appears colorless, but water in a lake appears a deep blue. See what I’m getting at here?

Due to Constantine’s own self sabotage—which he didn’t think it was—made it so that he just couldn’t get the words out even if he wanted to. He’s been like this for years, decades even. There’s no way that he can just up and force the floodgates open all the way on a whim. No, it would have taken extreme circumstances to have that happen right now, like you dying in his arms or something similar.

Now, don’t think that the proverbial floodgates and their rusted hinges are something akin to the Theodosian Walls in terms of strength because they’re not. He has broken down before—the mounting pressure of everything that happened in his life has caused the gates to fly off their hinges and after a quick breakdown alone somewhere, Constantine fixes it and pretends like nothing happened.

That’s how he’s been and the damage is far too extensive to simply be resolved with a single day’s determination. Though, I should say that his efforts now are a damn good first step in the right direction.

Ultimately, it’s going to take Constantine a while before he drops the ‘l’ word and perhaps a bit longer before he explains himself as to why he avoided you. It’s also going to take a few hiccups along the way with Constantine regressing a bit into his old habits of keeping his pain to himself. Change isn’t linear just like it isn’t swift, the bastard takes the scenic route that makes most people hurl from motion sickness and doesn’t apologize for it in the slightest. That’s kinda what it’s like.

But he’ll get there someday and when he does, he’ll look back on this whole thing and laugh about it with you.

Until then, it’ll be slow moving forward.

Endnote: 13,726 words later and here we are! I was not expecting this to be double the size of the original Romance Headcanons but when have I ever spoken shortly about something?

During the long ass writing process of this, I stumbled into school starting annnnnd my inspiration running dry quite a few times during this. But what got me kicking was watching a series of videos about Monogatari. The way the person phrased things and spoke about what was going on and the themes of it all had me captivated and inspired me on how to write what I was stuck on at the time, that being the Scripting Phase.

The Planning Phase was all fun and games, serious but not too in deep. Poking around the issue a bit, if you will. The Scripting Phase was the serious part, full of feelings—both good and bad. That series of videos and their wording heavily influenced how I worded things in that section, so if it seems different than everything else I’ve written so far, then now you know why.

Another thing was the music I was listening to. Shoutouts to Sabbath (Saya no Uta), Piano Alley (Yume 2kki) and Faraway Forest (Yume 2kki) for being my background music for nearly the entire duration of the writing process. I don’t know why, but those songs seemed to fit in perfectly with the mood I was going for. I am way too picky with my soundtracks because I can’t listen to a single bit of spoken word while I write AND the tempo has to be just right before I can comfortably get my noggin joggin’ on the page.

So. I know that Constantine not directly saying that he loves you is yet another blueball on my part (refer to the omitted section of the RHC) but I hope that reading this whole thing before and after the Execution Phase provided the explanation as to why I didn’t do that. Constantine is not a perfect person and I never want to write him as though he is since that’d be way too bland and untrue to his character (or my rather depressing interpretation of it.) Constantine fucks up like everyone else does. In Traum, he arguably fucked up by openly holding Johanna as close to his heart as he did because that gave him a massively exploitable weakness that Kriemhild took advantage of and iced him with. If he had kept Johanna a well kept secret, then he most likely would’ve stayed in the game longer than he did and he wouldn’t have had to worry about the consequences of his bestie The Pope getting ganked and how that would affect Reinstatement Realm morale.

I also think that his unfinished confession is much more interesting and leaves room for him to grow as a person. If everything was solved in less than a week, then that’d be lame and would have his character hit a dead end after the confession. Mm, but you could argue that—since this isn’t a series—I shouldn’t be concerned with things like time since in that scenario where it is one it’d be more noticeable if I put everything in a timeless vacuum as opposed to here where it’s just me yapping as youth say. I could have omitted time entirely, but I think that swathes of his development would be missed if I did and the payoff would have been less rewarding, both for the man himself and the reader.

I guess the fact that I view the headcanons I write as less of “What if my blorbo were to interact with ‘me’ in this given scenario” and more like “How can I use this scenario to broaden my understanding of my blorbo and what does his actions, thoughts, and feelings say about him as a person” type of shit is why I have these long ass posts that take a million years to write. And I worry that I’m leaning too much into character analysis as opposed to—in this set of hcs specifically—the romantic aspect of it. I feel like this might not be romantic enough, if that makes sense. So uh, if you feel that way then do let me know. I’m not sure how I’d about fixing that, or if I can without losing the substance that I loosely pride myself on. Makes me wonder if other fanfiction writers have the same issues I do, hehe.

But those are just Redline things. Back onto the behind the scenes, I—with much shame—am confessing that I have omitted something yet again due to length. I was originally planning on adding a bonus of what would happen if you beat Constantine to the punch but I kinda chickened out since I felt that it would take a lot of words to write even remotely well and that might put the word count above the blog’s current record holder “What it Means to Protect You” (WIMTPY) at 21k. I don’t think I’ve ever read a list of headcanons that ever came close to 21k, so I think that’ll be maximum if I ever somehow find myself writing that much. And I hope for your sake that I don’t since, I don’t know about you, but WIMTPY lagged like hell when I tried scrolling to specific parts of it, so I don’t want anyone to suffer that.

One last thing before I let you be. About the preview I released… I thought it’d be hilarious if I made it look bad since it was unfinished and I was having a time crummily drawing the header-footers and the squares with just my fingers. Though, it seems that the joke didn’t fly over that well, hehe, my bad. I might have to change my very vague™ April Fools’ plans for this year, or not do anything. So it wasn’t a complete loss on my end.

Anywho, that’s all for now. I have a lil’ something coming very soon that I had in my trusty back pocket for a certain someone’s arrival when the event drops, so look forward to that! But until then…

—Redline, over and out!

[devilsrecreation]

I still very much believe that Sir Hiss, Kaa, Ushari, and Fu-xi should be a squad so have some headcanons:

It starts off with Sir Hiss meeting Kaa at like a Disney Villain bar or the House of Mouse and them becoming friends

They eventually find Ushari’s ghost slithering around and Hiss asks if he’d like to hang out with them. Ushari’s surprised they can see him but agrees anyway and they become a trio

Fu-xi has somehow found his way to the Disneyverse and ends up saving the trio (well duo since Ushari can’t get hurt anymore) from some kind of danger. Hiss knows the newcomer isn’t exactly from here, but he accepts and befriend him anyway because as Ushari once said: “Sisi Ni Sawa”

Fu-xi was the first one to figure out Ushari’s actually a ghost. His new cobra friend refusing to eat was suspicious enough, but then he started to notice that nobody even touched him. Wasn’t until Fu-xi went to give Ushari a hug (whatever the snake equivalent looks like) and passes right through him

When Ushari finally confessed, Hiss and Kaa were understandably freaked out, but Ushari assured them he wasn’t here to haunt anyone and got a lot of support when his friends learned about his story

Fu-xi and Ushari are BFF’s and no I will not elaborate

Hiss and Kaa defenitely have a thing going on cuz gay snakes am I right?

Kaa, Ushari, and Fu-xi HATE Prince John for obvious reasons. Ushari because he sees him as pathetic, Fu-xi because John’s a two-legger who looks down on serpents (to his credit, it’s not entirely false), and Kaa just gets bad vibes from him

They have all seen how PJ treats Hiss and he straight up would have died if it wasn’t for Hiss stopping his friends. Fu-xi has repeatedly offered to kill him since he’s promised no one harms a serpent while he lives. PJ’s admittedly scared of all of them, especially after Fu-xi tried to lunge at him going “HOW DARE YOU TREAT HIM LIKE THAT!”

They’re a bit more lenient and understanding with Shere Kahn. Especially, Fu-xi since they both share that hatred of two leggers

Shere Kahn: Those two-leggers are horrible. All they do is ruin things for us

Fu-xi: THANK YOU, FINALLY. SOMEONE GETS IT!

They all have some sort of role: Sir Hiss is the leader and the nicest one, Ushari’s the smart and wise mentor, Fu-xi is their bodyguard, and Kaa is the impulsive comic relief (or should I say KAA-mic relief—I’m sorry I’ll go in the corner)

Fu-xi has been trying to teach the others how to be more intimidating. It’s not going well.

I like to imagine Jormungandr from Ducktales hangs out with them every once in a while (when not in his stone form). He gives Fu-xi fighting tips. Hiss looks at him respectively (and by that i mean he’s internally going “awooga” at the sight of him)

Ushari was the one to give him a chance since the demigod reminds him of a certain friend of his (it’s Kenge. They both share the same VA lol)

Hiss, Kaa, and Fu-xi have probably met the skinks at some point. They think they’re downright ADORABLE

Kaa forgets his hypnotizing powers don’t work on other snakes so he’ll be like “Truuuuusssst in meeeee~” and Ushari would be like 😐

All of them had a rough upbringing but everyone agrees Fu-xi had it the hardest. I imagine after he tells his story about how his family was persecuted due to racism, everyone else was all

The reason why they’re all besties in the first place is that they all bond over being disrespected

Not only is their friend group like a support group, but they honestly bring out the best in each other. They’re better snakes now :)

[whitehartlane]

Random footy ask! I only saw bits of the Korea game earlier but would love your takes on what needs to change. Was sonny swapped from the centre to the left in the second half? Did Kangin just get marked into oblivion?

hello laura 🫶🏾 thank you for the ask!!

ah, it was a frustrating game. not the end of the world, but a proper wake up call for klinsmann regarding his tactics and starting xi choices. full credit to jordan, they did their homework and played with real fighting spirit! very hard to break down and very physical as well. didn’t play a low block and played their football, it was nice to watch. they had a lot of fans there and that gave them a bit of a home advantage.

first of all, personnel status. kim taehwan needs to start over lee kije. i’m not a fan of lee kije generally but even disregarding that, taehwan is just way more impressive going forward. second half was really bright from him and seol youngwoo - the two fullbacks made a lot of overlapping runs that led to a fair amount of chances. just no final ball today unfortunately. cho guesung was off it - i don’t know if he’s feeling the pressure as being first choice striker or if he’s just off form but i think a stint on the bench would do him good. i’d like to see more of oh hyeongyu up front. he’s very eager to impress and held the ball just a bit too long at times today (which i think frustrated sonny) but there’s a player there.

kangin is great, but he’s a young player. he runs hot/cold right now and that’s probably my biggest point of criticism with him and why i side eye kr bro tacticos that hype him up too much—he’s spectacular but he has to work on consistency within his performances and his game, especially now that he’s coming into his own and opponents know that and try to mark him into oblivion like they do with sonny. haven’t seen the stats but he got dispossessed a lot today and tried some long balls that were a bit over shot from the eye test. it’s a good game for his character, to come down a bit and know that he has to find a way past that and work on his game. he’s young, he will improve and find his consistency.

tactics wise… first half was sloppy apart from the penalty (which was super). it was kind of surprising honestly, team was clicking a lot more in the past few games chemistry wise, but this first half, oof. couldn’t put a pass together if their lives depended on it! second half was much better, more aggressive. lack of finishing was pretty much the curse today. i think klinsmann needs to just go through some attacking patterns with the lads instead of individual brilliance moment from sonny/kangin/inbeom/whoever and inshallah. loved the overlapping runs from the fullbacks today as said, and if he hones those a bit more in training and actually rewards players who play well with starts then things could be looking way better. getting heechan and jinsu back would be a huge boost, especially heechan!!! his physicality and his ability to drive into the box. i’d like to see sonny playing through the middle with heechan on the wing, that linkup is very dangerous.

think today was also in part sort of a underestimation on korea’s part, i don’t think the lads expected jordan to play the way they did which is why the first half looked so rough. the second half was much better in terms of determination and aggression. the conspiracy theorist in me is saying that they did this on purpose so they could see how japan’s group plays out and possibly avoid a clash in ro16 but i don’t think klinsmann is playing 5D chess 😭

[giggle-me-this]

[ Formal ] - Dona

[ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋 ] ― Dona greets Nate in formal partywear (spoiler: it’s a wedding dress)

@outterridge @xiomarawinters @loxley-blair-lockhart @harrixtpinnock @virtuoshosh

It was Dona’s wedding day, and Nate kind of couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

I mean, okay—his cousin had sent out those invitations like, a month ago. But like—hasty, much? Who wanted to get married after only a month of being engaged, let alone to someone you barely even knew, whose family-or-whatever-those-evil-cunts-had-been had basically, almost brainwashed you into ditching all your friends and family and committing murder?

And worst of all—a Christmas wedding.

Though Nate supposed it was like…nicely decorated. Sort of. Someone had charmed a quaint little covered outdoor courtyard to feel deep-summer warm, even though it was winter. There were low-hanging lights that twinkled like fireflies, and Loxley had strung up long strands of earthy vines and soft moss. It was—cozy, if you were into that kind of thing. Cute in a backcountry, shotgun-swamp-wedding sort of way. It was…? The word Nate was looking for was—

“Homey,” Xiomara observed flatly, ultimately failing (but trying nonetheless, which was big of her) to hide the note of distaste in her tone. She and Nate were dawdling at the back of the venue uncomfortably as they scoped out a place to sit that wouldn’t, like, completely suck.

“How about over there with…” Nate started to suggest, spotting the back of Loxley’s head and Piper Oliver’s technicolor hair. But at the venomous glare his girlfriend fixed on him, Nate pivoted quickly to: “…um, Ruma?”

The hedge witch and hypnotherapist had allegedly been invaluable in helping to repair much of the mental damage that Dona’s fiancé had suffered, when his mental wards were dismantled. Xi pursed her lips, considering, and then gave a stiff nod when she deemed her own therapist’s company to be the option that was least appalling.

She walked toward the empty seats near Ruma, and Nate followed. But before he could sit down, someone caught his arm.

It was Harriet, and unlike the other bridesmaids (Dona’s flatmates) who were awaited to stand up next to the bride in dresses of rich honey-gold, Nate’s sister was wearing a suit. Not entirely unlike the one Nate was wearing, actually; Harriet had been stealing from his closet less abashedly, these days.

If Harriet hadn’t had the stupid bridesmaid obligations, sitting next to her would have been a no-brainer.

“Don wants to see you,” Harriet said with a hint of impatience—like it was Nate’s fault things were being held up despite him knowing nothing about it. Which—fair, he guessed.

“…now?” Nate said skeptically. And his sister’s I-really-don’t-have-time-for-your-stupid-questions look was all the answer Nate needed.

He told Xi he would be right back, and then made his way to a back room that was being guarded by Dona’s maid of honor—the annoying flatmate, with the long dark hair. Tall boots that went above her knee were visible beneath the long slit in her dress. Nate was pretty sure Xiomara knew her.

The Gryffindor’s arms were akimbo and she was glaring absolute murder at Nate before he’d even said a word, which like—what the fuck, honestly? He opened his mouth to say something, but instead the girl stepped right up to him and shoved a finger into his chest. “Just so you know, asshole—I think this is a really stupid idea and I don’t support it at all. To be frank, I don’t even know why you and Xi were invited. But, this is Dona’s day, and what she says goes, and if you do one single thing to disrupt from her happiness today, god help me I will have one of my many undead friends rip out your stupid throat and gorge themselves on your blood. Got it?”

“Um—sure?” Was all that Nate could think to say to this, and after another minute of staring him down, she finally let him through.

“So, your maid of honor is a psychopath…” Nate said as he entered the bridal suite, in lieu of an entrance line. And now that Nate was in here, what he really wanted to do was just fuck what the crazy Gryffindor had said, and give his cousin his big speech about all the reasons why this wedding was seriously not a good idea…

But then Dona turned around and faced Nate, and fuck, she looked—breathtaking. She was fucking beaming at Nate in a way that lit up her whole face—a smile Nate had certainly not earned the right to have bestowed upon him, in all the many years of disappointing and upsetting his cousin that they’d lived through to get here. No one smiled at Nathaniel Pinnock that way—and he expected no one else ever would.

Her hair was done up in the most stunning, intricate braids, which were coiled at the top of her head like a crown, the long lace of her veil nestled beneath. And her modest gown was a rich ivory that made her skin seem to glow, dark and radiant like she kept a living sun locked inside her body.

Nate was rendered speechless, and Dona smiled with kindness and humble affection at the moronic look on his face.

“You look great, Dona,” Nate said, finally. And that wasn’t enough—never enough.

“Thanks…” she replied, fidgeting with the bateau neckline of her gown. And even though her experiences had hardened the once-innocent Healer, made her bolder—the old Dona peeked through, for a moment, in her nervous blush. “…I know it’s last minute, Nate, but—I need you to do me a favor.”

“Sure, anything,” Nate said, without hesitation. And it was true.

Then Dona took a deep breath, and she said, “I need someone to walk me down the aisle, and give me away.”

Well, that wasn’t what he was expecting. Nate raised up his hands, shifting back. “Dona, I...I mean, why would you—surely Aunt Cat should be the one to—”

“My mom needs to sit out there with yours—to take care of her, so she doesn’t get confused. So I want it to be you.” Nate shifted uncomfortably; sure, he could manage not being a total dick long enough to get through this thing without making a fuss. But this?

Dona’s big round eyes got even bigger and rounder, and she said: “…please, Nate?”

Well, shit. He heaved a long and dramatic sigh, and then smirked. “Fine, fine. But the whole puppy-dog face is a cheap fucking shot, and you know it.”

And then Dona threw herself at Nate to give him a crushing hug, and Nate, despite himself, found that he was smiling.

[mopillow]

starting 19 days from the very beginning- and damn is zheng xi so violent now! is it safe to assume he got that way cause he’s still mad at jian yi from leaving and is having a hard time forgiving him/accepting him back in his life/trusting him? he must’ve known he was kidnapped and he seemed to be steering from violence based on the latest chapters. wonder how that’s gonna play into their future relationship

Hello there, thank you for asking me this I have been trying to say something about this couple for a while and you gave me the perfect excuse

Yes the first chapters show us a really violent ZZX, I honestly don’t think that is because JY went away without telling him, if anything he is relieved that JY is alive we’re talking about he same man that forgave Mo who almost ended his existence when they barely knew each other, so my opinion is a little bit different than most people here, if you notice ZZX never hits or push JY until the latter one tries to do something in the lines of extra touchiness and that’s because… they’re not a couple

I know most people think of them as one but they are not, ZZX is taking JY’s feelings into consideration but they’re not boyfriends, JY himself ask to keep being friends and ZZX agreed

sure JY is still trying to make him fall for him and ZZX is not putting much resistance but they’re still just friends, JY is too afraid to give that next step and ZZX is not going to just forget that they’ve been friends for almost all their lives and jump into a relationship when he is not completely sure if that is what he wants, remember he may lose one of the most important people in his life by doing so, in other words they look like a couple but actually that’s jus the way they have always been only difference is that now one knows how the other one feels, that’s just their normal

Going back to your question the reason why ZZX is being forceful with JY in my humble opinion is because JY is being also forceful with ZZX, coming back and trying to kiss your best friend who you have a huge crush on and he knows but actually never told you that he loves you back or that he doesn’t mind if you want to kiss him is NOT ok, looks like all this time apart helped JY to take that extra step because for him is now or never only problem is that you can’t take the relationship to the next step when there was no relationship to begin with

They’re gonna get there and they’re going to be happy but they need to talk about their feelings first and not just assume that the other one loves you only because they didn’t push you away in the past, the love is there we all know but give some time to ZZX to get use to it, at the very least let him understand that you are alive and then like grab his hand look at him like if he was the the sunrise or something like that and then try to get near him slowly but not just apply the He approach, that stuff only works with Mo and Q and not really but the He brothers don’t give a fuck and they’re stronger than anyone so good luck trying to punch them, even if you do they’re into that so jokes on you

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding XIV

Part I - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  Part XI - - - - Part XII - - - - Part XIII

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Plo Koon woke to find himself chained in a dark room.

Somewhere behind him he could hear steady dripping; it was uncertain if that was deliberate or not.

He strained to discern anything in the dim light, but the walls of his prison refused to form into anything recognizable.

Cautiously, the trapped Master cast his senses out, only to find them reflected back at odd angles. He decided to wait before attempting to push any further past what his captor wished him to see.

Time passed strangely, but sooner than expected there was the sound of a pressurized airlock opening and, distantly, a raging ocean.

The airlock cycled through its rotation and Obi-Wan Kenobi stepped out of the amorphous shadows looking...decidedly worse for the wear. 

Plo ached at the sight. His normally carefully maintained beard was a scraggly mess. His robes hung tattered and bloodied. Of particular concern was how dry he looked, skin cracked and bleeding for want of water. The figure standing before him with a dead-eyed glare resembled less an accomplished Jedi Master and more the wretched husk of one. 

“Who are you?”  Obi-Wan's shade hissed. The chains around the Kel Dooran tightened. 

Well, however he might view himself and others...at least he’s willing to fight to defend what remains? At the bare minimum he’s not acting intentionally self destructive...

“Good Morning, Obi-Wan. I am a Jedi Master and your friend. I have been attempting to reach you through your rather impressive shielding. I must say, you’ve done a remarkable job confining me in this mental construct, its been sometime since anyone has managed to get the best of me in this arena.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Don’t try and flatter me, you barely fought back. You could easily have forced your way anywhere, but for some reason you let me corral you, presumably to try and gain my trust. Now answer my question. Your presence is very much light so I doubt you’re Sidious or...Vader. I could be wrong obviously, but i can’t see either of themselves putting this much effort into that sort of mask...just tell me who you are, and why you’re with them.”

“I am Master Plo Koon, a High Council Member, and I am not unknown to you” he elaborated without hesitation. “I am glad that you can identify that I am a light force user. Can you not sense familiarity within my force presence, even so far within your domain?”

Obi-Wan reared back and the dripping noise in the corner stopped.

“It’s a trick. We might be in my head but that doesn’t mean I’m surrendering any of my thoughts to you,” Obi-Wan snarled. “I felt Plo Koon’s death, he was one of the first...and even if he somehow survived he would never work with the Sith to invade my mind. Never.”

“Obi-Wan. Listen to me. Please. I am not dead. I am not working with the Sith. I was brought in to reach you because no other method was working. You are in the healing halls at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.” Plo spoke calmly, but implacably, “We believe you have either experienced a uniquely detailed vision, or a run in with a dark-sider. Whatever has happened, I can feel the lingering impression of unsafety. But here and now, you are not in any immediate physical danger. There must be something I can do to convince you of your present physical location.”

“A uniquely detailed vision, huh? ha!” Obi-Wan replied, gesturing wildly. “Ha! You expect me to believe that what, the last four years of my life were a detailed prophecy? Why?”

“You...believe you have lived years beyond the rest of us. I take it the- what you remember has been dangerous enough to warrant maintaining abnormally tight control over your mental walls, precluding simply reaching out to ascertain the truth yourself.”

“Clearly my control wasn’t enough if you’re in here.” Obi-Wan muttered.

“I do apologize for the intrusion, but we’ve already used every other tool at our disposal to reach you. I repeat, is there anything that can be done to convince you that you are, from your perspective, ‘in the past’. You are a High Council member with a grandpadawan. It’s been two years since the start of the clone wars. You recently finished an extended clean up of the Mon Cala sector after your victory.”

Obi-Wan stared at him curiously. “If I set a test and you fail, will you agree to dispense with the pretenses?”

Plo-Koon hesitated. “Perhaps I’m making this deal in bad faith, as I am know I am Plo-Koon, and that everything I have said is the truth... but I swear that if you somehow prove that neither of those things are true and I am secretly working for a sith lord, I will...reveal that.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Best I’m going to get, I suppose.”

The chains holding Plo-Koon loosened. Before he could respond, there was a hurtling rising sensation that he struggled not to fight against. After a disorienting moment, he found himself in his own body, feeling vaguely seasick. Obi-Wan blinked awake, apparently unfazed by the precautionary bonds holding him in place. Master Aerdo’s gaze flicked between them intensely. Plo-Koon held up a clawed hand to forestall any interruption while the two gained their bearings.

Obi-Wan spoke first:

“Cihynglo’s Fourth Meditation”

“...What?” Koon replied, honestly confused.

“Cihynglo was a renowned Kashykian Jedi, her mediations are, well i suppose were considered a quintessential example of High Republic cosmic poetry.”

“I’m familiar with Cihynglo- my master used to speak of her fondly.” Plo Koon said slowly. “Though I can’t say I’m familiar with her Fourth Mediation.”

“Hmm. Yes, well her poetry in the last few decades of her life got increasingly, well, esoteric. While most of her work was widely translated and distributed, she requested that those who wished to read her fourth Meditations do so in person, so as to experience without dilution the full calligraphy and artwork that accompanied her words. She only ever produced two copies. Any guesses where they were kept?”

Obi-Wan’s voice started out in the steady tones of a born lecturer, only to grow bitter towards the end.

“Is one in the temple?” Master Koon asked.

“Yes, one was held in the Master’s wing of the temple archives. The other was housed in a place of honor in The White Forest’s Great Tree of Knowledge. Considering both libraries were reduced to ash in the first month of the Empire, it is quite impossible, even for the Emperor, to find a copy.” 

His vague attempt at a smirk quickly fell flat. 

“I was privileged enough to be granted time to begin reading it once, but, alas, an emergency situation in the intergalactic war you created meant that I had to run off mid-sonnet. Bring me that book, let me hold it, read it, and I will believe that I somehow unlocked the secret of time-travel while overdosing on Spice.” 

Obi-Wan paused, catching his breath. “In the next fifteen minutes, please. Any more than that and you might try tracking down the few surviving Wookie scholars.” Koon flipped open his comm. “Master Nu, I have an urgent request.”

“Nu here, go on,” came the response.

“This may sound strange, but it is crucial that Cihynglo’s Fourth Meditation be brought to the healing halls, room seven. Within the next 15 minutes.”

“You do understand you’re talking about a physical book, not a flimsi-stack or a holocron. It’s not meant to leave a climate-controlled room.”

“I promise you, I would not ask if it weren’t life or death. Please Jocasta, I’ll explain later.”

“I’ll be there in 10. It had better be one durned good explanation.”

Obi-Wan looked bemused. ”You’re setting yourself up for failure.”

“I am glad you were able to come up with a test you found meaningful. Remember, you have friends here, regardless of whether you experienced subjective time travel or an incredibly detailed vision.”

They waited a little longer. Obi-Wan critically examined Master Aerdo.

“I’m a Senior Soul Healer” they offered at the non-verbal prompting.

“How interesting.” Obi-Wan remarked dryly.

They sat in awkward silence for another minute. 

They were all equally trained in suppressing fidgets, coughs, or other nervous tics, which made the wait that slightest bit more unbearable, each second nearly imperceptible from the one before.

Eventually the sound of heavy boots moving at speed approached.

Master Nu strode in, gently cradling a great burden. The book gleamed large and vital in the light of its stasis wrap. Her eyes widened at they took in Obi-Wan, still cuffed to the bed. 

“Cihynglo’s Fourth Meditation, as asked for. I trust you have an excellent explanation for how a book of poetry is a matter of life or death.”

“I’m hoping that it will convince our friend Master Kenobi that I am who I claim to be and we are where I claim we are.” Koon gently pulled the book from her grasp and reverently placed it on Obi-Wan’s lap. Obi-Wan stared at it uncomprehendingly.

“Obi-Wan, I’m going to uncuff you now. I trust that you will use your freedom to examine our ‘proof.’ We will physically intercede if you make any attempts at self harm.”

Master Nu gasped. “Then the temple rumors...I don’t understand.”

Obi Wan picked up the book as if he was afraid it might bite him. With an irritated snort, he opened brusquely to the middle, and began carelessly flipping ahead.

Master Nu started forward, offended, but Plo Koon held her back. “Please Master Nu, patience-”

Finally Obi-Wan seemed to reach the page he was looking for and stopped. “..And still the rain fell like blood of the womb” he murmured. “That...I tried to think of how the line ended but I...”

Everyone watched as the book shook in Obi-Wan's grasp. He turned the page, gasping slightly and murmuring as he read. “This is...a little gross, but oddly touching. I certainly would not have come up with it myself...but its so clearly...” They watched his react, eyes darting wildly and brow furrowing in confusion.

Several pages later he dropped the book abruptly.

“This is impossible,” he gasped.

Nu darted forward, carefully snatching it from his lap, "I am endeavoring to practice tolerance, but how is destroying an irreplaceable piece of literature supposed to help anyone?!” she snapped

“I admit I wondered that myself, but when I imagined what harm the Sith could do with some of the archive’s more practical works, I understood your decision to torch the collection” Obi-Wan responded dreamily. “I suppose the more beautific works would likely have been destroyed anyway...”

“Torch the archives? I would never.”

“But you did,” Obi-Wan insisted feverishly. “I found your message when we searching for survivors. There were so many bodies piled at the archive door that I was almost hopeful that they had managed to...but I suppose they held out just long enough for you to complete your task.”

Nu backed away slowly. “That sounds like quite the disturbing vision, Master Kenobi.”

“It wasn’t just a vision, it was my life. It-visions don’t last years!” he said, finally growing hysterical. “I remember everything! That gods-awful mission to Cato Nemodia! Getting takeout food with Anakin! The smell of burning flesh in the creche! Singing to Luke! The last year of the war! All of you! You crying after Dooku’s death,” he added gesturing wildly at the archivist. “It was so awkward! You were embarrassed! You told me that for some stupid reason you had ‘held out hope’ it was all an insane uncover mission, that he wasn’t really- Three years alone in the desert! I remember three years of living on fucking Tatooine, how could that possibly be a vision!”

“I...hadn’t told anyone that,” Nu whispered with a hint of alarm. She glanced at Plo Koon, daring him to comment. “I know its very much unlikely at this point, and by any measure, he’s taken things too far, but he’s gone on such long shadow missions in the past...” she looked away.

“Oh, Jocasta...” Plo sighed.

“Master Kenobi. I cannot explain how you came to have such detailed knowledge of the future,” Aerdo said, drawing focus back to the bewildered Obi-Wan, who had shifted into a defensive crouch on the bed. “But I do know one reasonably sure fire way to establish that this, us, is the present. Open yourself up to the force, please, just let yourself listen to what it has to say.

“I...want to, of course I want to believe- but the idea that I’m here- it’s, if you’re real than you can’t possibly understand, its too good to be true.” Obi-Wan responded brokenly.

“I know things have been clouded of late, but, if nothing else trust in the force to not lie to you.” Plo-Koon urged. “If you keep closing yourself off like this, how can you possibly learn if things are better than you think”

Obi-Wan collapsed from his crouch, knees folding underneath.

“If I am...even if I am in the past... Sideous might be watching...i didn’t- i don’t know the extent of his gaze- even if...” he trailed off.

“If it makes you feel safer, you are of course free to again raise your shields to whatever extent you feel necessary once you have verified your reality.” Aerdo replied smoothly.

Obi-Wan looked warily at the three Jedi in the room.“I...” he started, trying to articulate the swelling hope and fear only to find himself at a loss for words.

Aerdo shot him a reassuring smile, “If you don’t feel ready right now, that’s perfectly understandable. We’re very happy you’re willing to reach out as much as you have already. Would you like to pause this discussion for now so we can find you something to eat? I believe a simple broth is a customary first post-bacta meal, but if you have any special requests I’ll do what I can.”

Obi-Wan let out a deep breath, dropping his head into his hands. “I- I need to know, don’t I?” he mumbled. “Force help me...you win.” He took one last, searching look at the faces of his fellow Jedi before closing his eyes and surrendering himself to the force.

He opened a small hole in his mental barricades and tentatively allowed his thoughts to drip out. Tentatively, he trickled over the bank of Plo Koon’s being (expecting a frigid burn) only to find a warm and heartbreakingly familiar pool of tempered kindness. 

He ran, slightly faster now, over the other Jedi presences in the room. Having finished his course without encountering any dark undertow, he ebbed back. There was an indistinct impression of something heavy giving way.

Obi-Wan’s Shields Fell Like A Dam Beneath a Tidal Wave -

[sixteenthshen]

post-finale stuff

Possible spoilers. Beware

Last night, I happened to check the scriptwriter's Weibo and saw that she had liked this fan's post. It's the only non-work related Weibo post that she had liked, so of course, I went to read it. 

The fact that this is the only fan post she's given her approval to must mean that it is on point and she agrees with the characterisation. I thought it's pretty good, so I've gone ahead to translate it here. I own 0 rights to this. I just thought it's a good perspective that may help others like me who struggled with the ending. 

I think I've mostly made my peace with it now, and to sum it up:

Just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to doesn't mean they don't love you with all that they are. 

A-Xu never once blamed Lao Wen for how things turned out because he understood that. And he’s clearly a better person than I am (lol).

Let me be clear about my stand - the real victim of how the drama unfolded in the last six episodes is WKX. When we feel our hearts ache for ZZS, it's because the show let down WKX (the character). If your heart is only hurting for WKX during episodes 33-34, you should try to ship WKX with someone else, ok? If you think the last six episodes were great and that WKX was very romantic (and only romantic), then I honestly don't know what to say. 

I ship wenzhou. That means I like both Wen Kexing and Zhou Zishu. I want them to love each other, be good to each other and live happily ever after. And I want them not to be OOC. 

The rest behind the cut. Spoilers for the whole drama. 

------- 

First, the source. Here is a link to that Weibo post, by 爱吐槽的栗小姐. I will delete this if requested by the OP - because this is really in a grey area imo. But I think the intention of a public post is for it to be shared? (especially something like this, which argues a point) 

Secondly, the poster does try to be fair in her post, but as the problem here is WKX's ruined characterisation, ZZS's character is analysed primarily concerning this issue only. There's quite a bit left to ZZS's character and backstory that isn't relevant. I believe that's why the post doesn't elaborate on it, or so I hope.

-------

Ever since WKX faked his death, I received three to four waves of fellow sister fans' mournful wails: "Lao Wen actually faked his death; does he have a heart?" "They were supposed to be of the same heart and treat each other with honesty. How did they regress?" "What happened to their innate soulmate-ness?" "Why does A-Xu always say to face things together, yet Lao Wen always keeps his plans from him?" "A-Xu loves Lao Wen, yet Lao Wen only loves himself"…….

Wait. What have you guys misunderstood about the meaning of soulmates? 

Soulmates are about values, but a person's behaviour… that's methodology FFS! 

(Do they no longer teach this in political affairs class in high school anymore?) 

Wenzhou, these soulmates, are incomparably compatible and mesh well in terms of values. According to the scriptwriter, the entire jianghu wants and tries to get the pieces of Glazed Armour, save the two of them. Not only do they not care for the peerless martial arts, immense power, nor the massive wealth that the Glazed Armour represents, they don't even care for the power they hold in their hands –Ghost Valley and the Window of Heaven. Both of them willing to give it up without a second thought. 

Before they met each other, they were so tired of (ZZS) and so angry at (WKX) this earthly world that they didn't even want to live on anymore. 

After they met each other, they gradually began to feel the warmth in this world again. How nice it would be if they could live in seclusion, hand in hand and just bask in the sun. 

In this world, where everyone else is fighting for power or wealth, they are true soulmates. To intelligent people like them, whether or not they're honest about their identities or secrets is merely a matter of formality. They had already determined their attraction to the other's soul early on and have never doubted it. 

There may be some here who would criticise loudly at this point, "Then can't you be more considerate for your soulmate (the actual phrased used is "spiritual companion")? A-Xu has said many times, let's face everything together, I'll bet that you will be honest with me. If you really love him, then why can't you care for his feelings?" 

----- You guys, you've never been married. 

If two souls meeting can naturally resolve all behavioural conflicts and disagreements, then the theory of "breaking in" * would not exist. 

Let us take a look at what kind of a person WKX and ZZS each are.

Wen Kexing, he's a lone wolf. 

After his parents' death and his entering the Ghost Valley, his smooth sailing life suddenly fell off a cliff. Ever since then, the only person he could rely on was himself. That deep-seated hatred is carved into his bones, yet he can't speak of it to anyone else. He isn't the same type of person as the rest of the ghosts in the Ghost Valley; he isn't the same type of person as A-Xiang, who he raised. If we talk about the world and everyone who lives in it, he doesn't have any fetters or feels any (positive) emotions. 

His supposed craziness is a form of indifference. He's indifferent to others' lives, nor his own, because he just doesn't care. (T/N: I think he does care for his own life, but only for revenge, after that, he's indifferent. Indifferent isn't suicidal. I don't know why some fans seem to be confusing the two. Although he didn't plan to, if he somehow manages to stay alive after getting his revenge, WKX will continue to live on, even if it's only to keep A-Xiang happy because he is indifferent.)

Growing up like this, being solitary became his style. He's used to doing everything alone, used to making his own decisions, used to digesting all his emotions himself. 

Every time he argues with A-Xu, he digests his emotions himself. The next day, he faces A-Xu with a smile again. 

This is how he loves, to take it upon himself to face danger, difficulty and pain alone. It's how he had supported A-Xiang all these years in the Ghost Valley and what he's used to. 

While Zhou Zishu, he's a lead horse (of a herd). ** 

Since a very young age, he's taught to take responsibility. He's used to bearing everything on his shoulders, be it the responsibility of his family or the responsibility for the Four Seasons Manor, even the responsibility for saving commoners from disasters. 

Unlike the lone wolf, the lead horse is ultimately a social animal. 

Regardless of his identity as the Manor Lord of the Four Seasons Manor or the Leader of the Window of Heaven, he's always the one to lead the herd and rarely fights alone. So, A-Xu not only has leadership ability but more than that, he also knows how to be tolerant and accepting of the differences of his team members. You can see the various ways he managed to influence Lao Wen along the road; he's firm when he needs to be and soft the other times. It's absolutely textbook in managing your lover workplace management. 

Zhou Zishu believes in communication whenever there's a problem, that they should be open and honest. So, teamwork is what he's used to. 

Does it mean that when a horse and lone wolf fall in love, that there won't be a breaking in period? 

Obviously not. 

I guess this is where some may say again, "isn't this part of a character's arc/development? The two of them quarrel time and time again. Did WKX not grow at all from it?" 

Of course, after meeting each other, they both grew and saved each other.

When he first left Window of Heaven, A-Xu was lonely with regret. Unlike the lone wolf who's used to doing everything alone, a lead horse without the last of his herd has no way to bear the bone-deep loneliness and merciless self-recrimination.

ZZS wandered around this world aimlessly until Lao Wen started pestering him, until he picked up Zhang Chengling, right up until he felt he hadn't singlehandedly destroyed the Four Seasons Manor. This lead horse finally regained a goal in life. He gained a partner and a lover. Lao Wen sticks to him, Chengling relies on him, and the abandoned Four Seasons Manor became like-new in his hands. He finally reconciles with himself. 

When he first came out of the valley, Lao Wen carried a rage strong enough to burn the world down. But when he met A-Xu, he also met the beauty of the world. 

When the Four Sages of Anji died, WKX understood how he caused innocent suffering. When Gao Chong walked to his death knowingly, he understood that although some may desire power, they could still be righteous and upstanding people. When he learned of everything Long Que sacrificed to protect his family***, he finally relaxed his guard. 

There were so many types of good people and things that he saw along this journey that he hadn't seen in the Ghost Valley. When A-Xu told him he was a good person as they basked in the sun, he genuinely wanted to return to the human (vs ghost) realm and be a good man. 

Along their journey, A-Xu made up for the morals and values that WKX lost in the Ghost Valley and showed him a new world outlook. He appeased Lao Wen's anger, tempered his extremism. The process wasn't easy, but not that difficult either, because, in the end, Lao Wen is kind at heart. 

But in the end, being a lone wolf is how he survived and succeeded in a place like the Ghost Valley. When A-Xu was so heavily injured and needed a lot of rest (for Wu Xi) to save his life, Lao Wen suddenly recalled his enemies and how such an excellent opportunity to take revenge just fell into his lap. Everything was in place, and all he needed to do was hide it from A-Xu; he could leave for a short while and have it settled quickly. Upon returning, he could then live happily ever after with his wife. To a crazy lone wolf, why would he not take a gamble? 

What he couldn't predict was the news would've been leaked (to A-Xu), and he didn't know that by doing so, he would've forever lost his love. 

Both of them were using their own methods to love the other person. Zhou Zishu is more forgiving and accepting because being forgiving is in his blood. While what WKX learned in his years in the Ghost Valley is -- love needs to be protected, like how he has A-Xiang, who he considers a sister, call himself master (to protect her). 

Only when faced with painful consequences can a person's deep-rooted habits and approach to things change. So I don't think faking his death ruined the characterisation of Wen Kexing, but I regret that the last two episodes did not have a scene to show us Lao Wen's heartbreak when he learns the truth. 

Until I know what it feels like to have lost you, I will only love you in my own way. 

T/N: 

*I can't think of the correct phrase for this as I don't read all that much about relationships >< please let me know if you know of it. Here, I'm referring to the process of wearing something new (like shoes) that will hurt at the start until it becomes soft and comfortable. 

** I did some side-reading, and omg, A-Xu is TOTALLY the lead mare. Although he's not the stallion and weak/dying for most of the show, he's the head of their little family, and he expects "to be obeyed", aka, I'm not going to learn how to cook. Call me for dinner. Kthxbye. 

From Rutgers' website: A herd of wild horses consists of one or two stallions, a group of mares, and their foals. The leader of the herd is usually an older mare (the "alpha mare"), even though one stallion owns the herd. She maintains her dominant role even though she may be physically weaker than the others. The older mare has had more experiences, more close encounters, and survived more threats than any other horse in the herd. The requirement of the lead horse is not strength or size; if this were so, then humans could never dominate a horse. Dominance is established not only through aggression but also through attitudes that let the other horses know she expects to be obeyed.

***I think this is important here because WKX wasn't crying for his loss. I think a big part of him was realising not everyone in the world was callous and turned their backs on his parents, that he could've gone his whole life without ever discovering what sacrifices some people have made. Good people suffer quietly and in silence. It's a big moment to realise he was wrong about many things that he had let hatred blind himself to the world. Because although he was sad about the Four Sages and somewhat shocked by Gao Chong's death, he hadn't truly faced up to his actions until now. 

(screenshot of the scriptwriter liking the above post) 

------

To add: 

I'm not sure how many of you read my "opinion" posts, but I've been struggling to find a way to accept the last six episodes of Word of Honor.  I first tried looking at open forum postings, comments, and Tumblr posts. None of it worked because it was just arguing and emotions and no one made points good enough for me to accept things. 

So I gave up and went back to reading Chinese sites. I found many posts discussing the plot. Some I liked, some I didn't, but none satisfied my need for a reasonable explanation. I felt they had biases (both ways), or else it lacked logic. After a time, I realised that I should be looking for WKX-stans (or pro-WKX fans) because they would be more motivated to explain his side, but also because well-written posts by wenzhou-fans & ZZS-stans made me super sad.

I'm sorry, but those who keep trying to explain why the ending was good completely missed that episodes 32-34 are the real problem to those who don't like it and only focused on 36. I can understand if people don't think those episodes are a problem, but no one could provide an articulate and sensible reason. There are just too few well-reasoned plot-focused posts in English (sorry). I've seen too many examples of WKX-fans arguing with people who are upset about the ending, backed by nothing more than "look how much WKX suffers, woe is him. And how romantic is this????" *dies* 

Lastly, if you spot anything inaccurate, let me know & I will correct it.

[re-re-redline]

-General Headcanons: Constantine XI-

>No spoilers for Traum.

Foreword: My first post! The lack of Constantine disturbed me immensely, thus I humbly bring to you this! It’s just assorted miscellania with not much of a clear direction. But regardless, I hope you enjoy.

This guy does not swear in normal conversation or says any words that’re unseemly or indecorous at all. Not even when he’s quoting someone. He’s an emperor after all, he’s got appearances to keep up in the name of his empire. Even if that empire’s long since disintegrated. The only exception to the rule is when shit hits the fan. It’s pretty rare considering his defensive and tactical genius, but hey. Things happen. If you call him out on this, he’ll flush a bit and apologize for his behavior. Though it really won’t change much, honestly. It’s just how he is.

He’s got a kind of aura about him that scares away the hoes normal people. It’s the kind of vibe you get when you encounter the important big shot you’ve only heard about through your coworkers. He enters the building and a person immediately books it from the lobby and starts popping into various rooms saying “He’s here! Everyone, act natural!” and everyone races to get their shit together. It’s that kind of aura that he gives off. The contrast between that and how he portrays himself is starker than blood on snow, dude. The funniest part is that he doesn’t even know that he has this aura in the first place, which means he’s constantly left wondering why everyone’s so stiff around him despite no one knowing who he is (in a normal HGW scenario). It’s hilarious. Poor guy just wants to be normal for once. In Chaldea it’s significantly less noticeable thanks to the amount of eccentrics, literal gods, and fellow emperors. So, in that scenario, you’d probably be just as clueless as him concerning its existence.

If you have a close relationship with Constantine, especially one that has potential to become a romantic relationship, then get ready for your Rider to be on you about your health. Both of his wives died within a year of their marriage because of a sudden illness and three of his siblings died from the plague when he was a kid. There’s no way that he doesn’t have some form of trauma regarding either of those events. The closer you are to his heart, the more paranoid he is about you getting sick. That said, here’s what you can expect:

I. He constantly checks the weather. If you give this man a phone, then he will check the weather for any changes on an hourly basis. He does this so he can be prepared to wardrobe check you if you’re planning on going out. If it’s cold, he’s already putting a jacket on your shoulders. If it’s hot, he’s making sure you’re not wearing too many layers and that you have water on hand. Constantine is a stubborn mule in the clothes of an emperor, so you are going to adjust your outfit according to the weather. No complaining!

II. On the topic of phones, you can bet he’s using it to look up stuff about modern medicine. He’s pretty amazed at how far the world’s come. So many debilitating ailments from his time are either completely extinct, curable, or at least manageable in some regard. But that doesn’t stop him from getting worried anyways. And so, he’ll still be taking stock of your medicine cabinet and asking you if you took your vitamins and such. Don’t even think about trying to dance around telling him or hoping he’ll forget. He doesn’t.

III. God help you if you actually get sick. He already gives you looks when you cough, and trust me, it only gets worse from there. Constantine will not leave you be for any reason. You think you can just walk this cold off? HA! That’s a good one. You are going to be bundled up in your comfiest blankets and you are gonna like it! He will actually go find or purchase a rope to tie you down with if you refuse to comply. He is that serious about it. Yes, he knows he’s being a little bit too over the top concerning your recovery, but it’ll all work out! And hey, if anything, you should take this experience as just another incentive to stay healthy! You have to think positive, my friend.

IV. Alright, but that’s just a cold. What about some real shit like the flu or one hell of a fever?  Obviously, he’s taking care of your needs and giving you your meds. That’s a given. The more interesting part is how Constantine is dealing with this on his end. You see, it’s times like these that makes our emperor’s calm and collected veneer begin to crack. Your hazy headache riddled head might be blurring all of the details, but you can see his smile strain and his hands fidget with his sleeves as he watches over you at your bedside. He isn’t talking as much as he normally does, opting to just… sit there and stare. Had you a clearer mind, you’d notice that his gaze isn’t actually looking at you, but beyond your feeble form. To a time long before you, where the ambience of the ocean’s waves surrounds him and a fishy smell permeates the air. As you phase in and out of consciousness, you feel your hand being gingerly taken. He clasps it in his, struggling to not squeeze the life out of it and cause you more pain. He needs something, anything to hold on to because he feels like he’s slipping back into an all too familiar territory. Right now, he’s done what he needs to. You’ve taken your medicine, he put the cool wet rag on your head, and he made sure that you drank more than enough water. And thus comes the most dreadful part of the process…waiting. He hates that his efforts haven’t gotten you back to shape yet and the more time passes, the more those dreadful thoughts start sounding real. Constantine shakily takes a breath and does exactly what he did the last time he had to wait for someone he cared for to get better. He prays. Your head is swimming, your ears are plugged up and popping every time you swallow, but you can hear bits and pieces of words you can’t quite understand hastily whispered. 

…Your hand feels wet.

V. And finally, some advice. If you are a master lucky enough to have Qin Shi Huang, then you might recall one of their Valentine’s Day gifts being the actual elixir of immortality. What ever you do… Do not let anyone know you have this. Especially not your trusted, kind hearted and reliable Rider. Constantine is paranoid about your health, we know this. He will do whatever is necessary to make sure that you live a very long time, or at the very least that you outlive him. So… if by some margin, some chance that you happen to say… have something that could eliminate the potential of you suddenly falling ill and dying… Well, he’d much rather beg for your forgiveness for the rest of eternity than watch you wither away and die before his eyes. He will find where you put it and he will get you to drink it somehow, whether you know it or not. After all is said and done, you’ll find that Constantine is much lighter on his feet than usual. Since it was the Qin Shi Huang (the one that actually achieved a form of immortality) who gifted the elixir to you, he’s confident that it’ll at least have some effect in keeping you safe. Though, being the realist he is at heart, he still has his doubts. The paranoia has lessened considerably, but hasn’t gone away entirely. Constantine will still give you that look when you cough, he’ll still check the weather and check you before you leave just out of sheer habit. So on and so forth. All in all, it’s best that you don’t tell anyone about the elixir. Otherwise you may find it mysteriously empty one day and that fatal wounds no longer matter. But hey! At least you have Constantine by your side for the indefinite future! I just realized that that last statement makes him sound like a yandere and, while you’re not wrong for thinking that, I feel like Constantine as I view him is just overprotective. Nothing more. A Yandere!Constantine would not have just stopped there, he would’ve gone MUCH further.

Constantine doesn’t listen to music all that much. In fact, he much prefers sitting in silence more than anything. His whole life was mostly a massive cacophony of noise, so he greatly appreciated the few quiet moments he could get. The stuff he does listen to in his off-time either doesn’t have much going on or is closer to ambience more than anything. He’ll vibe with a piano recital and maybe a small ensemble, but you won’t catch him at the orchestra hall. Choirs are also a solid pick too, a nice bit of reminiscence for the times he visited the Hagia Sophia back in his day. The antithesis to his music taste are songs like “Action Winter Journey” by Nero’s Day At Disneyland, “Untouchable” by Golemm, and most certainly “anybody can find love (except you)” by hkmori. Seriously, he hates that stuff. There’s way too much going on, it’s incoherent, and most importantly it’s just way too loud for his liking. You might be able to sell him on specific songs with those vibes, but I bid you good luck on that front. Really, you’re better off with songs like Lilium (Elfen Lied), Majula (Dark Souls 2), Reflets dans ‘leau (Debussy) and 0354 (Koronba). Those are good examples of what he enjoys, so it’s best to hang around in that ballpark. 

P.S. He’ll stomach a live concert provided you have met the following requirements: 1. You and him are really close bond wise, 2. You have next to nobody who can go with you; if you do have someone then you better have a damn good reason as to why they can’t go instead, and 3. you both leave the moment it feels like it’s getting too much for him; no questions and no persuasion as to the contrary. Constantine will be hating every single second he’s there and he’s not hiding it that well, but he will hold out for as long as he can for your sake. Seeing you smile and enjoy yourself is a balm to his soul, and he supposes he kinda owes you some for all the times he’s tortured you in chess and checkers. So...y’know. What’s some loud music and even louder people on all sides anyways? Constantine’s experienced worse both in and out of his lifetime, so surely a few hours of auditory pain is nothing to Byzantium’s last emperor, right? …Right?

Constantine allows you to call him Micheal. He knows his name is kinda long and doesn’t really roll off the tongue that well either (in his mind anyways). Calling him anything along the lines of ‘emperor’ or ‘your majesty’ just makes him feel too stiff, so that’s not really an option in his books. As for how he got the idea for the nickname, he heard from a few servants that you and him had apparently met before, and thus he looked into the CBC records. And boom. That’s where he got Micheal from. Do keep in mind that he’s only letting you, his master, call him by that name. Everyone else has to either call him by his name or his title, no more and no less. His empire may be gone and the guilt from that weighing heavily on his back, but his imperial pride is still there. Practically ingrained into him since birth and that’ll never change.

As we know from his My Room lines, he likes playing chess and shogi but dislikes Mahjong due to how much luck is involved. Therefore, I think I can say with confidence that he enjoys strategy games in general. I also say with the same amount of confidence that he’s quite good if not exceptional at games that involve military strategy. Think Diplomacy. Speaking of which, a game between him, Vlad, Chen Gong, and Nobu is never not entertaining. Seriously. It’s a treat to watch when all four get together and the crowd standing around the table cements that fact perfectly. On another note, he brightens up like a Christmas tree when you walk up to him asking to play a game and he’ll brighten up even more if you ask him to teach you. There’s something just so wholesome to him about showing you the ropes on a game he enjoys, watching you ask questions and slowly grow to become better and better. It really makes his day and it shows via the smile adorning his lips. It’s so gosh darn sweet that it’s giving you tummy ache from looking at him too long. Oh, and one more thing. Due to the fact that you have expressed an interest, no matter how minuscule, in strategy games… You are now going to have to deal with Constantine bringing in wacky shit like 4D chess to your room from time to time solely because he wants to spend more time with you, along with him playing chess or checkers with you quite a bit during your downtime. A keen eyed master will note that he seems to ask you to play with him more than anyone else. Huh…wonder why.

There are rare times when Constantine will call you George. Not as a joke or an endearment, but simply as an accident. He’s quick to pick up on his mistake and will swiftly apologize for it. The whole thing just happens so fast that you’re left wondering if he actually said that and his composure is certainly lending credence to the idea that it didn’t. But, should you question him on it…well, he’ll tell you that George was someone he knew. Oh, by the way. Did you see what happened in the simulator today? I saw that Van Gogh and Hokusai— Yep, Constantine will give you a dry barebones answer and then change the topic from this ‘George’ person to something about his day that he found interesting, anything to keep you from pressing him on the subject. Curious masters may look into Constantine’s life and discover that the ‘George’ he was referring to might be George Sphrantzes: his best friend and retainer. Maybe he misses his old pal and sees him in you sometimes, hence the mistake. Or maybe you just look like a George to him, who knows? Constantine won’t tell you if you ask and you can bet he doesn’t bring it up on his own. So really, it’s anyone’s guess. You just have to sit tight and hope that he’ll be comfortable enough to tell you.

And that’s that! I hope you enjoyed reading and let me know what you think. Poor Constantine’s got nothin’ from what I saw in the tags, so I hope to fill that void in myself. But until then…

—Redline, over and out!

[vanserraseris]

END OF PART XI - Ok, so Eris finds out about Jesminda and confronts Lucien about it. He says some pretty not nice things to his younger brother (he gets pretty mean), things couldn’t stay great between them forever. Thanks for reading!!!

oooooh boy we’re getting into it now

Prince of Ashes. Part XI.

masterlist.

Eris stumbled when someone slammed a large hand onto his shoulder, reaching for the knife at his side as he whirled on whoever it was. 

“Easy, brother,” rumbled Owain, his red hair a mess and his brown eyes on the snake-head knife hilt in Eris’s hand. Eris had to admit that he’d gotten very used to no one approaching him, let alone having someone lay a hand on him, especially if he wasn't expecting it.

Eris also figured it wouldn’t be good for anyone if he accidentally killed a new servant, and that perhaps his first instinct shouldn’t be to reach for his weapon. Eris returned the dagger to its place on the sheath at his side. “I didn't know it was you.” Owain looked troubled as he opened his mouth to speak, closing it and opening it once more as his eyes looked at anything but his oldest brother.

This sort of behaviour from Owain was unexpected, and Eris’s first thought was that something had happened to their mother. “What’s happened,” Eris demanded. The dominance in his tone suggesting it was best to just spit it out.

“Lucien,” was Owain’s response.

That one word had Eris freezing. “What’s happened,” he repeated, voice low.

“I would have just said — I would have spoken to him, but… He doesn’t,” Owain ran a hand through his hair, “He might listen to you.” Owain was usually stoic, composed. Eris was panicking slightly to see that he looked worried.

“Owain,” Eris snapped, “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, yes, alright, sorry,” Owain lifted his chin just slightly, he was taller than Eris by a lot, but he was looking Eris straight in the eyes. “I saw Lucien in Calchas with a female.”

Eris paused, blinking once before he grinned. “I don’t really see the problem.”

Owain licked his lips, “Right, no, it wouldn’t be, not normally.” 

Eris’s grin shifted, turned more into a bare of teeth, “Then why are you bothering me with this.” Eris had countless things to do, a territory to run, prisoners to deal with. He didn’t have time for whatever this was.

“The female is a lesser faerie, Eris,” there was a hint of desperation in his usually calm tone. “And he’s with her … constantly. You know how father feels about this sort of thing. If it was one time, I wouldn’t have bothered coming to you,” he awkwardly waved one of his large hands, “If someone loyal to father had seen him…” Owain trailed off. Owain hadn’t needed to finish his sentence, Eris knew very well what Beron would do if his youngest son was with a lesser faerie.

Cato’s warning from nearly two decades ago rang clear in his head — Beron wanted to make Lucien’s life as miserable as possible. Eris moved closer to Owain, his hand gripping his younger brother’s thick arm, “What do you know?”

Owain shook his head, “Not much.”

“Tell me everything.” Eris would rather know what little Owain had discovered than nothing at all. 

“She’s a farm girl, works in the orchards with her family, can’t be older than three decades.”

Owain sounded like he was giving Eris a report, “Priam and Maddox have seen them as well, usually out in the fields, by the rivers, they don’t go to the city often, but knowing this court, they go enough that commoners have noticed.”

“What are the rumours?”

“Amongst the High Fae? Just gossip. No different than what they say about the rest of us.” There were always rumours surrounding the Vanserras. “I’m just,” Owain’s cheeks turned red as he mumbled, “Worried, I suppose.”

Eris scanned Owain’s face for any signs of deception. He seemed sincere, but Eris wasn’t entirely shocked, Owain wasn’t horrible. “I’ll talk to him,” Eris assured his younger brother, “But this stays between us.”

Owain nodded once, embers in his brown eyes, “Of course.” Eris gave Owain what he hoped was a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but Owain’s hand snapped up, grabbing Eris by the wrist.

“You can… You can trust me, Eris,” he said, voice low, auburn brows furrowed. “I don’t want Lucien dead anymore than you do.” Eris didn’t get a chance to respond as Owain let go of him, winnowing away with a loud crack, leaving Eris alone in the otherwise empty hallway. Eris would think on this later, about possibly trusting Owain. Owain had always been closer to Cato, closer to Maddox, but he knew they’d all be stronger together if they could all stop fighting amongst themselves.

With a shake of his head, throwing his shoulders back, Eris walked down the hall, making his way to Lucien’s room. Eris couldn’t understand where in the hells he went wrong. He’d spent decades telling Lucien not to make any attachments, not to do anything that would draw any unwanted attention, not to do anything that would anger their father. Not their father. Eris was certain if Lucien knew the truth he wouldn’t refer to Beron as such.

Eris growled just thinking about the vow he’d made to his mother nearly thirty years ago. He bounded up a flight of stairs, flames flaring in the sconces on the walls. He’d been in such a rush that he almost ran past Lucien’s bedroom door, backtracking with an annoyed snarl. He still hadn’t decided what exactly he was going to tell his youngest brother, but he lifted his fist, banging a little too loudly on the dark wood. Once Eris heard the muffled “come in,” he shoved open the door.

Lucien was lounging on his bed, shoes off, the laces of his shirt loose. He was holding a book, one that Eris had read before. “Fallon’s Fables” was painted in an elegant, gold script on the cover. It was more of a story book than an actual tome for educating oneself. It had been Eris’s favourite when he’d been young, he’d gifted his to Rufus decades ago and he wondered whether the book Lucien had in his hands was the same one.

Lucien grinned up at him, his eyes bright. “I thought you were Rufus.”

Eris slammed the door shut, locking it, “I need to talk to you.”

“Hello to you as well,” Lucien’s grin faltered just slightly, and Eris briefly thought that he should have greeted his youngest brother, but he’d already started speaking.

“Lucien, tell me right now it’s not true.” Eris was trying to keep calm, he was trying not to yell, he was trying not to get angry. He would give Lucien a chance to explain himself.

Lucien closed his book, laughed a little nervously. “Tell you what?” He questioned.

Eris’s nostrils flared. The unmistakable scent of his little brother was obvious. But among the familiar citrus, weaving in and out of that scent, was apple blossoms. Eris groaned, “Lucien, what the fuck are you thinking?”

“You’re starting to worry me a bit, you know?”

Eris could have set the room on fire. “You don’t worry about me,” Eris shook his head, “Stick to worrying about yourself.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lucien was wary now, but his eyes were still bright. “Is this one of your riddles?”

“Yes,” Eris stepped closer to the bed, a mocking smile on his face. “I’m an idiot who chooses to ignore my older brother’s good advice.”

“Easy,” Lucien smiled, just like he’d done when he was younger and he’d found the answer to any of Eris’s riddles, “Rufus Vanserra.”

“Rufus isn't the one parading around Calchas with a lesser faerie,” Eris crooned.

Lucien’s face dropped, his smile gone, Eris could practically see Lucien trying to come up with some lie. He noticed when Lucien decided to just tell the truth, arms crossed defensively in front of his chest, jaw set. “So?”

“So?” Eris wanted to laugh, “That’s all you have to say?” Eris was going to light the whole room on fire if he didn’t get a handle on his anger.

Lucien looked up at Eris, flames in his eyes, “I don’t know why it matters, most of what I do doesn’t matter.”

“Well, it does,” Eris spat. He had to remind himself to take deep, calming breaths. “Find another female to fuck.” Eris found he was absolutely horrendous at this. Even Eris thought that was crue, too cruel. He should have gone straight to their mother and asked her to deal with whatever the hells this was.

Lucien’s face unexpectedly softened, “I love her, Eris.”

Eris threw his hands in the air in defeat, “You’re not supposed to love things in this cauldron-forsaken court,” Eris was getting angrier by the second. “This court is cruel and brutal, there is no place for love in it.” It was a lesson all of them had learned, a lesson that Beron had taught them, a rule each of them tried to follow. In Autumn, a rule like that kept you alive. 

“You sound just like father.”

Eris flinched, just slightly, Lucien probably hadn’t even noticed. Eris would have rather Lucien stabbed him then tell him something like that. But he would stand his ground, “End it.”

“I’m not going to,” Lucien lifted his chin, his jaw set. Had Lucien always been this stubborn?

“And I’m not going to say it again,” Eris growled, “End it.”

“What about you, then?” Lucien snarled, eyes flaring. “You and all your lovers? Everyone knows you’ve had countless.”

Eris felt his rage mounting as he waved a hand dismissively, trying to act as unbothered as possible. “They meant nothing.”

Eris felt the tips of his ears heat as Lucien asked, “What about Micah?”

“I didn’t tell you that so you could throw it in my face.” Eris snarled back, his voice low. Eris was regretting having trusted Lucien and Rufus with it now, even if they both hadn’t seemed to care when he’d mentioned that Micah had been his lover.

“I’m not throwing it in your face,” Lucien shook his head, he looked hurt that Eris would consider it. “I just don’t think you have any right to sit there and lecture me about forbidden love.”

“I didn’t love him.”

Lucien didn’t look like he believed him for a moment. “Honestly?” 

Eris ran his tongue over his teeth, ran his fingers through his hair, “Honestly.”

“Cauldron, that’s bullshit and you know it,” Lucien raised his brows.

“Cauldron fucking boil me, Lucien, I was young and reckless once, too,” Eris started, probably as close to an admission of the love he’d had for Micah as anyone would get, “But I know better now.” Eris’s relationships never lasted, either because of him or because he ended them before they got too serious, before he got too invested. Micah had been one of his only exceptions, and even that had ended. Eris shook his head, “End it and court a female father will approve of.”

“Yes, because all you do is court lovely females father would approve of?” Eris knew he was being a ridiculous hypocrite, but this was different. Eris was the heir, and his father didn’t pay much attention to anyone he took to bed, and Eris had had a whole lot of practice making sure his father only knew about the females he’d wanted Beron to know about. No matter how often Eris messed up, Eris figured his father probably wasn’t going to kill him - he couldn’t afford to, not anymore.

Eris was a damn good courtier and a fantatsic fucking commander, his father would have to be an imbecile to kill him off. But Lucien wasn’t important, not to Beron. He was young and worthless. Lucien was the runt of the litter. “This isn’t about me,” Eris snapped, finally having reached the end of his rope. “This is about you.”

Lucien jumped to his feet, throwing the book from his hands onto his bed, “You don’t get to do that,” he shouted.

Eris growled, opening his mouth to speak, but Lucien wasn’t finished. “You’ve been gone for over a year, you don’t get to come back when it suits you and tell me how to live my life!” Eris stiffened, watching as Lucien waved a hand in his direction. Embers fell to the floor from Lucien’s fingers. “Don’t act like you care, Eris, when it’s obviously not the case.”

It was true that Eris hadn’t been to The Forest House in quite some time, but he hadn’t thought Lucien would be so angry at him for it, that Lucien would accuse him of not caring. Eris wanted to stomp his foot like some spoiled child, say Lucien was being unfair, that he was acting like a youngling. “Just think of the mess I’ll have to clean up when this goes wrong,” Eris snarled. “Think for one moment and you’ll see nothing good can come of this ridiculous dalliance.”

Eris knew he’d been too harsh when Lucien’s face hardened.“Get out,” Lucien spat, a strange golden glow to his eyes.

Eris scowled. “Fine then, don’t fucking listen,” he moved to the door. ��See if I’ll fucking help if you get caught.”

“I don’t need your fucking help,” Lucien sneered. “I’ve lived my whole life without your help.” Eris had his hand on the doorknob, frozen on the spot, as he gasped out a choked laugh.

Turning to face Lucien, brows raised, lip curled, Eris cocked his head to the side — the words he spoke quiet. “Have you?”

Lucien’s expression changed, almost imperceptibly, almost like he regretted having said that, but he stood his ground. “Get out, Eris.”

Eris should have stayed, should have apologized, but he had never been very good at admitting when he’d been wrong. With one last shake of his head, Eris threw open the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Eris heard something shatter in Lucien’s room, he heard Lucien’s muffled shout, but he kept walking. Eris knew there were flames in his eyes, flames trailing behind him as he walked towards his study with fast steps. He could practically hear his mother’s voice from when he’d been young, urging him to tame his magic. The flames should not control you, she’d tell him, you must be the one to control them.

Eris had struggled with his magic as a child, tutors thought him too dangerous to teach, and his mother had taught him to control it when even Beron hadn’t been able to. Eris was having trouble keeping his magic controlled now, though. The temperature around him raised, the air holding some of that choking feel that his father’s magic so often had. Eris really was becoming just like Beron.

Eris slammed the door to his study open with his shoulder. The fireplace flared to life as he entered, flames wild. Eris needed to be careful, or he’d set all his books on fire. Eris took a deep breath, “I’m in control,” he muttered. “I’m in control.” He clenched his fists, the flames disappearing, “I’m in control.” Eris took another deep breath, picturing dying embers in his mind. He was going to speak to his mother, she would be able to help him.

Lucien had always listened to him and Eris didn’t know what he was going to do now that he hadn’t. Perhaps Eris would damn the consequences and drain his father’s stash of good cognac. Perhaps Eris would go to the streets of Calchas in search of some company. Or, Perhaps Eris would simply stay at the Forest House and pray this did not end badly.

[carebearcody]

Alex!! No worries if you don’t want to answer these but I have some LFC questions that i’ve wanted to ask since the season ended if that’s ok? : 1) What do you think our best performance was this season? 2) What would you like to see done this transfer window? 3) What’s your opinion on the development of the squad in the past 5 years?

hi ofc!! this got super long and rambling so i’ll put it under a read more <3

i’d say best performances over the full 90mins would be: both utd games, arsenal (home), watford (away), leeds (home), leicester (home), villarreal (home) - this is me being extremely picky but w no goals conceded i’d say these are very high quality. one extra shout i have to make is the first half vs city in the fa cup semi final bc that was 45mins of liquid football (i hate that phrase but it’s the only way i can describe it lmao)

honestly, i’d really like to see some development in midfield. i’m rly glad milly got a contract extension but we need younger midfielders even if it’s simply just a rotational option. i think getting another forward is key as well and there’s loads of discussion abt that but position wise is the question (i personally think winger bc already have a goal scoring no 9 in diogo/bobby but some ppl think otherwise). there’s talks abt rb backup for trent so i’m interested to see what the club is thinking about loan deals (neco is an amazing talent but i’m sure he wants to play regular football and played rlly well at fulham on loan / same for nat phillips as i think bournemouth can really utilise him as a cb).

honestly i’m super happy w how the recruitment staff as well as klopp and all the coaches ensure development occurs: buying konate, tsimikas, diogo, taki etc has given the team a rotational ability that we did not have 5 years ago. if you think back to the 18/19 or even 19/20 season, we rarely changed our starting XI (and it worked super well at the time). but after the horrors of 20/21, i think klopp and his team have done super well to rotate and bring in new members of the squad to the starting xi at the right time and also semi-regularly so we don’t see a drop off in quality when different players play together. we also do well in developing young players and that’s why i’m really excited for kaide/rhys/curtis/neco and all the youngsters (+ fabio when he joins!!) as they seem to adapt so quickly to first team play when need be

[whoisthatmovinginthedark]

Lord Seventh, final chapter (76). A lot happened there. (It was maybe a little rushed even?) I feel like Priest's happy end usually means that there’s an element of 'it's complicated' in there too. Which is something that I really like about her work! This time it feels like there’s even more of ‘it’s complicated’ in this ending for me. 

Thoughts now fresh after finishing hidden under “keep reading”. There’s some bad with the good in there, and potentially very unpopular opinions. (In case you want to avoid reading something like that.) But first, I love this novel. I love Priest’s style. I love that her characters more often than not have important goals and dreams that have nothing to do with the character they are romantically involved with. And that it’s usually pointless to try to divide the core group of characters as who is good and who is bad. Or even better or worse. (Unless that’s something you enjoy, and that’s valid if you do.) And I’m happily feeling a little emotional today. Like I always do the next day after I finish something that manages to touch me.

I really enjoyed how in book 3 Jing Qi slowly started to appreciate Wu Xi's company and his cute and enthusiastic way to show his love to him. That day they spent outside the city by the river was beautiful. Wu Xi was able to add to his happiness in a significant way and Jing Qi was nice to him about it. It was slowly going in a good direction. But in the end, I almost feel like saying that Wu Xi maybe would have deserved someone better different. Wu Xi had his own dark moments, but overall he seemed to have a different set of morals, like Jiang Jiuxiao, compared to the rest of the main characters. Which is something that has the potential to get his heart broken (again). But then. Wu Xi himself never seemed to have any illusions about Jing Qi not being able to return his feelings the same way. Literally: “I want him to repay me with his whole life, but when… when is he going to sincerely want to give that to me? If he won’t give it to me, then I’ll go steal it…” (chapter 74). So if that’s what Wu Xi wants, who am I to say no now that he’s got it? (Although that’s kind of dark too, but you know what I mean.)

But the thing that I most would have wanted to see happen between them in the end is some kind of moment, a conversation, that would have made me feel like they truly see and understand each other. Now, in that final scene they were still both wearing masks (so to speak). 

Wu Xi was always clear about what he wants, but in the end I still don’t really know what Jing Qi wants. And why he faked his death and left like that. If this was a stand-alone novel, and I wouldn't know how their lives will turn out through WoH, I wouldn’t think Jing Qi was done yet with Great Qing and the people he knew there.

And here’s what I think is my most unpopular opinion of them all: I don’t think that Jing Qi doesn’t love Helian Yi anymore. I think he believes he doesn’t love him. And he certainly doesn’t love him like he used to. But it’s always been complicated between them, during that first lifetime together too. Going by the hints in the novel (and the third extra), their entanglements were full of distrust and suspicion then too, even before Bai Wuchang messed their destiny for them. Yet what it had been was worth it for Jing Qi to spend hundreds of years waiting for another chance. He’s very complicated himself and seems to like his privacy and independence. It’s hard to say what kind of love is able to move him the most. 

And there’s just this compatibility between Helian Yi and Jing Qi. And honestly, with both of them and Zhou Zishu too. This gravity that draws them all together, in their first life together and this. Some deep understanding, despite not always getting it right. The way they perceive each other. That something made Jing Qi risk dying for Great Qing with those two by his side in this life too, despite several chances to leave it all behind. They are all bastards the three of them, but I loved their bond.

...

The parts with Feng Xiaoshu in chapter 76 were great. It was easy to picture her there in the battle when described in such detail. The blood on his sabre got washed down by the rain to flow onto her chin. She grit her teeth firmly, the hands clutching her weapon trembling until they were pale and discolored. Good stuff.

And I liked Helian Yi and Wu Xi’s fleeting moment of brushing past each other during the battle.

Zhou Zishu and Liang Jiuxiao, I don’t yet even know what to say about the way it ended for them, but their relationship was one of those things that really stood out to me in this novel.

...

My principle with extras is that I don’t take them as an inseparable part of the main novel / canon. I might accept some and might reject others. Sometimes they are just so far removed from the overall tone of the novel that they feel strange to read. Sometimes the characters don’t feel the same as in the main text. For Qi Ye, at this point, I mostly only resonated with the third one. It had the same tone as the novel, and it was a nice way to bring it back to the first chapter.

...

It’ll probably take a few days until I come down from my Qi Ye feelings, but after that, Faraway Wanderers. I’ve been waiting for that!

[mopillow]

hey just saw the deleted post lol. and yes aside from the jian yi telling his tale part, i forgot the rest, but i’m actually going to make a new point based on that panel:

never noticed but zhen xi asks where jian yi was pretty casually. someone who supposedly was devastated and heartbroken- just to ask That casually where he was all these years like “oh hey” is kinda hmm. idk if it’s a form of protection/his reluctance aside from the unbelievableness of jian yis rendition, but now he’s doing this unfair thing to himself holding this grudge while jian yi is trying to get him back in his life. like just as jian yi needs to own up to a lot, zhen xi can’t pretend either, and at some point needs to stop going out of his way to push jian yi out of his life when he probably is dying to return to normal too. i imagine the more he holds that grudge, jian yi could be convinced he doesn’t even like him as a friend anymore, let alone a supposedly future romantic partner (considering too future tianshan are past that point while it seems very likely jian yi could just let zhan xi go at this point-like he “gets zhan xi’s point and never showed signs he even liked me so i will leave him alone”).

so unless they both man up and have that “tell all” moment (insert angsty rain confession scene bc yes) i honestly think zhen xi needs to start expressing himself more…plus he’s kind of a needy betch so it’s not like he can pretend he doesn’t want jian yi 😅

Thanks a lot for replying Anon, I was getting worried that I may had offended you in some way

Please note that OX made this chapters long ago and it is possible that they may have changed their mind about the plot once they started writing the flashback and since they’re about to publish a 📕 they may explain better on in a different way in it but we do notice that the ZZX from the first chapters and the ZZX from the future in resent chapters are not exactly the same neither is JY, ZZX is more aggressive and JY is a perv but still an idiot and the present versions of the future are not like that, ZZX does hit JY but not with the same violence and JY blushes more and sexually harasses less,

I get what you’re saying and I agree to some degree although I do have an explanation for ZZX attitude towards the question, it is possible that ZZX asks that way because he doesn’t know if Jian Yi is ready to share this with him since he hasn’t talk about it so far, I don’t think he has a grudge against JY is more like “hey dude we’re not boyfriends why are you touching me without my consent” kind of behavior and that is completely understandable

They appear to be living together, the Christmas specials seem to be suggesting that but we see it in the 5/20 too, true they don’t look as intimate as TianShan but maybe their relationship is that way there’s always the possibility that they’re one of those couples that barely touch and lastly but not least

Here is my main problem with JY, I know he’s the favorite of a lot of people and I respect that but for me he is not shy he is sly, ZZX has shown that he has no problem with him yet JY still doesn’t say what he wants, he does gives hints but in my opinion he needs to be straight forward about it because ZZX has this mentality

We have witnessed that just trying to force intimacy doesn’t work but talking about your feelings and needs does get you closer of what you want, I mean HT is winning in life and he got it by being sincere with Mo, that’s why I believe that JY should be making an effort to ask ZZX out, he’s the one who has the “is either you or celibacy” mentality but at the same time he is waiting for a signal of his stone faced friend like g damn it JY don’t you know him?! Instead of copying the ass grabbing technique of He Tian learn the “now you can’t live without me” one, the fucking worst part is that ZZX already is in that place, at least ZhanYi is not like QCheng, poor Cheng can’t be more clear but Q just don’t get it

[css1992]

Guilty Pleasure

[Porn AU]

Summary: Peter and Beck used to be a power couple in the porn industry, but after Beck dumps him, Peter is forced to start over. With no money, no family and nowhere to go, he doesn’t have much choice other than to keep doing porn, so he joins Just4Fans to get back on his feet and then one day he gets a very generous tip from someone under the username of YKWIM.

All the warnings listed on Part I apply.

Read on AO3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V / Part VI / Part VII / Part VIII / Part IX / Part X /  Part XI / Epilogue

-x-

The last couple of weeks of May flew by, soon June arrived and with it even more sunny days and warmer temperatures. Peter couldn’t help but think that his life fell apart in the winter, and as summer approached, it was slowly getting back on track. He was able to save a decent amount of money every month, his apartment was coming together – he even had a dinner table and chairs by the second week of June –, he was taking on more responsibility at BFF way quicker than expected and he was happier, in general.

He felt comfortable enough to make plans again – with the steady money he was making, he might be able to give up porn in a couple of years and he would still be eligible to apply for some of BFF’s grants and scholarships, meaning he may be able to go to college at 23, after all. Money would be tight for a while, but it was doable. He could always work part-time to supplement his income as well.

Summer also brought some unexpected good news. On a random Thursday morning, he was bombarded with messages on Twitter and Instagram from people asking where they could find his videos now that Beck’s channel was down. He was confused at first, but when he went to check, the channel wasn’t there, it had disappeared from the site.

He gasped. For a total of five seconds, his mind went wild, his heart raced, and his eyes watered. For those five seconds, he felt a mixture of happiness, relief and confusion, knowing those videos weren’t out there anymore, couldn’t be found, couldn’t be seen, couldn’t be remembered. But it was only for five blissful seconds. When his brain turned back on and the first rush of excitement died down, he realized that probably wouldn’t last.

That had happened before, when they first started posting. People mass reported the videos and the channel until they got taken down, because Peter looked very young at eighteen. They had to send a picture of his ID to the website for check several times, it was months before it stopped happening once and for all. Peter assumed Beck was posting videos of his new boyfriend, who he knew looked very young, so it was probably just a misunderstanding and only a matter of time until he got the channel – and the videos – back up.

Still, he allowed himself to count that as a win and couldn’t help but feeling giddy all day, to the point where everybody noticed his good mood – Ned, MJ, people at BFF and Tony.

Tony, who didn’t disappear. As days and nights and weeks went by, Peter stopped waiting for it to happen.

“Someone is awfully cheery today.” The older man grinned at him from the driver’s side that night, as Peter sang along to Ed Sheeran, because it was his turn to choose the playlist. Tony had picked him up from BFF and they were heading to his place for a quiet night in.

“It’s a good day, Tony.” He shot back after the chorus of Put it All on Me and the older man beamed, the corners of his eyes crinkling up.

“It sure is, kitten.” He turned up the volume and Peter sang even louder, causing Tony to burst out laughing.

At some point, he realized life was a little less complicated than he gave it credit for. He realized that if he actually gave things the precise amount of thought they deserved, not everything felt like the end of the world. The minute he decided to just let things happen the way they were supposed to happen, without overthinking every detail, life got so much easier.

He decided not to make the thing with Tony a big deal. Sure, when he thought about it for more than two minutes, it seemed like a huge fucking deal, he was basically dating Tony Stark, one of the richest men in the world, Iron Man himself, the man who had literately saved half the universe from extinction not even two years earlier. So, yes, that seemed like a big fucking deal, but–

But.

To him, he was just Tony. This charming guy who texted him daily to ask about his day and crack acid jokes about his business associates. This kind guy who sent him chocolates when he was feeling down and cooked him dinner every weekend and made sure to e-mail him easy and healthy recipes so he wouldn’t starve to death. This gentle guy who called him beautiful and touched him with such care that he forgot how many hands had left bruises on his skin before.

When he forgot everything Tony was supposed to be and just focused on everything that he was to him, what they had seemed so simple and pure.

He stopped worrying about labels, too. In the beginning, he kept stressing about what they had, what was expected of him, what he expected of Tony, but eventually, he decided none of that mattered. They made each other feel good, they made each other happy, they made each other better, all in all, whatever label he could put on their relationship wouldn’t make any difference, so he let it go.

Weeks later, Peter heard Beck had managed to get the channel back up, only for it to get taken down again in a few hours, then his Instagram and Twitter also disappeared. He wasn’t too surprised, and if he was honest with himself, it was fun imagining Beck losing his mind as he tried to fix it. After all, every day the channel was down, he was losing money. And his social media, specially his Twitter account, was where he promoted his content to thousands of followers, so losing that meant losing money as well, and if there was one thing Peter knew Beck loved, it was money.

He wondered what the fuck the man had done to piss people off like that, it was clearly a coordinated attack, but he wasn’t curious enough to try and find out what happened. He would rather watch from a distance, rejoicing in the satisfaction it gave him to imagine that maybe, just maybe, one of those days Beck wouldn’t be able to get the channel back up and would have to start from scratch, like Peter did. And maybe then he wouldn’t re-upload his videos – that part was a little harder to believe, but who knew, stranger things had happened.

When June came to an end, Peter was surprised with a notification from Tony on Just4Fans. He had almost forgot the man was still subscribed to his account there, they obviously never chatted on the app anymore, and when he opened the notification, his blood ran cold in his veins.

It was a tip.

A hundred thousand dollars tip.

He couldn’t fucking believe it. A tip? For what, a job well done? It wasn’t like Peter was – what did that even mean? Was Tony trying to say something with that, send some kind of message?

He decided not to call him right away, he was too – upset. The older man was picking him up later that evening for dinner, so he decided to wait. Whatever he had to say to him, he wanted to hear it in person. He wanted him to look in his eyes and tell him he thought he was his fucking wh–

“What is the meaning of this?” He asked as soon he got in his car, avoiding the kiss that came his way. Tony blinked in surprise, trying to understand why he got a phone shoved in his face instead of a kiss, and then he finally saw what that was all about.

“Oh, that–“ But before he could answer anything, Peter interrupted.

“I told you I’m not – Tony, why would you – this is so insulting!” He was honestly at a loss for words. They had been seeing each other for almost two months by then, things were going great, they met every week, they made apple pie together, for God’s sake, had he misunderstood all the signs?

“My God, Peter, that’s not that, I just thought – I mean, I’m a billionaire, you know this is pocket change for me, right?” Peter gasped, shocked, and Tony’s eyes widened when he fumbled with the door handle. “Wait! I didn’t mean – Jesus, okay, hold on a second, please!” Tony reached over him to shut the door before Peter could get out of the car. The young man turned to look at him with tears in his eyes and Tony looked incredulous when he leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t just assume the worst, have I given you any reason for that?” He sounded hurt, which made Peter gulp. He took a few calming breaths and shook his head slowly.

“No,” he whispered, dropping his gaze.

“Ok, good.” He actually sounded relieved at that. “I am a billionaire, Peter, and this is pocket change for me, which means –“ he raised his voice a little, predicting a reaction from him that didn’t come, “I didn’t realize this would be such a big deal. For me, it’s like giving you, I don’t know, flowers. I didn’t mean this as a payment for whatever you think this is, I just thought this would be a good help. You’re starting your life now, you have that list of yours that you don’t let me see, you’re saving up money, you have your plans for college, I just meant to help. I mean, if we weren’t together, I would have tipped you every month, so I thought –“

“But we are together, Tony, I –“ he was a little calmer then, because that was, in fact, a reasonable explanation and he shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. “Look, I appreciate the gesture, but next time you mean to give me flowers, just give me flowers! I believe you have the best intentions at heart, but it’s just weird for me. I don’t want this to be about money. I just – don’t want that, okay?”

He gazed at the older man as he gaped at him, mouth opening and closing, but no sound came out for a while.

“I just thought – I mean, people usually –“ It was unusual to see Tony speechless like that, but the man shook his head and looked back at him, almost embarrassed. “I just want to help you.”

“Are you kidding me?” Peter poked him in the arm, trying to lighten up the mood in the car. “You’re teaching me how to cook. Yesterday I made an omelet and I only burned one side, I’m getting good at this. That’s a big help.”

Tony didn’t laugh at his joke, like he usually did, he just gazed at him with an unreadable expression, before leaning in to kiss him, which Peter gladly reciprocated.

“I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable,” he whispered, then, resting his forehead against his.

“And I’m sorry I was rude. It won’t happen again,” he promised, and he meant it.

After that night, he removed Tony from his Just4Fans, which came as a blow to the older man, who pouted and whined for about a week, only stopping when Peter showed up at his place one Saturday wearing Iron Man lingerie under his clothes – it was supposed to be a joke, but it worked surprisingly well for Tony.  

By July, it became impossible to keep sneaking around Ned and MJ, as the dates became more frequent. Peter decided to tell them that he had met someone online and that they were getting to know each other. He told them it was nothing serious yet and if it became serious, they would meet him.

He did have to throw in a few lies to get them off his back – he definitely had to lie about Tony’s age to avoid certain comparisons, but he would cross that bridge when he got to it, if he ever got to it. He wasn’t sure if or when he was going to tell them the whole truth, but for the time being, he  felt more comfortable keeping that relationship to himself.

He and Tony didn’t go out much, but when they did, it was always to fancy and discreet restaurants with private rooms; Tony was, after all, a celebrity for all intents and purposes, and at if the press got a whiff of them there would be no secret left to keep.

But staying in with Tony was far from boring. They cooked together and the older man taught him all of his grandmother’s secret recipes – Peter could never replicate them by himself at home, but it was still fun trying. They spent almost all of their time down in the workshop, though, where Tony  had him do menial tasks, like screwing bolts or reaching for a part inside an Iron Man suit. He said his tiny hands were useful for his projects.

He knew he wasn’t really that useful, but he loved when Tony included him and asked for his help, even though he didn’t really need it. He was fascinated by everything the older man taught him in those moments and in turn Tony always looked proud and pleased when Peter put his lessons to use.

He didn’t mind keeping him company when Tony was focused on projects he couldn’t help with, he stayed there anyway, reading a book or watching TV on the tiny couch – Tony kept saying he was going to get a bigger one, but he didn’t believe it, he knew the older man enjoyed the fact that the only way they could fit comfortably on it was if Peter was lying half on top of him.

So after several weeks, they established a little routine of their own. Since Tony had a busy schedule and Peter was still trying to keep Ned and MJ somewhat in the dark, they didn’t meet that often on week days, but they always talked on the phone before bed. On Thursdays, Tony picked him up after his shift at BFF and he spent the night at his place. They had breakfast together on Fridays and then they met again every Saturday after lunch, and finally Tony dropped him back off home every Sunday evening, so he could have dinner with his friends.

In August, for the first time in his life, Peter had two birthday celebrations. One with his friends, when the three of them went bar-hopping and he got home so hammered he had absolutely no idea how they managed to climb the stairs, and another with Tony, when he decorated the workshop with  balloons and put party hats on Dum-E and U.

“Surprise!” He yelled lamely, throwing confetti at Peter when they stepped into the workshop. The younger man laughed, delighted, as Tony hurried to the kitchenette and came back with something in his hands. “I know it doesn’t look good, but I promise it tastes good. Probably.” When Peter looked down, he noticed it was a large chocolate cake with ‘Happy Birthday, kitten’ written on it in bright pink icing. It looked so ugly, but it was so beautiful at the same time. “What did I do now?” Tony frowned, face falling.

He blinked a few times and when he touched his cheeks, he realized he was crying.

“I’m sorry, I’m just – really happy.” He grinned, pulling the older man’s face to give him a kiss. “Thank you.”

It was late October when Tony told him he had to go on a trip to China for two weeks, and even though it wasn’t his first work trip since they started dating, five months earlier, it would be by far the longest one since then, so it was kind of a big deal. Still, he didn’t expect to feel so affected, but on the days leading up to it he was so upset he couldn’t hide it.

They spent their last Sunday together wrapped up in each other doing absolutely nothing. They slept in, Tony brought Peter breakfast in bed, which was rewarded with a lazy and sloppy blow job, and they spent all day in bed, only getting up for essentials, like food and water. They didn’t even turn on the TV, they didn’t even talk much. They just held each other and exchanged slow, tender kisses until their bodies were too warm to stay under the sheets.

Tony ran a bath for them and got in the tub – it was big enough for eight people, but Peter made a point to sit in his lap, clinging to him like a koala. He felt Tony’s arms encircle him gently, as he rested his chin on top of his head.

“I’ll be home before you even have time to miss me, kitten.” He whispered, and those were the first words either of them had said in at least a few hours.

Peter didn’t tell him that was impossible since he already missed him, instead he just held him even tighter.

After the bath water went cold, they climbed out of the tub and Tony insisted on drying him, before dressing him in one of his own T-shirts, even though Peter had a multitude of spare clothes in his closet. He sat in bed, watching Tony pack a huge suitcase that reminded him just how long he would be gone for. He sulked a little – just a little – and that earned him a little kiss on his forehead, which was enough to undo the frown between his brows.

Finally, in the evening, Tony parked his car in front of Peter’s building, turning to look at him with an almost pained smile, before leaning in for a kiss.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Peter whispered against his mouth and felt when Tony’s lips stretched into a small smile. He pulled away a little, just enough to look into his eyes, and cupped his chin in his hand.

“I’ll miss you too, but I won’t be long, ok? It’s just a few days.” He pecked Peter’s lips one more time for good measure and the younger man nodded.

“Call me if you have time.”

“Of course, kitten, every day.” He leaned in for another kiss, this one longer than the previous, and Peter’s heart fluttered. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out, containing the urge to say those three words that had been trapped in the back of his throat for weeks.

“Have a safe trip. Let me know when you land.”

“I will, baby.”

Peter got out of the car and waved, watching as it disappeared down the street. He sighed and his heart ached, he already missed Tony and it had only been a few seconds, how was he going to survive fifteen whole days? It seemed impossible. It was crazy to think how far they had come since March, when they talked for the first time. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

He turned to go inside, but froze in place when he heard a familiar voice.

“So that’s why you’ve been ignoring me, huh? How rude.” He turned slowly to the left, only to be met with Beck’s cocky, arrogant smile, just a few feet away from him. “I tried calling, I tried texting, you’ve blocked me everywhere, I can’t even e-mail you anymore, it appears.” Beck walked slowly and leaned against the rails of the stairs to Peter’s building and the younger man curled his hands in fists, trying to control the urge to just run. “Long time no see, Petey-pie.”

He was paralyzed, muscles rigid, but to his own surprise, it wasn’t fear that he felt, or sadness. It was pure anger.  

“I wonder why,” he answered quietly, but firmly. Beck’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, before the smile was back in place. “How did you find me?” He demanded, because Beck had never cared to ask where Peter was going to stay after he kicked him out, so how in the hell would he know where to find him?

“Wasn’t easy, I have been following you on Instagram, some of your morning run routes seemed familiar, so I–”

“You stalked me?” He frowned, taking a step closer to the other man, who looked at Peter with indignation and hurt. He shook his head, softened those baby blue eyes and placed one hand over his chest, right above where his heart would have been if he had one.

“I just wanted to see you, is all.” He shrugged, dropping his gaze to stare at his own feet, and Peter wanted to roll his eyes. It was so weird watching his whole act now that the spell had been lifted.

“What do you want?” He asked, making the older man’s head snap back up, a little surprised by his cold tone.

“I just told you, I wanted to see you. I missed you.” He took a few steps towards Peter, who in turn walked backwards to keep his distance

“You missed me?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Where’s your new boy-toy, you put him away so you could come play with me?” He cocked his head to the side and, for a moment, he could see the shock crossing his features.

“Pete… Why are you acting like this, it’s like I don’t even know you anymore...” His voice broke and he looked away, pretending to wipe away a tear. He wondered how the hell he used to fall for that.

“You don’t, Quentin. I’m not a lost little boy anymore, you should go back to your boyfriend. Or is he smarter than me and dumped you already? Is that what this is all about?” He narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, and Beck’s mouth hung open like he couldn’t believe his words.

“I made a mistake, Pete. After so many years, I took you for granted, I couldn’t see what I saw the first time I met you. I couldn’t see how beautiful you were, how caring and loving you were, how loyal and reliable and – I don’t know, I was blind. I was so stupid, I shouldn’t have left you.” His eyes were wide, earnest, shining with unshed tears. His face was open, even his body language screamed honesty. Suddenly, he didn’t feel so bad about falling for his act – Beck was good. “Don’t  you miss me, baby? Don’t you miss us?”

Peter snorted, shaking his head, he couldn’t believe the nerve of that man.

“You made a mistake, huh? So you dumped your new boy, right? If I were to go home with you right now, he wouldn’t be there, waiting for you, like a fucking plan B, in case this doesn’t go your way. Right?” It was his turn to take a few steps towards the older man. “Like I was your plan B while you waited for him to turn 18?”

“Peter, c’mon–“

“Is he there, Beck? Just answer me that. Come on, if he’s not, I’ll take you back right now, we can go home together.” He insisted, looking into the older man’s eyes, but he didn’t say anything, he just sighed. “Of course he is. If I said yes, what would you do? Tell him to pack his things in the middle of the night and leave? Would you keep all the money he’s made you and tell him to fuck off? Would you leave him broke and lonely and fucking lost in this world? Would you tell him that he wasn’t good enough and dispose of him like he’s fucking garbage?” His voice grew louder and louder, and when he came to himself, he noticed he was in Beck’s face, their chests almost touching, so he took a step back. “So to answer your question, Quentin, no, I don’t fucking miss you. You fucking ruined me!”

“I saved you!” And just like that, the good guy act was gone. His whole demeanor changed, the soft baby blues widened, his mouth was set in a sneer, he puffed out his chest to intimidate him, but Peter stood his ground. “Don’t pretend you don’t remember who you were before me. You were a fucking loser! An orphan, no family, no friends, no future! I took you in, I took care of you, I gave you a profession – don’t fucking roll your eyes, what the fuck are you doing now, huh? Rocket science? ‘Cause it seems to me like you’re still doing porn, and now you’re clearly branching out into prostitution, would you look at that!”

“You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about!” He placed his hands on the man’s chest and pushed him away when he got too fucking close for comfort. He held his breath when he realized what he had done, afraid of the man’s reaction, but he just kept his distance.  

“You know what? Fuck you, Peter. I was wrong about you, I thought I knew who you were, I thought I missed you, but you’re just a disgusting fucking whore, after all. You’re a dirty little bitch in heat who likes to get this loose hole of yours fucked by old perverts, I don’t know why I’m surprised, I mean, that’s why I dumped you, you were enjoying those videos a little bit too much for my taste. You weren’t even satisfied with two cocks up your ass, one in your mouth and a line of men waiting to fuck you. You disgust me.” He started walking away, and Peter wanted to say something, he wanted to yell at him and defend himself, he wanted to tell him he didn’t fucking enjoy it, he wanted to tell him that it was all his fault, he threw him to the lions, he let those men fucking–

Fuck!

He rushed inside the building and ran upstairs, eyes clouded with tears. He tripped and fell knees first on the steps, but he didn’t even feel pain, he just got up and kept going, kept running, trying to put as much distance between him and Beck as he could, even though it was irrational. Beck was gone, he walked away, he left him, he left him again, he wasn’t coming back–

“Ned?!” He knocked urgently on his friends’ door. He didn’t have his spare key, it was upstairs in his own apartment, but he couldn’t trust himself to go all the way up there and down again without having a full on panic attack. “MJ?! Are you guys home?!” He was really trying not to sound too desperate, he didn’t want to scare them, but it was hard controlling his emotions when his heart was hammering against his chest and he couldn’t fucking breathe.

“Peter?” It was MJ who yanked the door open. She had a towel wrapped around her torso, her hair was wet, and Peter felt guilty, but she took one look at him and quickly pulled him into a hug. “My God, Peter...” She whispered into his hair when he started sobbing uncontrollably on her naked shoulder. “Come on in, c’mon.” He heard the door closing behind him, but he didn’t let go of her, he felt like if he did, he wouldn’t be able to hold himself together.  

He wanted to tell her not to worry, that she should go finish her shower and change, but he really, really needed her right then. She sat down on the couch, pulling him with her and he promptly laid down, burying his face in her legs. He couldn’t stop crying and sobbing and no matter how many times she asked him what was wrong, sounding increasingly more worried, he couldn’t get his feelings under control enough to give her any answer.

He was there for what felt like hours, when at some point someone lifted him from MJ’s lap and enveloped him in such a tight hug he couldn’t breath for a second, but he sighed in relief, it was right what he needed. Ned’s arms felt like home, it calmed him down almost instantly – his voice whispering that it was fine, everything was going to be okay helped a lot, too.

“I hate him, I hate him so fucking much,” he mumbled into his shoulder, God knew how much time later, and his friend just hummed, patting his back. “I hate that he made a mess of me and I let him.” He couldn’t hold back more tears when he said that, because it was true, it was so fucking true. He let Beck do whatever he wanted to him, he let him ruin his dreams, his future, his fucking personality, until he was nothing but a shell of what he used to be.

“I know, Peter, I know,” Ned soothed him, rubbing his back, even though he probably had no idea what he was talking about. “It’s okay now. You’re okay. It’s over”

“I made tea.” MJ’s quiet voice sounded somewhere from his right and when he turned to look at her, she was already dressed, wet hair up in a bun, with a mug in her hands, which she extended to him. He accepted it but didn’t dare to take a sip, he was positive that if he did, he would throw up, his stomach was all kinds of fucked up at that moment. “Peter, what happened? Did Star – uh, did your boyfriend do something? Did he hurt? ‘Cause I swear to God–” Just the mention of Tony being the cause of his distress made him sick, so he cut her off.

“Beck was here.” He sniffed, looking at the mug to avoid their eyes when he heard both of them gasping.

“Beck? Beck was here? Fucking Beck?” MJ screeched and he nodded.

“He was waiting for me outside.” He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to gather enough energy to have that conversation.  

“What did he want?” Ned asked calmly, while MJ paced the floor, furious.

“I don’t know...” He shrugged, wrecking his brain to try and figure out what his motive was. “His channel got taken down a few weeks ago and he couldn’t get it back up. I heard he had to start over.” He hadn’t been watching that closely, but he knew something was wrong, even his Twitter and Instagram accounts kept getting taken down almost monthly, it was impossible he was making any money over the past few months. “He said he wanted to get back together, probably because he thinks us making up would be a big hit or whatever. I said no, of course. He didn’t like the answer.”

“Did he hurt you?!” MJ strode back to him until she was standing right in front of him, looking into his eyes. He was almost intimidated by her.

“No, he just… Said some pretty shitty things, is all,” he answered sheepishly, because he hated that that man could still make a mess of him with just a few hurtful words.

“Oh, dude. He’s just mad he’s lost control over you. Whatever he said, he just wanted to hurt you, it doesn’t mean anything.” Ned placed an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer, and Peter rested his head against his, sighing.

“I know. He was always like that, you know,” he whispered, as flashes of memories crossed his mind. “When I didn’t bend to his wishes, when I didn’t do things his way, he fucking–“ He squeezed his eyes shut, furious, because he had fallen for that again. “He tries to charm me and when it doesn’t work, he attacks me. But the thing is, he really knows what to say to destroy me. It just sucks. But it’s fine. I just need a moment, I’ll be fine.” He sat up straight and looked both of his friends in the eyes.

“Yes, you will. You most certainly will.” Ned patted his shoulder one last time, getting up from the couch. “Why don’t you lie down for a second, huh? I’m making dinner, I’ll even try one of those recipes your mystery boyfriend taught you.” Just the mention of Tony made him breathe a little easier, even though he wouldn’t be able to see him for a while.

“Okay.” He nodded, smiling softly. MJ took Ned’s place on the couch and he lay down, placing his head on her legs, as she ran her fingers through his hair. He sighed contently and closed his eyes, feeling exhausted. He was close to drifting off when he heard Ned gasp.

“Oh my God,” He breathed quietly from the kitchen and both Peter and MJ looked at him curiously from over the back of the couch.

“What?” She didn’t look too worried, but Peter was concerned about how pale he was.

“Ned, what’s wrong?” He frowned, watching Ned’s horrified expression looking at his phone like it was a murder scene. He raised his eyes and gulped.

“Peter is trending on Twitter,” he whispered, after a while.

“What?!” They both hurried over to the kitchen counter, and the first thing Peter saw when he looked at his phone was a picture of him and Tony in his car, kissing. As Ned scrolled down, more pictures showed up, but not only that, clips of his old videos were all over Twitter, people knew his full name, his real name, and they were making all sorts of comments. Iron Man, Tony Stark, Peter Parker, sex worker, prostitute and porn were trending.

The room was completely silent for a whole minute, before MJ turned on the TV.

“… appear that Tony Stark, former CEO of Stark Industries and retired Avenger, was seen kissing a young man in his car earlier this evening. The person in the pictures seems to be one Peter Parker, a twenty-one year old porn actor, who is also said to work as a prostitute…”

Peter’s heart sank to the bottom of his stomach, his vision blurred and he felt bile rising in his throat. He took a deep breath and got up from the couch, ears ringing, as he rushed to the front door.  He heard his friends yelling something, but he couldn’t make out their words, and he just couldn’t deal with all that right then and there.

“I, uhm, I gotta go,” he called from over his shoulder, slamming the door shut on his way out.

As he ran upstairs, vision blurred by tears and chest hurting, begging for oxygen, he couldn’t help but remember his life fell apart in the winter. And fall would be over soon.

-x-

So... It appears that someone has lost the ability to write short chapters... 

Anyways, only three more chapters to go!  🥳

Tag list (please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the list):  @sadachmesarthim @iamnotparticularlyproud @staticwhispersinthedark @bluestarker @ whyisthisathingcb