#also my appeal to keep my flat next year got accepted

[spoonietimelordy]

y'all are all being so sweet recently, i can't stop smiling, love y'all

[universitypenguin]

Hey beautiful! How are you? How is the writing? I am missing Lloyd and princess so much to the point where I am going to have to reread their fic🫣will they be making a return in the near future? No pressure, just asking because I genuinely love those two.

Hey! Thanks so much for reaching out, it means a lot to know people still care about my writing - especially since I haven’t been very productive as of late. I know there’s lots of other talented fanfic authors out there for you to enjoy. 💛

I've been hanging in there, thank you for asking. Things have been pretty hectic lately for me. I’ve been working on chapter 27 off and on for the past two months and kept getting discouraged when it wasn’t turning out how I envisioned. Then, at the beginning of April, I got a job offer. It was very exciting and I accepted it immediately - however the process of starting that new job was ended up being very time consuming. The job itself is actually pretty easy, especially compared to what I used to do, which is great news for me!

Also, in the middle of job searching this winter/spring, I accidentally let one of my major professional certifications expire. (A word of advice: do NOT do this, it sucks. 😑)

Unfortunately it’s not a license I’ve actively worked under for the past two years, so I wasn’t eligible to just throw in some education hours and appeal the expiration. Because I hadn’t used my license recently, I had to take a semester long college course and re-test with the state and pass their in person practicals before they’d let me apply to get my license back. Basically they made me start over from almost zero. I was not thrilled.

That class is just now wrapping up. I still have to do the final exam, take my state licensing exam, pass the state practicals, and then I’ll be allowed to apply for a new license. It’s been a lot. Learn from my mistakes: don’t let your certifications expire. Those test are all coming up in the next two weeks.

Anyways, back to the point.

TPATL definitely took a hit during all this chaos, especially around midterms when everything began to pile up and the job change started to take shape. I kept promising myself I'd dive back into it, but life just kept throwing curveballs – like a last-minute job interview I had to rush off to, classes that got busy, etc.

But hey, I've finally managed to tackle Chapter 27. I admit, it wasn't pretty at first. The whole thing just felt flat, lacking any spark to keep readers engaged. It took me a while to pinpoint what was missing, but in the past few days, I've been able to breathe some life back into it. Right now I’m working on the last two scenes from Lloyd’s perspective and I have a couple more scenes to write from Princess’ POV.

I’m hoping to finish the chapter by the end of the week. Friday, perhaps?

Honestly, sometimes I wish someone would just chain me to my desk and force me to write! But I'm determined to get back on track, especially knowing there are readers like you who care about Lloyd and Princess's journey. So, thank you for your patience and understanding – it means the world to me. Hang tight, I promise TPATL will be back on track soon!

[thefanficmonster]

Casual

Ranboo x Reader (Female)

Warnings: None, unless talking about the future counts

Genre: FLUFF, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Following the arrival of the dreadful invitation to his cousin’s wedding Ranboo turns to the only cover-up he can think of to keep his still-single status hidden from his family.

Requested by Anon. Hi darling! Thank you so much for your wonderful request! I’m so glad you sent your idea to me and I’m so glad you were my first official Ranboo request. I’m really sorry it’s taken me so long to write it but I still hope you’ll come across it and read it! Love, Vy ❤

“Heyyy, so Y/N, I have a favor to ask you...um yeah, call me back, it’s awkward sending it via voicemail. Bye“

Huh - that’s the first thought that goes through my head when I listen to the voicemail left after a missed call from my best friend Ranboo. The favors he usually asks for consist of requesting assistance for his videos in which I also appear with a mask and sunglasses to keep the brand running. I genuinely have nothing against my face being shown but when I think about it, I’m honestly a bit glad people can’t identify me.

Anyways, back to the favors, Ranboo is no stranger to asking me for them but they’ve never been considered too awkward for a voicemail which is why I’m no slightly concerned. I’ve been swamped with work for school and studies for the graduation finals for the past two weeks and it seems like I’ll never get on top of it and I know Ranboo’s been in a similar situation too, so maybe he needs help with that? He’s not used to asking help for school stuff, he sometimes even has a hard time accepting it when I openly offer it to him.

I eventually sigh, decide that playing this guessing game will not get me anywhere and settle on giving him a call as I make my way home from the gym with my legs barely putting up with the task of carrying me around.

He picks up on the second ring.

“Hey! Wh-...“

“Would you pretend to be my girlfriend for my cousin’s wedding next weekend?!“

My legs take that opportunity to stop moving in the middle of the sidewalk which is luckily void of any people at the moment. It’s not my fault my body’s first reaction was to freeze up at the question that came flying at me like an out-of-control jet, almost as though he’s been dying to say it and get it over with.

“Um...run that by me again please, I think I misunderstood.“ I say, blinking blankly as though awoken from a fever dream. No, actually as though I’m IN a fever dream right now.

“Ok, now that the cat’s out of the bag, wanna grab some coffee and talk about it face-to-face. I need to see your facial expressions to gauge what response to expect.“ He says, the previous nervousness gone and his voice calm as regularly once again.

I’m this close to face-palming but I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and bring myself to utter a reply, “Our usual spot. Be there in ten minutes.”

                                                             *  *  *

“No freaking way.“ I shake my head, folding my arms over my chest as I lean back in my seat in the booth we picked when we arrived. Good thing I got an iced coffee cause even a hot one would’ve gone cold by now considering I haven’t yet taken the time to have even a sip of it. I’ve been too busy listening to the long and short of the explanation and begging speech Ranboo probably made last night to try and convince me to agree to this nonsense. “Dude, we’ve been friends since middle school-...“

“Exactly! Who else was I gonna ask?“ He cuts me off, pleading gaze meeting my unimpressed one.

I huff before continuing my previous statement, “We’ve been friends since middle school so you know my opinion on weddings.” I put extra emphasis on the word ‘opinion’, giving him the clear hint at the distaste I’ve expressed on the topic multiple times before.

“And you know we’re on the same page there but there’s no way I can avoid going unless someone kidnaps me.“ He too now gets in the same stance as me, his coffee forgotten too.

I can’t help but snort out a little laugh, “I’d be more than happy to kidnap you considering the other option is far less appealing to me.“

He, of course, rolls his eyes at me as though he didn’t offer to do the same thing so I could avoid an exam but anyways. “So you’re gonna choose to fake a kidnapping that has the potential of landing you in jail over coming to eat some great food and maybe even have some fun at a wedding with your best friend? I’m hurt.“ He says, frowning to cover up the smile that’s fighting its way onto his face.

Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes, “I’d be kidnapping you, dummy...” I cut myself off to let out a long sigh and calm down before I go off at him. His smirk isn’t helping me much with the task either. I’ve known Ranboo long enough to know he’ll eventually convince me and he’s known me long enough to know how to do that exactly. With that in mind, there’s really no point in getting so worked up and wasting my energy. And so, despite my own rationality, I cave. “Fine, but I’m not staying the whole wedding.“

His eyes immediately light up and almost makes me feel the compromise was worth it. Almost. I mean, when you’ve been best friends with someone for so long, seeing them happy is worth more to you than your own comfort sometimes.

And he knows it too. Which is exactly why he outstretches his hand for me to shake and says: “Just one dance and you’re free to go. Deal?”

I take his hand without hesitations. That’s a better offer than I could’ve ever imagined. “Damn straight it’s a deal.“

                                                            *  *  *

“How long until you kick the heels off?“ Ranboo asks, bringing me a non-alcoholic cocktail and sitting down next to me.

I take a sip and giggle, “You kidding? I already kicked them off and replaced them with flats. I need mobility if we dance. They also lower the risk of me severing off a toe of yours if I step on you on accident.”

He laughs, clinking his glass against mine before he gets a bit more serious, “By the way, thanks for handling my family’s attack so well. I know it might’ve been a bit much but you handled it like a pro. Still, I’m sorry on their behalf.”

I shake my head and wave my hand dismissively, “Don’t mention it. I’d probably react the same way if my brother or cousin brought a date to an important family event like this.” I instinctively turn to look in the direction of where the majority of his family has gathered around, chatting with guests, smiling brightly. It’s hard not to immediately take a liking towards these people. They’ve been a second family to me ever since Ranboo and I started hanging out so I completely understand why they were so shocked to see me in the role of his ‘girlfriend’.

“I’ll tell my parents the truth later, our extended family is the ones I wanted to fool to be perfectly honest.“ He looks around as do I and we catch more than a few pairs of eyes fixated on us that turn away when they realize they’ve been spotted, “Mission accomplished by the looks of it.“

I chuckle. I’ve never felt so comfortable at a wedding before. I don’t feel stressed nor anxious despite knowing that there’s quite the number of eyes on me and there are whispers going around about my ‘relationship’ with Ranboo. It’s oddly calming and relaxing to be surrounded by some familiar and some unfamiliar faces. This cocktail is pretty great too.

Speaking of which, if it had any alcohol in it I’d blame it for the decision I’m about to make but this one’s entirely on me: I tap Ranboo with one hand while taking out my phone with the other. “If we’re already the talk of the wedding, let’s give them something to talk about.“ I say as I put up my phone, pretending to be taking a selfie leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek.

When I pull away I can clearly see that he’s still processing what just happened. I can’t help but burst out in a fit of laughter as I reach out to wipe the lipstick stain I left on his cheek. He looks like a lost, clueless puppy with the question: ‘what on Earth just happened???’ replaying in his head and it’s so freaking cute!

Wait....what was that? Since when do I use the adjective cute to describe Ranboo? Didn’t I think he looks handsome in a suit earlier too? The hell is with me today?

Then it hits me - the feeling isn’t foreign. Like, I know I’ve felt it before but I never analyzed it or even bothered to acknowledge it. But now that I do, I’m afraid of what it might be.

“There!“ I say, desperately trying to push the thoughts away along with this little firework show in my stomach, “Now you have pinker cheeks. Well, cheek, singular.“

As if snapping out of his state of confusion, he returns to Earth with a smirk, “Kiss the other to even it?”

Alright, his blush might not be even but mine now is and it’s ten times as intense and very much apparent but I don’t let the feeling shine through anything else as I proceed to actually kiss his other cheek too, wiping the lipstick stain.

“Thanks. You’re the best.” And just like that, as though it’s no big deal, he kisses my forehead.

See, that’s the thing, it shouldn’t be a big deal! It’s never been! This is far from the first time I’ve kissed him on the cheek or the first time he’s given me a forehead kiss. These are regular occurrences after years of this lovely friendship we have. Why do they feel so different now?

Then, much to my relief, the music starts and the lights turn off leaving only one spotlight for the groom and bride to have their first dance. They look absolutely astonishing and I can certainly say I’ve never before stopped to think that about any newly weds of the weddings I’ve preciously been to. I don’t know if it has something to do with the company I have for this particular wedding or it’s maybe the fact that my mindset’s changed over the years without me realizing.

Then I automatically look at Ranboo who just so happens to be looking at me too and all I can say is: my mindset hasn’t changed.

A loud applause takes over when the couple finish their dance, officially opening the dancefloor for any other pairs who’d like to occupy it and I’m happy to see how many people are eager to rush up with their partner.

 Ranboo gets up, putting the glass down and offers me his hand, “So, wanna dance? Don’t take this as a sign to leave though, we said one dance and you CAN leave, not SHOULD.” He says, giving me a warning look.

I roll my eyes and am about to give him some sass right back but he takes my hand and picks me up from my seat, leading me to the dancefloor.  And I gotta admit maybe it’s a good thing he did. If he left it to me I would’ve probably said no to the dance and ran the hell away. Why? - Cause I’m freaking terrified of this new mindset and point of view and these intense emotions I never used to pay any mind to before in regards to my best friend.

Friends don’t feel that way about friends. Friends don’t look at friends that way. What’s happening to me?

When I gotta look him in the eyes like this, not for the first time might I add, I can finally understand how the friends-to-lovers trope works: it’s all meaningless until it starts to mean so much to you. It’s all platonic until it reminds you of a romantic movie moment. It ‘best friends’ until it’s ‘I wish we were more than that’. It’s all casual, until it’s not.

And, unfortunately, it’s irreversible.

Damn do I wish I ran away now...

[pekotranslates]

Traces of Two Pasts: Episode Tifa - pgs 40-52

Disclaimer: Also, I started this for fun so that my friends who don't have access can read it. I'm just another fan like you. With that said, I do try to be as faithful to the original source material as possible, and for those of you who can read Japanese, please support the author by buying his book.

Not everyone agreed with Chief Zonder's decision. The elderly—a major force in the village—began to make noise. They seemed to take a liking to Zangan's longevity exercises, and regretted not being able to memorize what was taught to them. They wanted someone to check if their poses were correct, and wished to learn the remaining exercises he was supposed to have taught them.

The village chief paid a visit at dinnertime.

"Hey, Tifa..." he said with a sullen expression. "Will you teach the old folks how to do Zangan's exercises properly?"

"Why Tifa?" her father asked. She just knew he would ask.

"Because Zangan named her. Told me that if we ever needed someone to mentor us, Tifa would be qualified. Said that she had the most controlled form* out of everyone who gathered there that day.

Kata, which means “form” in Japanese, is the term used to describe specific sequences of motion that are used to practice technique and execution in martial arts

It pleased her knowing that someone spoke of her like that when not in her presence, but it also caused her to be slightly embarrassed.

"Zonder, don't get my family involved."

"Aw, c'mon! I'm already in big trouble as it is. The old folks just won't let it go!"

"Hmph!" Brian Lockhart snorted. He enjoyed seeing the village chief squirm. She couldn't tell whether or not they actually got along with each other.

"Tifa, what do you think?"

"I'd just be teaching the elderly people those exercises, right? If that's all there is, then I'd like to try."

"Tifa..." her father began, but he swallowed back his complaint. He knew that it wasn't good for her to have too much time on her hands. "Well, if you're gonna do it, then do it right."

While preparing breakfast, Tifa heard a knock at the door, and opened to a woman’s face she barely recognized. It was an elderly woman called "Mon Amie" who was an aunt of sorts to Chief Zonder. Her hair was pulled back into a bun so tight that it looked like her eyes were being pulled straight up!

"Good morning to you. It's been a long time, Tifa. I heard that Zonder told you all about it. How about 2 gil per hour?"

"Sorry?" She had not heard about any renumeration.

"Well, you are thirteen now. Not a little girl anymore, so that doesn't cut it for you, eh? Alright then, how about 4 gil?"

"No, I don't want any money."

"That won't do. We are taking this very seriously, and you will be properly paid for your work."

No matter how much Zangan trusted her, would she really be up to the task? But, being able to earn her own money sounded very appealing, as if a whole new world had opened up to her.

Mon Amie took Tifa's silence as her wanting to bargain for higher wages.

"6 gil."

"Alright. 6 gil it is then."

"Brian never did leave the village. He wanted to keep Thea all to himself." Mon Amie suddenly brought up her parents during their exercise routine at the public square.

"Really?" said Tifa, adjusting Mon Amie's arm posture. She needed to get her to straighten her back and push out her chest a bit more for the desired result.

"She was quite the popular one, that child."

It wasn’t very pleasant hearing her mother being called "that child", yet Tifa encouraged her. Listening to the elderly tell old stories was a part of her job. The responsibility she felt from receiving wages tempered her patience.

"You should leave the village," said Mon Amie suddenly. "Doesn't it sound like fun going around to different places with Master Zangan?"

"It sure does."

"Alright, you don't have to play along with me. No need for you to learn things like that. Just think about it carefully, okay? Something needs to change for women here in Nibelheim."

Tifa silently nodded as she propped up Mon Amie's arm.

"There weren't any women around in my day who held this kind of thinking. But that Strife girl”—she was speaking of Cloud's mother—"tried to leave. Not sure if it's because she hated it here, or if she dreamed of going to the big city."

Mon Amie abruptly altered her pose, ruining her base form.

"To the traditional Nibelheim women, she seemed pretty unconventional. We all refused to accept her ways, but secretly felt the same. Even though we scolded her, deep down inside we were cheering her on. We even felt jealous of her for carving out her own path. Perhaps she changed something in us, little by little.”

Tifa lifted up Mon Amie's knee. "Up high like this. Thank you."

She supported Mon Amie as the woman’s body rocked back and forth.

"But Claudia remained in the village, didn't she?" said Tifa.

"Well, that’s because she fell in love. You see, a man traveled here. Claudia was helping out at the inn at the time. She must have been taken in by the outside air he brought with him. And he was a pretty fellow. I’m sure you see it when you look at Cloud. That boy got the best of both his parents!”

“Right…”

“But, just like the wind, he just couldn’t keep still. Not sure if Cloud learned how to walk yet, but around that time he told her he would go to the mountains, but never came back. They found his belongings though. His body probably got eaten by monsters. You were lucky you didn’t meet the same fate.”

Tifa braced herself. Was she going to bring up that incident?

“Cloud egging you on to climb Mt. Nibel… Maybe that was in his blood.”

Mon Amie’s body began to sway. Tifa had stopped holding onto her causing her to lose her balance. She couldn’t regain her footing in time, and fell flat down on her backside.

“Alright then," said Tifa. "Now let’s use the opposite leg. Please lift up your knee.”

Tifa held out a helping hand to her, but Mon Amie refused and got up on her own.

“Quite strict for a pretty face.”

“That’s because I get paid 6 gil to be.”

Before long, she became more attentive. She noticed Mon Amie lifting up her other knee, but it was at the wrong height again. While Tifa helped her to adjust, Mon Amie said, “You really don’t remember anything? You know, about that accident you got into?”

She was eight years old when she got into that accident on Mt. Nibel. Cloud was with her. The villagers chose to believe the story based on Emilio and the others’ testimonies, and nothing else could be said about it. Tifa really couldn't remember what happened.

"No, unfortunately not..."

Whether the elderly came to her for exercising or just to chat, it was tougher than she had imagined. Her father laughed at her and said he wouldn't have anything to do with them, even for 100 gil.

They never listened and were set in their ways, even the ones who kept away and smiled modestly at her. They just had a different view on things, and sulked if nobody paid them attention.

The topics they discussed also surprised Tifa, and sometimes hurt her too. She disliked whenever they brought up how her body looked so grown. There would be someone who sensed her discomfort or resentment, and would try to change the subject, but then it would turn into whom she should be with and things of that nature.

So, all things considered, Tifa preferred hearing them going on about herself rather than her father’s failed romances, or whom her mother used to hang out with before she got married to him. To the elderly townsfolk, her father and others his age were still “the village youth”.

After her day finished and she was about to go to sleep, she thought to herself that maybe there would be a time when she would be the one telling someone else about what happened today, or about some news she heard from another person. Telling the same stories over and over again, everyday just like the next, until she, herself, became just a relic of an era in village history.

※

“They confused me at first, but I got used to being around them, and then it wasn’t so bad anymore. That feeling of wanting someone to talk to—Everyone has that,” explained Tifa.

“So that’s where you learned to entertain guests? From spending your time talking to old folks?” asked Barret.

“Possibly. Maybe that did me good. More and more of the elderly signed up, and they started calling their morning gatherings the ‘Calisthenics Club’.”

“It’s like that at Seventh Heaven too,” said Barret with some intensity.

Aerith urged him to talk.

“It used to be just a small shop owned by this one gramps, but when Tifa started working there, the business picked up. Men crowded the place. Know what I mean, Red?”

“What I’m more interested in is what happened to Zangan afterward? I can sort of imagine based on your fighting style, Tifa...” said Red XIII.

“You’re right. There was a little more that happened before I got to where I'm at.”

※

A month passed after the start of the Calisthenics Club. All morning Tifa would teach the exercises and set aside time for her reading and arithmetic. The afternoon she'd go to the mountains and work hard towards building up her strength and stamina, and then would return home before sunset so her father wouldn’t worry. At night she would examine Zangan's writings and practice her form, reviewing the materials over and over again so as to not overlook anything.

One day, she received a letter from Emilio. He wrote about the fast-paced lifestyle in the big city, and told her about everything he found perplexing: arguments he had had with people, things he ate, the social inequality, and their differences in moral values.

“But whenever I get discouraged, it’s you I think about, Tifa, and then I imagine that day when I’ll come and get you. I'll write to you sometimes and teach you about the city, so you won't be so confused when that time comes.”

Who do you think you are? That's how she honestly felt reading the letter.

Zangan appeared, acting as if nothing had happened. He knocked on the door just in time to greet her father and asked for his permission to call Tifa out, and then led her to the river where they first met.

“Master Zangan, please let me be your student. I want to be stronger.”

“That’s exactly the answer I was looking for, but what’s the matter, Tifa? I sense your impatience. Why are you in such a hurry?”

“That’s not it!” she replied, but felt self-conscious. “No… It’s because I got that letter from my friend.”

“What kind of letter?”

“I think it’s because I don’t want to lose. I don’t want to lose to anyone who left the village.”

“Hmm. My hand-to-hand combat techniques are not meant to be used to make you feel superior to others.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. But the answer to that can only be found through diligent study. All right. I will acknowledge you if you pass my test.”

“Test?”

“Show me everything you’ve learned from Volume 1. You’ve been practicing, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

Tifa performed a sequence of forms from the physical training method.

“One more time, from the beginning.”

“Okay.”

This time Zangan interrupted with instructions.

"Check the book to see the direction your palms should be facing."

Tifa crouched down over the book and flipped through the pages. The form was wrong from the very start. Should have been above not below.

“I was wrong.”

“Try again.”

When she extended both hands and slightly shifted the direction of her palms, she felt a different set of muscles tingling.

“Everything from the Book of Secrets must be obeyed. Don’t try to interpret it another way or decide that your way is better. While disciplining your body, you must learn to be faithful to your decisions. If I take you in as my student, you will become stronger. So, you must cultivate your mind to control that power. The greater and stronger the power to handle, the greater the responsibility of its owner. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

The second time around, Zangan pointed out any minor mistakes she made. Each time she would have to go back and confirm with the Book of Secrets before advancing, which made things take twice as long. Fatigue built up in her arms and legs.

“Alright, now relax and close your eyes. Focus your attention and check the condition of your body. Does it hurt anywhere?”

“My upper back… I wouldn’t say it hurts but it feels like it’s burning...”

She slipped her right hand underneath her left armpit until it touched the lower part of her shoulder blade. Digging her fingers into it felt good.

“Hmph!” Zangan gave a satisfying nod. “That’s your shoulder blade. What you’re pressing into is the trapezius muscle. Surrounding it is your deltoid, infraspinatus, psoas minor and other muscles. The second volume will teach you how to train each one of those muscles on your back,” he said, while holding out a booklet to her. It was Volume 2.

“If you want to live your life with pride then pay close attention to your back. Squeeze your shoulder blades together, chest out. Walking through life with a beautiful posture is also part of your training.”

“Got it.”

“Let’s get started. Well then, onto Volume 2, No. 2-1-1, scapular push-ups.”

Zangan immediately prostrated himself on the ground, and lowered his chest. Tifa hastened to follow his example.

“All you're doing is supporting your whole body with your arms. Concentrate on your shoulder blades. Rotate them outwards—protract, retract, protract.”

It was her first time experiencing those movements. How was she supposed to move to protract her shoulder blades? She couldn’t picture it in her mind. Glancing over at Zangan she noticed he was rotating his shoulders outward, something her cat, Maru, often did.

“You look like a cat,” she said.

“Right. There’s a lot we can learn from cats.”

She focused her attention on her scapula, going up and down, until the repetition of movements were drilled into her body. Zangan rose and watched over Tifa for some time before clearing his throat.

“Good!”

The movements were subtle but still made her perspire.

“That’s because the muscles across your back are wider. Moving them increases the blood flow and raises your temperature, so that’s why you’re working up a sweat.”

After completing Volume 2, Tifa was sweating profusely. She felt unthinkable pain throughout her whole back.

“Alright, any questions? If you do, now’s your chance.”

She wanted to say, yes, but nothing came to mind at the moment.

“If not, then we’ll move onto Volume 3.”

“Huh?” she couldn’t help but shout. Her whole body was screaming in pain. Zangan ignored her and continued.

“Volume 3 is for chest and abs. We’re going to train your front body. The pectoralis major muscle is roughly divided into three parts: upper, middle and lower. There are several different ways to effectively train it, but I’ll teach you the basic concepts.”

“Alright…”

“At your age, your overall motor skills are complete, and in that regard, you excel. You haven’t had any special training, have you? If so, then you must have been born with this. Treasure it.”

“I will.”

She felt energy pour into her body. Perhaps listening to Zangan talk with a relaxed mind helped her to recover from fatigue.

“After a while, we’ll concentrate on building your muscles. But you will not be using any equipment except your body. We won’t be using barbells or dumbbells until you’re much older. Besides, our Zangan-ryu hardly finds them necessary. That is because I prescribe individual fighting styles that suit each of my students. You don’t need arms built like logs or a bulky chest. What you need is to build up a fighting style that will utilize those reflexes, that body, and your speed. Well, what do you want to do? Shall we call it a day?”

“No. Please go on.”

She didn’t want to disappoint the first person who had managed to earn her respect.

“Yes, that’s the spirit! Alright. But we’ll stop here for today. Let’s call this current level of fatigue your limit. Keep it in mind. You have a long way before you can try to challenge that limit to surpass it. Continuity is more important now than ever.”

On their way back, a realization came over Tifa regarding Zangan’s test. It didn't annoy her. If her father tried to make her work like that she’d probably stop talking to him for three days in a row. With those thoughts in mind, she walked her teacher back to the inn.

“Say hello to your father for me.”

As she stood in front of her house she could smell the scent of spices in the air. Spices that her mother liked to use in her best recipe. It was her father’s favorite dish, but since Tifa didn’t really like it, it was hardly ever served at the dining table.

She opened the door and said, “I’m home.”

“Welcome back.” Her father, dressed in an apron, peeked out at her from the kitchen.

“This smell… Huh? Is it mom’s?”

“I was really craving it... Oh, but I made something else for you.”

She was filled with remorse. She didn’t like the way he looked or the tone of voice he used when trying to gauge her mood, but it was all her fault for making it that way.

Novel by Kazushige Nojima

Translated by pekotranslates

Proofread by Eerie

[august-bleeds-red]

Texas Heat

Alpha!Tommy x omega!Reader (AFAB). When you find yourself trapped within the Hewitt family’s web of murder, violence and pain, the last thing you expect to do is fall in love.

Part One / Part Two / Part Three

~

The Texas sun beats mercilessly down on the back of your neck, the air thick and slow as dark molasses. You tied your sweater around your waist, but even that was too much for your sweating skin, so now it just hangs limply from your fingers.

 You manage to hitch a lift from a family of three on a cross-state road trip – the parents were both betas, the little girl in the back unpresented. You tell them you’re heading back to college from visiting your family, that your car packed up some three miles back. You also tell them you’re a beta. Two truths and a lie.

 They pull into a small gas station in Travis County called Cele Community Centre to fill up, while you step inside the sore to ask to use the phone. A middle-aged woman with cats-eye spectacles stands behind the counter, a couple of leather-clad bikers sitting at a table littered with beer bottles.

 The phone’s busted, but when you explain about your car, she offers a different option. Her brother’s got a tow truck – he could go pick up your car and bring it back for repair. It’s too good an offer to refuse, so you wave goodbye to the beta family and take a seat in the diner. The woman – Luda May Hewitt, she introduces herself – gives you a soda on the house and asks you about yourself. You tell her about your parents, your brother in the army, your little sister about to graduate high school. By the time her brother arrives – a unkempt, bespectacled man she calls Monty – you feel as though you’ve been talking to a matronly aunt for the past hour. She’s kind, with good old-fashioned Southern values, and so when she asks if you’d like to join them for supper, you accept. Monty says your car needs a new valve or something, which he has back at the homestead, so you hop in the cab of his truck next to Luda May.

 The Hewitt family home is a large farmhouse, with sprawling fields surrounding and a dilapidated garage. Monty parks up in the front yard and disappears, presumably to find the missing piece for your car. You shoulder your bag and follow Luda May inside the house. It’s not particularly clean, but your mother raised you to be polite, so you accept some sweet tea and some homemade biscuits.

 Shortly, another man appears in the kitchen – this one younger and more well-presented than Monty - who introduces himself as Sheriff Hoyt. A rough, brutish scent of alpha pheromones follows him through the door, but you know by instinct its not from him.

 “Tommy,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at a hulking figure beyond the doorway. “Come say hello to our guest.”

 The person who steps into the room has to be the largest man you’ve never seen. Not only is he tall – at least six and a half feet – but he’s also broad; wide shoulders, muscular arms, and a chest like a barrel. Despite the suppressants you’ve been careful to keep concealed in your bag, your glands tingle pleasantly as his scent washes over you. Your nose recognises earth, leather and sweat, but your finer-tuned olfactory senses catch hints of sandalwood, charcoal, and the unmistakable metallic tang of blood. You contribute this to the butcher’s apron he’s wearing tied around his thick waist – the dark brown stains a clear indication of animal slaughter. While this doesn’t exactly strike you as comforting, you can’t deny his scent is . . . appealing.

 You focus on his face for just a moment, not wanting to stare. His dark hair is long and wavy, most of his face concealed beneath a crude leather mask, revealing only his eyes, forehead and a small glimpse of chapped lips. The space where his nose would be beneath the mask is strangely flat, leading you to suspect some kind of physical deformity. His shadowed eyes catch yours and you look away in embarrassment.

 “This here’s Thomas, my boy,” Luda May says. “Tommy, meet Y/N.”

 “Hey,” you rise to your feet and hold out a hand. Even at your full height, you barely come up to his chest. “Nice to meet you, Thomas.”

 He doesn’t speak or move to shake your hand, but his right-hand fingers flex at his side, so you can tell he wants to. Moreover, you can smell it on him. The pheromones he’s giving off betray his interest, and your face flushes at the thought that such an impressive alpha’s attention is directed at you. Eventually, you lower your hand and return to your seat, taking a sip of tea to hide your awkwardness.

 “So,” Hoyt says, sitting down opposite you and placing his hat on the table. “Y/N, what are you?”

 You know what he’s trying to say, even if the question comes across as a little rude.

 “I’m a beta, sir,” you say.

 “Seems the whole dang state’s beta these days,” he says, leaning back and accepting a glass of tea from Luda May. “Tommy’s pretty much the only alpha ‘round these parts, and as for omegas, forget it.”

 Praying that your suppressants are doing their job, you nod along with his words and try not to focus on Thomas, who’s still standing like a full-door draft excluder in the corridor. You wonder if his senses are strong enough to tell that you’re lying. Surely if they were, he’d say something, wouldn’t he? Such a big strong alpha like him, wouldn’t be able to help himself.

 Big strong alpha . . .

 The thought makes you shiver slightly, and you notice Thomas shift where he stands. Covering your neck as casually as you can with one hand, you pretend to be intently interested in what Hoyt is saying. As he’s illustrating the hardships of being the county’s only sheriff, Monty appears, wiping his hands on a dirty rag.

 “Well, hope you didn’t have nowhere to be anytime soon, ‘cause that tin can sure ain’t going without a new carburetor.”

 Your heart sinks – the car was a gift from your parents when you got into UT, and you’d taken good care of it since. How had it sustained so much damage without you realising?

 “D’you know where I can get a new one?”

 He blows his cheeks out. “Nowhere ‘round here. Next town, maybe; ‘bout twenty miles north.”

 You mentally count the small handful of notes folded in your wallet – your mom had given you $50 to get back to college, enough for fuel and food along the way, plus extra to stay in a motel. Certainly not enough for such a hefty repair.

 “Course,” Hoyt says, a strange smile playing at the corner of his lips, “Uncle Monty’d be more’n happy to drive through for one tomorrow, wouldn’t ya, Monty?”

 Monty nods slowly. “Be my pleasure.”

 A strange tension has fallen over the small room, setting the hairs on the back of your neck a-prickle. Hoyt’s eyes are burning into you with a fierce intensity, almost . . . hunger, Monty bearing a smile, too leery to be comforting. You’re wondering if you’ve made a mistake in coming here, when Thomas moves from the shadows, his scent passing over you. Your shoulders drop a little, his presence proving an inexplicable reassurance to you. You know it’s your hormones talking; with such an alpha nearby, you’re safe. It takes a nudge from the logical side of your brain to remind you that biology is not fact, and you could be very, very far from safe with these people.

 You clear your throat, mouth suddenly dry.

 “Well, that’s awful kind of you. Is there, um . . . a motel or something I could stay at tonight?”

 “Motel?” Luda May laughs. “Don’t be so silly, honey – you’ll stay here.”

 You turn to look at her, her warm, motherly gaze refilling some of the certainly draining from you. Maybe you’re just being paranoid. After all, you’re a young woman – an omega, no less – so it’s no wonder that Hoyt and Monty might act strangely around you, whether they realise it or not. As for Thomas, well . . .

 “I don’t want to be a bother, ma’am.”

 “Oh hush, you’re no bother at all, and call me Luda.” She takes an old apron from a hook on the wall and nods towards the door. “Tommy’ll show you to the spare room and then you can help me start dinner.”

 Thomas looks as surprised by the idea of being alone with you as you are, his gargantuan posture stiffening. His eyes flit from Luda May to you, unsure of what to do.  

 “Go on, boy, m’sure she don’t bite,” Hoyt chuckles.

 But does he? Your mind races as you lift your bag and follow Thomas from the kitchen. His heavy footsteps make the floorboards shake as he ascends the stairs, decidedly not looking anywhere in your direction. The room he takes you to is small, barely more than a box room, with a narrow cot bed, a chest of drawers, and a dirty sink built into the wall. The white ceramic has been long since hidden beneath a layer of brown grime, and the light from the window is filtered through what looks like years of dirt.

 You turn your head to thank Thomas, but the words die on your tongue when you see how close he is. His chest is heaving, and you suspect he’s . . . smelling you. Shit. You remember the mace your mom forced you to take with you, stowed safely away at the bottom of your pack. There’s no way you could get to it before he could grab you. He’s so big – his hands could easily encompass your entire head – you’re sure he could do irreparable damage without breaking so much as a sweat. His eyes – how had you not noticed how blue they are? – are fixed on you, all trace of shyness gone. You raise a hand – to do what, you’ve no idea – and stifle a shriek when he takes hold of your arm with surprising agility. Your blood stills as he lifts your wrist to his face, the air whistling through his nostrils beneath the mask as he breathes in your scent. He must know – there’s no way he can’t. He must either be the strongest alpha you’ve ever encountered, or on the brink of his rut, to detect your omega scent through your suppressants. Or both.

 Part of you wants to run, to scream for help, but you can’t; your legs won’t move.

 “Please . . .” you whisper, though you’re not entirely sure what you’re pleading for. Your eyes meet for one long, electrifying moment.

 “Tommy, get down here! We got trespassers!”

 Thomas drops your hand like it’s scalding hot, disappearing from the room and down the stairs after Hoyt’s harsh commands. You stand rooted to the spot, your heart beating a brand against your ribcage, and the bed creaks ominously beneath you as you drop down onto it. Fishing in your bag, you pull out the thin blister pack of pills, swallowing one dry. You have enough to get you safely back to Austin – you’ll just have to hope your stay here is a short one.

~

Comments are greatly appreciated because I’m a needy little trashbag.

[dracoladon]

oh my god I absolutely ADORED lucid and born slippy, so the chance to prompt you with something is so so exciting!! as always, no pressure, but how about something about undressing each other? i've always LOVED the unlacing/undressing tropes in capri, and I bet it would be incredible applied to some lovely drarry. do with this what you wish!!!

sidjdjfnndkff thank you, and thank u again for this ungodly prompt. if there’s three things i love, they’re captive prince, drarry, and soft smutty tropes such as the one u hath so kindly bestowed upon me.

i accidentally made a fair few lucid references in here (prizes for all who can spot them, the prize is a poem about u as composed by me) so i suppose, if you’ve read that one and so wish, u can consider this part of the same universe. or smth ://

maybe i’m just hideously unimaginative when it comes to topics for my banter. anywho

rated e, 1732 words.

The thing about Draco’s work robes, is that they’re buttoned all the way up to the throat. Which, hm, doesn’t sound like an issue in and of itself. But becomes one, of sorts, when Harry is overcome by the need to unbutton them every time he lays eyes on pale, elegant throat, the column of it under stiff black fabric. 

The thing is, that Draco looks so austere, so tightly laced, and the thing. Is. That Harry just wants to unlace him. 

Draco is, of course, not austere. He’s in fact very, erm, flexible. Pliant. He told Harry once, when they first starting fucking, that his body reformed around Harry’s, and he liked the way he went malleable in Harry’s hands. 

“I can’t do that with anyone else,” Draco said. Then frowned. “That didn’t make much sense.”

But the buttons. The buttons. The high-necked buttons. They give Draco a look of frigidity, that he’s not to be spoken to, touched (all in a very sexy, aristocratic kind of way, of course), and it’s so bloody hot that Harry’s taken to banishing his glasses and burying his head under a pillow when Draco dresses in the mornings, just to stop himself getting so hard he goes properly blind with it. 

Draco asked him, the third time he burrowed under the bedclothes like a “demented ferret” (glass houses, Harry said), what he was doing. 

“The buttons,” Harry murmured. “Want to undo them.”

“The buttons?”

“The buttons.”

“You sick, kinky twist, Harry Potter.”

Harry unearthed himself, at that. “Shut up? It’s not about the buttons, you horror. It’s about what’s underneath the buttons.”

“How touching.”

And then more teasing, and Harry had it up to here and said, “I’ll burrow again.”

So Draco sat next to him on the bed, robes all secured, and said, softly, but still smiling like a git, “Tell me, love. Why the buttons?”

“You’re just—they’re, you know. So—God,” and then Harry had reached out and rent the sides of Draco’s robes apart, the little cloth covered studs clattering over his polished walnut floors, and pulled Draco down on top of him, and fucked him right there until Draco was late for work, and later still because they’d had to spend half an hour charming the wretched things back into place. 

Now, Draco says, “the buttons are still wonky from that little stunt you pulled.”

Harry can see only Draco’s legs (crossed over each other on the couch, back flat on the ground, because Draco feels it centres him to drape upended from the furniture at the end of a long day) from where he’s decanting the wine in the kitchen. “I’ve always been pants at tailoring charms.”

“Was that a pun?” says Draco, sounding pained. “I’m leaving you, if that was a pun.”

“But then who will do your bidding? Aerate your wine, iron your silk pants—”

“I’ll get a house elf.”

“—not finished, suck your brains out your cock, make you pasta with butter and cheese when it’s cold and you’re in a mood—”

“I’ll get a gigolo, too.”

“I still wasn’t finished,” Harry says, and Levitates the wine into the living room in front of him.

Draco says, “did you get the right glasses, this time?”

“You’re very funny,” Harry says, because after months of trying to educate Harry, Draco has finally accepted that his one true love is cheap beer, and sorted all the wine glasses he keeps at Harry’s flat into labelled little boxes. (‘This is a coupe, Potter. If you bring me red wine in it again, I’ll throw it at you.’ ‘These are for dessert wine — after dinner, before a good hard boffing.’)

“Why don’t you just go snag one of those fucking — sommiliars.”

“Sommelier.” 

“Yeah,” Harry says, happy because Draco’s wearing his work robes and speaking French and looking all twisty, and it’s Friday night, and there’s wine and music from the record Draco put on, and Harry gets to untwist him.

“Did you know,” Draco says, arching his back into a luxurious stretch before rearranging himself right side up and plucking a glass from the air, “that Amantea is starting her own firm.”

“God. Really?”

“Quite. It’s a pro bono thing, evidently. You know she’s been on the exec’s for months about how they direct all their mandatory hours towards corporations, not, you know, people who actually can’t afford legal counsel.”

“‘Course.” Harry distinctly remembers being cornered by Amantea when Draco brought him along to last year's Christmas drinks — he was a decent few in, and Draco kept palming at him through his formal robes when no one was looking, and he thinks he may have agreed to some kind of public crusade in the name of her cause that he doesn’t remember the details of to this day.

“Merlin, that’s incredible. She’s just quit, then? Starting it from the ground up?” 

Draco nods, sips his wine. “She asked me to come with her. Ford, too.” And then, into his glass, “Said yes.” 

Harry chokes, and Draco smirks at him behind the rim while he expires into his Pinot. “Bastard,” Harry coughs.

“Mm,” Draco hums. 

“That’s—fuck, hang on—that’s great, love. Draco, it’s brilliant.”

“Really?” Draco says, tangling his fingers in Harry’s. He can see now that he’s doing that Very Draco Thing where his eyes go a bit too wide and his tongue keeps darting out to wet his bottom lip. “Cause I haven’t quit yet.” 

“Of course. I think it’s really, really incredible.”

Draco rolls his eyes, but his cheeks flush pink. “Any more of that, and I won’t go near your cock for a week.” 

“I’m proud of you,” Harry says, smiling. 

“Two weeks.”

He leans on his haunches, hooks a blond tendril behind Draco’s ear. “I’m so proud of you, Draco. Everything you are.”

“A month. A year! Harry,” Draco complains.  

Harry snorts. Sits back. “Fine. So would you still be doing all the same work?”

Draco nods. “I’d still be a defence counsel. I’d just be, you know. Not getting paid. At least, not for a while.”

“Good,” Harry says. “We’ve got a horrific amount of money, between the two of us.” 

“I’m glad you think so, because we’ll be living off your salary alone. What’s the going rate for darling of the Wizarding world?”

Harry walks his fingers over Draco’s knee, daubed in the heavy black wool of his robes. “Several million a year darling. Are you excited, then?”

Draco shuffles around so he can rest his back against the couch, keeping Harry’s palm pressed to his knee with his own hand as he moves. “Yes. Very. I love my job, but the fees they charge our time at are outrageous. I was always thinking, Mother and I wouldn’t have been able to afford that right after the war. Had we even been allowed a solicitor, but don’t get me bloody started.”

Harry thinks that’s Draco down to his bones. He gives cold little glares to people he doesn’t want to talk to, and shrinks in on himself like a turtle whenever Molly tries to hug him at Sunday lunch, and he’s selfish about stupid things, like letting Ron have the last of his chips at pub night. 

And then he does things like drop lunch by Hermione’s office when he has afternoon meetings with the Wizengamot, or quit the job he loves so much, where he’s finally respected and secure, to work for free with Scary Amantea because he actually cares about the abysmal state of the Wizarding justice system, or rent out an entire Muggle theme park for Harry’s birthday, because he’d said, off handed, one night in Draco’s arms, that he’d always been left behind when the Dursley’s took Dudley as a child. 

“You’re so nice,” Harry says. 

Draco frowns. “Take it back.” 

Harry says, “Won’t,” and gives him a good, slow kiss that tastes like wine. Wine from a proper glass. 

“I have bad news, too,” Draco says into Harry’s lips. 

Harry can’t think of how anything could be bad, wrong, when Draco’s mouth is so soft and so close, but he murmurs, “What,” anyway. 

“No dress code, at the new firm.” 

Harry pulls back, stricken. “No more buttons?”

“Less regular buttons,” Draco amends, and Harry places a protective hand over Draco’s clavicles.  

“This is completely tragic,” Harry says. 

“Dare I say, Potter, you’ll just have to make the most of them. While you can.”

Harry nods, leans down again, a hand either side of Draco’s hips, and kisses him again. 

When he pulls back, it’s so he can get his hands on the reeling column of buttons that runs from Draco’s navel to his Adam’s apple. 

There was a certain carnal appeal in tearing them off him that first time, but now Harry likes this. His hands on Draco, his mouth following. Pushing the silken studs through the loops, undressing Draco inch by milk white inch. 

“Yes,” Draco says, as Harry licks and nips his way down every bit of skin he exposes. When Draco swallows, Harry feels the movement of it roll beneath his palm. When Draco’s legs fall open, Harry mouths at his hip bone as it shifts under his tongue. 

Harry disrobes himself with slightly less worshipping finesse. Pushes the tailored cloth off Draco’s shoulders, helps him arrange himself underneath Harry, ankles clasped lazily at his back. Fucks him slow, and sweet, and two more times. 

Really, Harry doesn’t know why the robes do it for him so utterly and completely. They look kind of like the type of thing a vicar would wear, which is also what Harry remembers thinking when he saw Draco in his dress robes at the Yule Ball (although now it’s more a very rich, very sleek sort of vicar vibe, and less of the fusty, I-took-a-celibacy-oath-at-thirteen-and-am- now-seventy-two thing he had going back then. With all the velvet. Draco looks much better in silk. Anyway.)    

On that, it’s probably because it’s a reminder that it’s Malfoy who he’s with. Malfoy, not Death Eater, tormentor, but pale limbs, plush, pink mouth and naked vulnerability before him. It’s how far they’ve both come, and how Draco presents himself to the world — so far away from what Harry gets to see. What’s Harry’s. What’s theirs. 

“Also,” Draco says, when Harry tells him this in bed that night, “I look positively indecent in black.”

[highdio]

Got an ask and follow-up re: whether Dio is an "archetypal villain" so doing it as one reply (fwiw I just did a reply re: Dio's nuance so keeping this to the 'archetype' part of the ask).

“so, i seen some people say Dio is simply a archetypal villain, perhaps even flat. what would you say to someone that told you he was without nuance? i plenty believe he has, but sometimes i dont know exactly what to say”

“someone i asked about what was their favorite villain told me he was a archetypal villain. and i think two years ago i saw a meme pic about how Dio fans are obnoxious or something. i mostly got my liking from him by analyses, alongside the fact that i do think personally that he DID change as a character, not completely, but he had some development.”

I partly agree with that, although maybe there's not one single 'archetypal villain.’ The person you spoke with probably meant that Dio's is Evil with a capital 'E,' as opposed to a villain who does the bad things for understandable reasons, or who gets corrupted by events outside their control. Araki's vision for Dio (in Part 1 especially) is, morally speaking, black-and-white, with Dio's Evil defined by Araki as an innate trait rather than the effect of his circumstances.

fwiw David Mamet's got a good list of eight villain archetypes - the anti-villain, the beast, the bully, the machine, the mastermind, the evil incarnate, the henchman, and the fanatic - and I thought for the purpose of this reply it's helpful to defining Dio's specific brand of badness. Of those archetypes, two stand out as defining Dio's *specific* type: the Evil Incarnate and (technically not on the list but inspired by it) the Anti-Hero.

(fwiw you can read my convo here about why Dio isn't a bully type. I see him mistyped this way especially by people who want to expand Jonathan's role in the series. tl;dr, basically it comes down to the fact that Dio's charisma - his most important character trait btw - draws people toward him while a bully actively seeks out confrontation. The bully barges into a room, the charismatic character gets you to barge into a room. Dio is the latter.)

Evil Incarnate's almost self-explanatory - Dio's literally called that in the series (邪悪の化身) - although I can talk more about this if you want. By contrast, his anti-hero role's maybe less obvious ... but that designation offers us a way of reconciling some of the stuff listed under Mamet's 'Evil incarnate' that doesn't work with how Dio's written. Specifically, an Evil incarnate-type villain's primary role in the narrative is usually as an obstacle to the hero's journey, ie, as an antagonist. imo, Dio functions instead primarily as a parallel protagonist.

(I've written about this before but) Araki's said this a lot: Dio joins Jonathan as a dual protagonist in Phantom Blood, and Dio's own story follows a Hero's rising arc.

(Was surprised I didn't notice this until I hunted a gif for this reply: while the Part 1 OP features both main characters throughout, it's Dio alone who's given a special manga panel mini-montage during its bridge, emphasizing his hero-style arc.)

In a lot of ways Dio's more fleshed out than the actual hero since Araki had already worked out the specifics of his personality in a prior series (whereas Jonathan was vaguer to Araki, even as Part 1 was being published: "just as Jonathan was unsure how to live his life, I was unsure as to where to take his character.") Phantom Blood starts off with Dio's introduction, not Jonathan's. As Araki puts it,

The title of the series is Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, but first and foremost, I actually wanted to draw Dio.

The hero's introduction is inserted within Dio's introduction, as a story-within-a-story recalled in a flashback by Dio's dad. We don't get to meet Jonathan on his own terms until the next chapter, and, because of this ordering, if you read Part 1 cold you could start off thinking it's Dio who's going to be the hero. Dio's story's a riff on your stereotypical rags-to-riches tale but with the obvious twist that he's written as unapologetically Evil. Like the rags-to-riches protag, Dio's faced with increasingly difficult setbacks and challenges throughout his story's progress, and, in spite of these, he keeps moving forward. Araki, again:

Dio moves in a rising direction, like Jonathan. Dio accepts and embraces his evil nature and follows his dark path without hesitation. In other words, both Dio and Jonathan are living life with everything they’ve got, and both always maintain a rising personal arc.

In other words, Dio has his own upward rising arc by design and it's independent of the hero's. ofc his interactions with the Joestars throughout the series are significant and their back-and-forths drive the larger story, but the trajectory of Dio's arc remains largely the same throughout all this.

If you see Dio as a protagonist then you also recognize that Jonathan's (and later Jotaro and company's) relentless pursuit (yes, they pursue him, because charisma is a gravitational force) provides the antagonistic force to Dio's arc. (And going back to the Araki quote, that "without hesitation part" is really important - Dio's willful embrace of his Evil nature and the intentionality of his actions throughout Part 1 again align him with a heroic type: it's a positive character trait, just in Dio's case it's executed wrongly.)

So call Dio an anti-hero or, if it makes you more comfortable, a Villain who thinks he's the Hero in the story. This isn't a unique situation (and probably as you're reading this you might be thinking, well all villains have their own story arc too)  but imo Araki writing Dio with this specific perspective and intent sets him apart from what we think of as the more generic model of a villain, whose role within the narrative is secondary to the hero's and whose arc is cleanly set up as in opposition to that hero.

Ofc, a villainous anti-hero is by nature appealing because we know we really shouldn't root for him. We should hate him ... but we still sort of love him, especially when, because of that rising story arc that Araki gave him, he keeps coming back after stupidly impossible odds. Usually when you get decapitated you lose but Dio's not like that, and there's something compelling about a character who repeatedly breaks the narrative flow by improv-ing his way through impossible situations.

tl;dr, basically if you're looking to characterize what 'type' of villain Dio is (and why he's attractive), Dio is Evil personified fused with the inconvenient fact of his also being more or less protagonist-identified. Araki wrote Dio with a hero in mind, and that fact keeps him interesting on his own terms and places him in the contrarian posture of a particularly reprehensible anti-hero.

[whatwillyoudodifferently]

Look, Louts! Lilies! - Yuri For A Hope-Flung Present and Hopeful Future

Look, I’ll be frank. I typically try to keep to a more formal tone when I write for this blog. I’m not in a formal mood. It is June October 2020, and I, like the rest of you, have been under quarantine for a little over three almost seven months now due to the Covid-19 virus. Throw in a eensy, teensy bit of massive political movements and change in response to police violence and racism, and an increase of police violence and racism in response to those movements, and I think it’s fair to say it’s been a tumultuous couple of months. Except, strangely, it also hasn’t been, because so much of this time has been characterized by ennui and isolation. Stressful, yet soul-numbing. In short, it’s been a very weird place to be in.

So, we’ve all found our different ways to cope. My sister’s way has been getting really into succulents(?), and my way has been buying digital manga and video games. I’ve finished stuff I’ve put off for literal years and bought stuff I had heard was good but wasn’t that hyped to get into. And somehow, the one thing I’ve really gotten into has been yuri? 

Now, yuri has a very long and rich history, as well as its own sets of conventions and nuances, so it is with a great, great, GREAT deal of respect that I say that I’m going to simplify it for this essay as “Japanese media with a particular focus on romance between women” for brevity’s sake. If you want to know more, there’s actually quite a lot that’s been written about it in English, but I’m aiming this essay at English-speakers who have had at least a little experience with yuri and more than just passing knowledge.

Because you see, I’ve found that yuri fans have a lot of things to say about yuri! And a lot of those things really bug me!! “Yuri is only fetish quasi-porn written by men,” “yuri is only bland wholesome fluff,” “yuri is only high school drama,” so on, so on. It made me mad, but it also made me realize something: a lot of people simply must not know how big this field of lilies truly is! How else can we get people saying “yuri is oversexualized” and “yuri is sexless” as gospel truth? Something’s not adding up here, guys!

So, all that is to say I’m doing something different for this blog: I’m writing up a recommendation list of yuri. A large chunk of it will be stuff I’ve read and can officially give my seal of approval to, while some of them are just titles I’ve heard of that I think will interest others. All of them have been specifically chosen to counter common untrue things I’ve heard about yuri as a whole. I hope you can find at least a few things on this list that you will enjoy and help you keep your head as the encroaching darkness lurches yet a few inches closer!

1. “Yuri is all schoolgirl stuff! Where’s the sci-fi, the period pieces, the action, the fantasy?”

Otherside Picnic

What It Is: A light novel series written by Iori Miyazawa (illustrated by shirakaba). Ongoing, four volumes at time of writing. The story is being adapted into a manga by Eita Mizuno, and an anime adaptation directed by Takuya Satou will be airing in January 2021.

What It’s About: It was on her third trip to the Otherside that Sorawo Kamikoshi almost died, and it was on that same trip she was saved by an angel. Toriko Nishina is a beautiful and confident young woman who also happens to have intimate knowledge of the Otherside, a dangerous yet captivating world that Sorawo can’t help but being drawn to. Toriko convinces Sorawo to join her on her expeditions to the Otherside, fighting off bizarre creatures that have somehow been ripped out of Japanese urban legends and finding strange artifacts in order to make a little extra cash-- all the while keeping an eye out for someone dear to Toriko’s heart.

What I Think: Otherside Picnic is heavily inspired by the novel Roadside Picnic by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky and features several creatures and scenarios from ghost stories, net lore, and-- there’s no other way to put this-- creepypasta. On paper this sounds deeply unoriginal, so it’s pretty surprising that OP has an incredibly strong identity. The idea of fusing horror with a yuri love story excited me enough the moment I heard about it, so when I finally got to read it for myself, I was delighted to find that the horror elements and the romance elements are both quite strong. 

I will say that thanks to the author’s commitment to following his sources of inspiration to the letter sometimes causes him to undercut his own writing (good example: in one arc there’s an ominous train that keeps being mentioned, causing the reader to dread its arrival with each passing page, but seeing what’s on the train will inevitably fall flat in comparison to the reader’s imagination), but those moments are made up by the more original moments-- the things that are left unseen and unexplained.

The place where the story truly shines is the relationship between the two leads. Sorawo and Toriko are great characters, both incredibly charming and deeply flawed, and they achieve a great chemistry with each other right off the bat. Sorawo is a very interesting protagonist, one who turns out to have a deeply tragic past that has made her into a reclusive, somewhat selfish young woman. What’s great is that Toriko, vivacious and confident, everything Sorawo isn’t, accepts this part of her, in a way. Toriko flat out admits she’s not looking for a particularly virtuous person to accompany her, but an “accomplice.” A big part of the appeal of OP is seeing these two “accomplices” bounce off each other, and eventually come to care about each other, all playing against a background of some genuinely spine-crawling horror. Otherside Picnic is a truly underrated series, and I deeply hope that the anime adaption next year will finally get it all the eyes it deserves (menacing phrasing very much intended).

Where To Get It: The light novels are published by J-Novel Club and can be found via various digital platforms and bookstores. The manga will be published by Square Enix Books starting May 2021. The anime will start airing on January 4th, 2021.

Goodbye My Rose Garden

What It Is: A manga by Dr. Pepperco. Three volumes, complete. It inspired a stage play that ran for a while in Japan, but not much information is available about it in English. 

What It’s About: Hanako has two goals: to meet Victor Franks, the mysterious author who pens the books she adores, and to become a writer herself. Despite having the mettle to travel to England on her own to pursue her dreams, she soons finds that it’s difficult for a young, unwed Japanese woman to dream in 20th century London. However, her luck seems to turn around when she meets Alice Douglas, a noblewoman who offers her a job as her maid-- as well as a surprisingly warm friendship. Alice even offers Hanako a way to meet her idol… but at the price of a horrifying request.

What I Think: In the afterword of Volume 1, Dr. Pepperco openly admits that Goodbye, My Rose Garden was the result of them trying to marry all of their favorite tropes (“Victorian maids! Loads of frills! An English family manor!” are some standout items), and this is apparent in the best way possible. GMRG is a lush period piece that will likely appeal to fans of movies like The Handmaiden and Portrait Of A Lady On Fire, with loving attention paid to details like clothes and settings. 

The relationship between Alice and Hanako is quite charming, with Alice supporting Hanako as much as she can while still taking every available opportunity to tease her, while Hanako constantly surprises Alice each time she shows her moxie and strength. It’s an adorable, sweet dynamic, yet a dark, melancholy weight lurks in the background in the form of Alice’s request-- in short, it’s a relationship that feels tailor made for me. Still, I believe this “darkness” never threatens to overwhelm the story, only enhance it in such a way that the reader will soldier on, hoping for a happy ending for our two leads. With an engaging plot and gorgeous art, this is a great manga for both longtime yuri fans and newcomers looking for an introduction to the world of yuri.

Where To Get It: Seven Seas Entertainment has translated the first two volumes, with the final one coming to English soon all three volumes into English.

Seabed

What It Is: A visual novel by paleontology, a Japanese doujin circle.

What It’s About: Mizuno Sachiko is a designer who is haunted by visions of Takako, her vivacious childhood friend and former lover. Narasaki Hibiki is a psychiatrist who wants to help Sachiko make sense of these hallucinations. Takako is… confused, trying to figure out why she keeps losing her memory and why she and Sachiko drifted apart despite being so close. Seabed is a story that spans the pasts and presents of these three women as they attempt to find and understand the truth.

What I Think: At first glance, Seabed seems simple, but it’s a bit of a hard story to explain. In a way, there isn’t much to explain-- it’s a very slow, down-to-earth story that gets almost tedious at times. I think it would be a hard sell to someone who isn’t used to visual novels, but I could imagine it being challenging even for fans. All I’ll say is this: if you give Seabed a chance, it will draw you into a surreal, gentle, melancholy tale akin to slowly sinking beneath the water of a strange, yet not unfriendly sea. For its simplicity, it’s got quite a few surprises in its long, long runtime, and any attempt to explain further will just ruin an experience that’s meant to wash over the reader over time. The only thing I’ll say is the one thing I think everyone knows: the climax will make you cry.

Where To Get It: Seabed is published in English through Fruitbat Factory and is available on Steam, Itch.io, and Nintendo Switch.

SHWD

What It Is: A manga by Sono. Ongoing.

What It’s About: Sawada is one of the few women working for the Special Hazardous Waste Disposal, and the only one in her office. But that changes when the stunningly-strong yet staggeringly-sweet Koga is hired, and the two become close in no time. Sawada trains Koga and soon the two go on their first mission to dispose of the “hazardous waste” left after a recent war… the dangerous, organic anti-human weapons known as the Dynamis.

What I Think: SHWD opens with several close-ups of Sawada’s arm muscles as she works out. I have found that page alone is sometimes enough to convince someone to read SHWD, and if not, pictures of Sawada and-- especially-- Koga are often enough to do the job. In all seriousness, what I love about SHWD can be summarized by something Sono said in an interview about the manga:

‘The first motivating force was "I want to write a yuri manga featuring strong women." I was very drawn to strong female characters by watching "PERSON of INTEREST" and "Assassin's Creed Odyssey." However, I felt that I should differentiate myself by doing something other than a "strong woman" and "weak woman" dynamic. So, I thought about coupling women with different types of strength. This is why all of the SHWD main characters are "strong women."’

It’s a mindset I love a lot. Koga is remarkably strong in a physical sense, but her mental fortitude is fragile due to her past experiences with the Dynamis, and as such, it’s Sawada who uses her immense mental strength to support her. Indeed, every character in SHWD so far bears intense trauma born of the Dynamis in some way, and it’s hard to see how their pasts still hurt them in the present. But that just makes it satisfying to see these women come together to support one another. SHWD drew me in with a unique and often dark action-oriented story with horror elements, but it’s this idea of “strong women” who make up for each other’s weaknesses that really makes it dear to me. 

Also, it can’t be stated enough that Sono is so so so so so (etc) good at drawing muscular women. 

On a completely unrelated note, there’s a side story about Koga and Sawada playing sports together. This includes judo. I am saying this for no reason.

Where To Get It: The English translation of the manga is released in chapters by Lilyka Manga.

Sexiled: My Sexist Party Leader Kicked Me Out, So I Teamed Up With a Mythical Sorceress!

What It Is: A two volume light novel series by Ameko Kaeruda, illustrated by Kazutomo Miya. Possibly complete.

What It’s About: Tanya Artemiciov is an absurdly talented Mage. So why the hell was she kicked out of her adventuring party? Her leader and former friend sums it up in four words: “You’re a woman, Tanya.” In a fit of rage, Tanya channels her anger into a “venting” session that involves swearing her head of and casting a volley of Explosion spells into the wasteland… and accidentally releases a legendary sorceress! Luckily, Laplace is actually quite nice, and just as powerful as the legends say, so the two decide to team up so Tanya can have her revenge!

What I Think: So, this is a silly one, but after a couple of darker entries I think it’s a good palate cleanser. Sexiled is a loud, not-even-remotely subtle, unabashedly feminist take on the “power fantasy” light novel, especially the “revenge fantasy” subgenre-- and even if that sounds awesome on paper to you (ex. me), it will probably feel over-the-top at times to you (ex. me). But in a way, that’s actually kind of its charm. 

I like that Kaeruda utterly refuses to let up on what she wants to tell you, especially because the story was inspired by a real case in Japan. One may be tempted to think “this story is ridiculous, no one would ever be this cartoonishly sexist!” and then you read a news article about how in a famous Japanese medical university was found rigging the test scores of women, and you realize, “oh, people are still this cartoonishly sexist.” So I’m fine with Kaeruda letting it all out in this story. At the same time, I think Sexiled is best when it’s focused not on Tanya’s revenge but on her kindness, and the way her compassion, her strength, and yes, her anger inspires the women and girls around her. 

Sexiled is a fun and often very funny romp about assholes getting theirs, with some surprisingly deep and nuanced moments hiding in a very unsubtle story.

Where To Get It: The light novels are published by J-Novel Club and can be found via various digital platforms and bookstores.

BONUS: Other titles with sci-fi/fantasy/action elements that may interest you!

The Blank Of Describer: A one-shot manga by kkzt about a pair of two dream-builders. They’ve taken all kinds of commissions in the past, but one job they recieve throws them for a loop: a request for a shinigami that can predict and report death. And then comes the kicker: the customer asks the two of them to give it features that the both of them “adore the most…” (Published in English by Lilyka Manga)

A Lily Blooms In Another World: A light novel by Ameko Kaeruda (illustrated by Shio Sakura), author of Sexiled, about Miyako, a Japanese wage slave reincarnated into another world based on her favorite otome game. However, she’s not interested in her would-be love interest, but in Fuuka Hamilton-- the game’s villainess! After Miyako confesses her love, Fuuka decides to give her a challenge: if Miyako can make her say the words “I’m happy” in fourteen days, she’ll stay by her side! (Published in English through J-Novel Club, available on various platforms)

Superwomen In Love: An ongoing manga by sometime about the sentai villainess Honey Trap and her infatuation with the masked superheroine Rapid Rabbit. After being kicked out of her evil organization, Honey Trap decides to team up with her former nemesis to fight evil-- and hopefully, find romance! (To be published in English by Seven Seas Entertainment, coming in April 2021)

2. “Yuri is all stories about teenagers! Where’s the stuff about adults?”

Take a look at the previous section: there’s the stuff about adults! Otherside Picnic, Goodbye My Rose Garden, Seabed, SHWD, Sexiled, The Blank of Describer, A Lily Blooms In Another World, and Superwomen In Love are all stories with adult-aged protagonists! But if you’re searching for a more down-to-earth romance, I’m happy to report there’s quite a bit of options to look into!

Still Sick

What It Is: A manga by Akashi. Three volumes, complete.

What It’s About: Makoto Shimizu is an office lady with a secret: she’s a yuri fan who draws doujinshi. She’s able to keep her two lives separate, all until the day she comes face-to-face with her co-worker at a convention! To Makoto’s horror, Akane Maekawa is amused by her nerdy secret, but Akane may have some secrets of her own...

What I Think: This one was a roller coaster for me: I loved the premise of the manga, but wasn’t sure about the dynamic between the leads… that is, until near the end of the first volume, where something happened and everything changed. Without giving too much away, I implore people to give Still Sick a chance-- it has a much deeper story than one might initially guess, as well as an interesting character dynamic between the two leads with some surprising turns.

Where To Get It: The first two volumes of Still Sick are published in English by Tokyopop, with the final one coming soon All three volumes have been published in English by Tokyopop.

After Hours

What It Is: A manga by Yuhta Nishio. Three volumes, complete.

What It’s About: After being ditched by her friend at a club, Emi Ashiana is ready to write the whole night off. All that changes when she meets Kei, a DJ who seems to be everything Emi is not-- cool, confident… employed.... But Kei and Emi hit it off and Emi’s life changes as Kei draws her into the world of Japan’s club scene!

What I Think: It’s hard to explain exactly why I like this manga, but I reeeeally like this manga. 

There’s just something about the sleek art, the amazing atmosphere of the scenes set in nightclubs, the chemistry between Emi and Kei, the focus on more mature topics.... it’s a manga that’s remarkably magnetic for how down-to-earth it is. It’s also just interesting to read stories about subcultures that don’t normally get a spotlight in comics. To sum it up, After Hours is just a lovely manga that’s severely underrated that’s perfect for someone who’s looking for a story that’s both fun and mature.

Where To Get It: All three volumes are published in English by Viz Media.

How Do We Relationship?

What It Is: A manga by Tamifull. Ongoing, five volumes at time of writing.

What It’s About: Miwa and Saeko’s first meeting is… interesting. But despite that, and despite their clashing personalities, the two of them become fast friends. Well… actually, perhaps more than friends. You see, pretty soon the two of them learn that the other is into women. With that in mind, Saeko suggests they try dating each other-- might as well, right? “Might as well” seems like a strange place to begin a relationship, but perhaps even something like that could end in true love?

What I Think: “Why do romances always end when they decide to start dating?!” That’s the question Tamifull poses in the afterword of Volume 1. And it’s a great question! What makes How Do We Relationship? an interesting manga is how oddly realistic it is, highlighting things like the compromises people make in relationships, people who get into relationships for pragmatic reasons rather than love, the whole “thing” about sex… as well as highlighting the additional issues queer people have to deal with. That may sound like a heavy story, but it’s actually quite light-hearted, as well as very, very funny at times. With a cute art style and surprisingly deep premise, HDWR is a great manga for older yuri fans who are craving a more mature story.

Where To Get It: The first volume has been published in English by Viz Media, with more on the way.

BONUS: Other titles with adult protagonists that may interest you!

Even Though We’re Adults: A manga by Takako Shimura about two women in their thirties. Ayano and Akari meet each other in a bar and almost immediately feel a sense of chemistry between them. There’s just one problem: Ayano is married to someone else. (To be published in English by Seven Seas Entertainment, coming in January 2021)

Doughnuts Under A Crescent Moon: A manga by Shio Usui. Uno Hinako wants nothing more than to be seen as a normal young woman, but she just can’t seem to make a “normal” romance work. But maybe Sato Asahi, a woman who works at the same company as her, can show her a new kind of normal? (To be published in English by Seven Seas Entertainment, coming in February 2021)

Our Teachers Are Dating: A manga by Pikachi Ohi. Hayama Asuka is a gym teacher, Terano Saki is a biology teacher. One day, they come into work both looking suspiciously happy… because they’ve started dating! (Published in English by Seven Seas Entertainment)

I Married My Best Friend To Shut My Parents Up: A one-volume manga by Kodama Naoko. Morimoto is sick and tired about constantly being badgered about finding a man to marry, so her kouhai from her high school days offers a solution: marry each other to make her parents back off! (Published in English by Seven Seas Entertainment)

Now Loading…!: A one-volume manga by Mikan Uji. Takagi has just snagged her dream job at a games publisher, but being put in charge of a mobile game that’s barely pulling in any attention isn’t exactly what she was hoping for. What’s worse, she’s drawn the attention of her strict higher-up Sakurazuki Kaori… who also happened to design her most favorite game of all time?! (Published in English through Seven Seas Entertainment)

3.  “Yuri is all schoolgirl stuff! Where’s- wait, didn’t we already do this one?”

Yes we did. And you know what? I’m making a stand! There’s a lot of really, really good yuri stories set in high schools, and I think more people need to give them a chance! Here are some high school titles that I think are worth a second look for one reason or another!

Bloom Into You

What It Is: A manga by Nakatani Nio. Eight volumes, complete. A twelve episode anime aired in 2018, covering about the first half of the series. A three volume spinoff light novel series written by Hitoma Iruma was also published.

What It’s About: Yuu Koito has long dreamed of the day she’d find That One, Storybook Romance that would make her feel like she was walking on air, but the day that a boy confesses to her, her feet remain firmly planted on the ground. When she meets Touko Nanami, a girl who seems to have the same strange, distant relationship to romance as she does, Yuu feels like she has found a comrade. But what will happen when the next person to confess to Yuu… is Touko?

What I Think: What can I say about Bloom Into You that hasn’t already been said? There’s a reason it’s basically considered a staple of yuri despite being only five years old. The art is beautiful and delicate, the story has a deft mastery of comedy, drama, and romance, and the characters are deeply loveable. Really, the only reason this one is here is to tell you to get to reading this manga (or watching the anime) if you haven’t already. So get to it!

Where To Get It: The entire series-- as well as the spinoff light novel series Regarding Saeki Sayaka-- has been published in English by Seven Seas Entertainment. The anime is currently streaming on HiDive.

Yuri Is My Job

What It Is: A manga by Miman. Ongoing, seven volumes at time of writing.

What It’s About: Hime wants nothing more than to be adored by everyone and to someday bag a rich husband. Of course, being loved by all takes a lot of work, and she prides herself in keeping her perfect, adorable facade so well-maintained. But of course, the one time she slips up, she ends up injuring the manager of a local cafe! Hime finds herself strong-armed into working for this cafe under their star employee, a kind, graceful girl named Mitsuki. But things aren’t quite so simple-- you see, this cafe has a gimmick in which all the employees are constantly acting out yuri-inspired scenes for the customers, so in a way, the employees also have their own facades. And under her facade, Mitsuki… hates Hime’s guts!

What I Think: Yuri Is My Job is an odd duck, but in a good way. It’s advertised and initially framed as a comedy, but it becomes a surprisingly thoughtful drama about the personas people adopt and why they do so (though, luckily, the comedy never truly goes away). There’s an interesting web of relationships between the girls, and having those interactions take place in a setting where they must act out a completely different sort of drama adds an extra level of drama and intrigue. The cute, polished artwork is just the icing on the cake. YIMJ is a good manga for those who are already familiar with yuri tropes and those who are interested in a drama that doesn’t get too heavy.

Where To Get It: Six volumes have been published in English by Kodansha comics, with the seventh on the way.

Riddle Story of Devil

What It Is: A manga written by Yun Kouga and illustrated by Sunao Minakata. Five volumes, complete. A 12 episode anime aired in 2014.

What It’s About: At Myojo Private School, an elite all-girl’s academy, Class Black has a secret. Twelve of the thirteen girls are actually assassins who have been offered a dark deal-- one wish will be granted to whoever manages to kill Haru Ichinose, the thirteenth student. But there’s still hope for Haru in the form of Tokaku Azuma, one of the assassins who has decided to defect to Haru’s side-- and defend her from the other girls at any cost.

What I Think: I’m not sure… if I can say Riddle Story of Devil is “good.” It’s definitely something. Although its premise is vaguely similar to Revolutionary Girl Utena, its tone and atmosphere remind me a lot more of the Dangan Ronpa series. It’s schlocky and ridiculous and often over-the-top and at times exploitative. It’s pure junk food, basically… and I believe that’s where the charm comes from. It’s my guiltiest of guilty pleasures. It may not exactly be good, but more often than not, it’s fun. It’s hard not to be immediately interested in a yuri battle series, you have to admit. 

And if it does have one undeniably good element, it’s Tokaku and Haru’s relationship. They contrast each other nicely, and while one might expect Haru to be boring and helpless, she’s actually quite proactive at times, and some of the most interesting, engaging parts of the series come from seeing how the two work together to fend off the latest assassin. It’s a short read and if anything, it’s worth it to see how each girl ends up. I recommend it for older viewers who are okay with violence and ludicrous battle scenarios.

Where To Get It: All five volumes are available through Seven Seas Entertainment. The anime can be watched through Funimation.*

*Please don’t watch the anime.**

** At the very least, please don’t watch the anime unless you’ve read the entire manga. Riddle Story Of Devil was one of those unfortunate cases where the anime adaption was produced before the manga reached its conclusion, and as such it has a very strange, rushed ending that includes none of what I enjoyed about the actual ending. Several scenes were also changed, and if I recall correctly, fanservice was added in several places where there was none previously. All in all, I’d really only recommend it for big fans of the series.

Side By Side Dreamers

What It Is: A light novel by Iori Miyazawa, illustrated by Akane Malbeni. One volume, complete.

What It’s About: Saya Hokage has been suffering from insomnia, but one day finds relief in the form of Hitsuji Konparu, a strange girl who can put people to sleep. As it turns out, Hitsuji is a person who has the special ability to move freely in their dreams, known as a “Sleepwalker.” The Sleepwalkers have been battling beings that possess people through their dreams, and it turns out they want Saya to join them in the fight.

What I Think: Side By Side Dreamers is short and… well, dreamy. I really enjoyed the premise and I think it’s a good novel for people who think Otherside Picnic may be a little too much for them. I also enjoyed each dream sequence-- I tend to find that the writing in light novels is a little dry, so the use of figurative language to describe these scenes was really refreshing and interesting. SBSD is a fun oneshot that I think is especially ideal for newcomers to yuri.

Where To Get It: Side-by-Side Dreamers is published by J-Novel Club and can be found via various digital platforms and bookstores.

Cocoon Entwined

What It Is: A manga by Yuriko Hara. Three volumes, ongoing.

What It’s About: Hoshimiya Girls' Academy is a strange, almost otherworldly paradise with a peculiar tradition. For all three years, each girl grows out her hair to absurd, breathtaking lengths, in order for it to eventually be cut and weaved into uniforms for future students. Perhaps it is these strange uniforms that seem to whisper about the past that makes the school seem frozen in another time… picturesque, yet stagnant. But one day, a shocking incident shatters the quiet peace of the academy, and the tumultuous feelings that have long been hidden in the hearts of these girls come rushing into the light.

What I Think: Cocoon Entwined is, in a word, eerie. It’s not marketed as a horror story, and I don’t think it’s intended to be one, but I’ve seen some that say they get horror vibes from it. I definitely understand that-- there’s a deep sense of unease that permeates the entire story in a way that’s a bit hard to articulate. The running thread of uniforms made from human hair definitely doesn’t hurt (it does-- I’ve seen many people understandably turned off by this element), but it’s more than that. It’s the sense that everything at Hoshimiya feels frozen and fragile. It’s the sense that everyone is burying their true feelings under countless layers. It’s the fact that in one scene, Saeki reaches out in a dark room full of uniforms and feels her arm touched by countless hands made of hair. 

Cocoon Entwined is a strange manga, and I feel it’s not for everyone-- besides the way many are put off by the central premise, the way that the story jumps around in time can be a bit confusing to follow. But in my opinion, I love it for these elements: the uniforms and their marriage between beauty and grotesque, the sense of frozen time, the delicate artwork that feels like it might be shattered by the weight of your gaze, the strange, airless atmosphere, the girls and their clear exhaustion of having to be ideal women. It’s a strange little series that I think should be given a shot, particularly if you want something a little more out there, or a darker take on Class S tropes.

Where To Get It: Yen Press has currently published two volumes in English.

BONUS: Other high school titles that may interest you!

A Tropical Fish Yearns For Snow: A manga by Makoto Hagino. Konatsu Amano has just moved to a new town by the sea, and must deal with her new school’s mandatory club policy. Luckily, she meets Koyuki Honami, an older girl who runs the Aquarium Club. Recognizing her loneliness, Konatsu decides to join her club. (Published  in English by Viz Media)

Flowers: A four-part series of visual novels published by Innocent Grey. Flowers focuses on Saint Angraecum Academy, a private high school that prides itself on overseeing the growth of proper young ladies. One notable thing about the academy is the Amitié program, a system that pairs students together in order to foster friendships between the girls. But friendship isn’t the only thing blooming… (Available in English from Steam, J-List, and JAST USA)

Adachi And Shimamura: A series of light novels written by Hitoma Iruma and illustrated by Non that has recently received a manga adaptation and an anime adaption. Adachi and Shimamura are two girls who encounter each other one day while cutting class. Little by little, the two girls become a part of each other’s lives, and feelings begin to form. (The light novels are published in English by Seven Seas Entertainment, the anime is licensed by Funimation)

And there we go! 24 different yuri titles. I didn’t even go into the series that I tried but personally didn’t like that still might interest other people. I primarily made this list to gush about yuri that I liked, but I also tried to include a fairly wide range of things so that, hopefully, any random person who read this whole list could find at least one new title that interests them. And I hope that includes you!

The yuri scene is quite large and wonderful if you know where to look, and it too often gets a bad rap. I hope that this list could give you a new perspective on what kinds of titles are available, and I hope it gives you something new to try. And remember: if you want something specific, try looking for it! There’s a good chance the story you’re craving is already out there, waiting to be discovered!

[remmushound]

Bay/rise 34!! @brightlotusmoon @errorfreak88 @digitl-art-monstr @selfindulgenz @yarchurr @dakotafinely @yarchurr @sententiously-sarcastic @sprinklestheditty

“This is fucking stupid.” Raph was pacing anxiously, his frustrations coming out in the form of heavy breaths.

“I totally agree.” Donnie agreed, “But you know Leo. He’d not gonna let this go.”

“He he fucking ought to! We ain’t got time for this shit!”

The Leo’s were both separately getting ready for the spar, but with such an open space it was nearly impossible for them to get out of each other's line of sight. This resulted in what could only be described as a heated staring content between the both of them as they sharpened their katana and odachi almost passive-aggressively. The brothers and sister of both proud ninja were intermingled in a group together— their brothers’ antics weren’t enough to drive them apart completely, but it was enough for a wedge to be stuck between them.

“Is Leo gonna be okay?” Michelangelo appealed to Donatello, grabbing a hold of the older teens arm.

“I don’t know Michael.” Donatello sighed, sticking his nose in the air in his frustration, “Leon’s always getting himself in this kind of trouble! It’s gonna catch up to him eventually!”

“Hopefully not today.” Michelangelo said, looking to Leo. “Other Leo is very large. He’s jumbo sized!”

“Sadly, his brain didn't get the memo.”

Mikey was looking between both of the Leo’s with no small amount of guilt. Donnie had given him the clear after he had calmed slightly and the pain in his chest wasn’t so bad, but now the pain had been replaced with an intense sadness. Michelangelo nudged his brother and pointed to the sad box turtle, and then both brothers nodded at each other with similar intent as they marched over and each took a seat beside Mikey. 

“Why the long face?” Michelangelo pouted.

“I dunno, Mike, seems kinda… oblong to me.” Donatello motioned vageuly to Mikey’s face.

Mikey gave the slightest chuckle before he started to cry softly. Michelangelo frowned and looked to Donatello, who quickly pulled a tissue from out of his battle shell and offered it to Mikey. Mikey accepted it and, after a moments thought, said,

“You just carry tissues around wherever?”

“I never know when I’ll have to break out the dramatics~!” Donatello struck a pose.

“Are you okay?” Michelangelo gave Mikey a gentle stroke on the shoulder. “You look sad.”

“I’m just… useless.” Mikey hung his head.

That statement caused both Hamato brothers to erupt in loud, overlaying denial as they practically swarmed Mikey trying to convince him otherwise.

“You’re not!”

“You’re really not.”

“You’re incredible!”

“I once tried nunchucks for a day. Hit myself in the head, cried in a corner, slept in said corner. Very traumatizing.”

“You can do lots of things!”

“Except fight, apparently…” Mikey pouted, crossing his arms. “I just watched my dad and your dad get taken and I did nothing!”

“You’re not the only one who did nothing!” Donatello offered.

Michelangelo swatted Donatello and scowled at him a second before turning back to Mikey. “You panicked— that’s nothing to be ashamed of!”

“We were there! We— we could’ve helped stop them! We—“

“What could we have done…?” Michelangelo asked softly, laying a hand on Mikey’s knee.

Mikey gave a long, tired sigh reminiscent of someone far older with many more years of life bearing down on his shoulders. “Nothing.”

“Exactly.” Michelangelo said, “But what we could’ve done is gotten hurt! He took out all your brothers in one swing! All we would’ve ended up doing is getting taken out with them.”

“But don’t you think—“

“Come on.” Mikey’s words were interrupted by his Leo, who had lost what little patience remained as he strutted forward with the confidence of gods. “Let’s get this over with.”

Leo was the first in the dojo and he stood there as if he was still challenging Leonardo to back down at the cost of his honor. Leonardo didn't move from his place where he was still polishing his odachi.

“Well?” Leo prompted, “Come on! You challenged me to this, remember! Don’t you want to defend your honor?”

Leonardo thought for a second, and then shrugged. “Eh, never really had much of that to begin with. And I have all the time in the world baby!”

Despite his words, Leonardo seemed to accept his counterpart's challenge and stood from his seated position, giving his odachi a few experimental swipes before he came to join Leo in the dojo.

“This ain’t gonna end good...” April shook her head. Her face was painted to match Leonardo’s markings and she brandished a blue flag in support. Upon seeing Leonardo entering the dojo, however, she promptly cheered, “WHOOP WHOOP! YOU GOT THIS LEON!”

The rest of the gathered mutants— all except Raphael, who was still sleeping off his exhaustion— gathered in a tight group to watch as the scene unfolded. Donnie split from the group one last time in an attempt to appeal to his brother.

“Leo, this is crazy!” Donnie said, but it was like talking to a wall, “You can’t fight him!”

“Why not?” Leo asked calmly without dignifying Donnie’s concern with even a glance.

“Well, one, he's a child.” Donnie deadpanned, “And two, we need to be focusing on finding Master Splinter.”

“Trust me Don, this isn’t gonna take very long.”

“What you gonna do, punt the fifteen year old?!”

“He’s the one who picked a fight.” Leo growled.

“Yeah. Oh course he did.” Donnie leaned closer to his brother and spoke slowly, as if Leo were dense, “He’s. A. Teenager. A dumb, confident teenager!”

“So are we.”

“We’re gonna be twenty next month— I hardly think it counts!”

Leo didn't respond. He stared forward with a determined look and simply walked away from Donnie, leaving his younger brother staring after him with a frustrated disbelief.

Leo faced his counterpart. “Do you know the duel rights?”

Leonardo shrugged almost cartoonishly.

“Of course not.” Leo sighed, then carried on, “Rule number one: The offending party has the right to an apology and, if it is accepted by the offended party, then the duel will not carry to term.”

“Okay, so you gonna apologize them?” Leonardo asked, almost hopefully.

Leo narrowed his eyes and gave no answer. “If there is no apology met, then the next rule of order is to choose a second. The seconds are the judges— they try to reach a peace, and if a peace is unable to be met, then we move onto phase three. My second is my brother Raphael.” 

Raph grunted softly and split off from the group to hesitantly come to Leo’s side. 

“Don, you feeling up to it?” Leonardo looked to his brother.

Donatello gave it a moment's thought before shrugging and sauntering off almost in a bored fashion to Leonardo’s side.

“How do we win?” Leonardo asked.

“To win, you must knock down your opponent and hold your blade to their throat. Rule number three! The seconds try to negotiate a peace.” Leo gave a nod, and Raph lumbered forward to meet Donatello in the middle. The two of them quickly fell to a hushed discussion.

“Hello.” Donatello said, his eyes half-lidded and his voice dull.

“Hey— can’t you just try and get your Leo to apologize?” Raph almost pleaded, “You know this ain’t exactly a fair fight.”

“I know.” Donatello replied with little enthusiasm. “Your Leo’s gonna get knocked flat on his Gluteus Maximus. That’s science terms for buttocks. Aka: ass.”

Raph gave a half-amused snort. “No offense, pancake, but I think we both know that ain’t right.”

“Oh wowwwwww, so original.” Donatello slumped, “I’m so hurt. Then again you do have a good point.

Raph smiled, thinning himself victorious until Donatello added,

“I mean, there’s nothing Maximus about his Gluteus.” Donatello motioned to Leo with his thumb.

“No—” Raph growled and forced a smile as he addressed Donatello with slow words, “What I meant was that your brother is gonna end up with the same fate as a firework on Fourth of July.” He made an explosion motion and added his own sound effects, “I mean— come on! It’s like a dodge against a semi-truck— your bro stands no chance!”

“I think we can stand to disagree on that.” Donatello defended his brother calmly.

Raph fixed Donatello with a deadpan expression. “You’re not gonna back down are you?”

“Negatory.” Donatello finally smiled— little more than a slight curve of his lips, but still a smile. “Or way— would that be an affirmative? Eh. Doesn’t matter. Either way I believe we are done here.”

Without another word, he spun on his heels and carried himself confidently over to his brother’s side. Raph grumbled as he often did before taking his leave a few seconds after. There was a minute of stressful silence as both seconds reported to their brothers before Leo stepped forward again.

“Rule four. Draw your weapon only once there is a medic on sight with his back turned.”

Leonardo whistled. “I mean, not that I couldn’t beat you with my back turned, but seriously?”

“Not you.” Leo growled, “Donnie will be our medic on standby.” Leo motioned the tech genius to turn around, and Donnie hesitantly obeyed. This left only the Mikey’s watching. Once Leo was satisfied, he went on, “Rule five would usually include dueling at dawn, but I hardly think it matters down here.”

Leonardo looked up at the high ceiling and then down at Leo. 

“Rules six and seven are also moot given our particular circumstances. Unless you have a god you pray to…?”

“Eh, some may describe me as a God, but I think I forgive myself for my sins~”

It took everything Leo had to keep his cool. “Rule number eight. Your last chance to set the record straight.”

“Hey! That rhymed! Good for you!”

“Wait are you just getting these from the Hamilton Musical?” Donatello started to ask, but was interrupted; even as Leo spoke over him, he still continued to talk until he finished the sentence.

“Rule number nine! Look your enemy in the eye.” He and Leonardo locked gazes, “Meet your enemy in the middle…”

Leonardo and Leo took four paces each until they were directly in front of each other.

“Summon your courage in any way necessary.” Leo said cooly, giving a bow that Leonardo returned, “Take a minute to breathe, then take ten paces back.”

The Leo’s were almost in perfect sync as they took their paces backward, now several paces behind their seconds while still facing each other.

“Ready your sword…”

Twin katana and a single odachi were held at the ready.

“Take one final breath…”

No one in the room breathed.

“And count to ten. One… two… three… four...”

“...five...six…seven… eight... nine...”

“Ten.”

[whenihaveyouromione]

When I Have You - Chapter 34

Read on Fanfiction.net or ao3 if you’d prefer!

I have started another blog with all my old one shots and any new ones, which I’ll gradually move over to Tumblr and ao3. If you’d like some Romione one shots, please follow @firethecanonsfanfiction

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Chapter 34

Ron dragged his feet along the pavement. He felt exhausted. More exhausted than training ever left him feeling. 

And, if he saw one more house that they didn’t like, then he might just scream. They were either too isolated for Hermione’s parents to reach or there wasn’t enough room to place protective enchantments around it to hide from Muggles. Others were too small, or too big, and nothing seemed like the perfect place for them.

“We’ll find something eventually,” Hermione kept saying, though after five weeks of visiting places all over Britain and not finding something that suited them, Ron was about to give up. They could stay in their flat for a few more years. It was comfortable for the time being, and it wasn’t like they were planning on expanding their family in the next few months. That was still years away — they had apparently just decided it was a conversation they were comfortable having with one another now. 

A big decision.

It was turning into a stupid decision, Ron thought bitterly as they stopped out the front of a mid-sized house. They’d Apparated to Nottingham this time, about two-and-a-half hours from London if one was driving. Not that distance mattered to them, but for the benefit of Hermione’s parents if they ever decided to visit, they were looking a little closer to where they lived in London. 

It didn’t look much different to the other one hundred houses they’d looked at, except this one had a space out the front of the house. Ron hadn’t yet seen the back, but perhaps this was what they were looking for. 

He hoped, anyway. He hoped they didn’t have to go and look at the next three Hermione had lined up after this. 

There was another couple already waiting out the front, as well as a family of four. The kids looked to be about seven to ten and were eagerly whispering to one another about features of the house. 

Both looked to have a hell of a lot more money than he and Hermione did, and he highly doubted that if either of them also wished for the house, then it wasn’t going to happen for Ron and Hermione. 

“Well, there’s enough room for your parents to park a car,” Ron whispered to Hermione. “Ten, if they wanted. We need to see the back garden, of course. See if it’s suitable for you-know-what.”

Hermione gave him a look that said she didn’t want to discuss it. Every house that Hermione had mildly liked had been a no from Ron on the principle that there was no way they’d fit a practice Quidditch pitch in there without the Muggles seeing. Every place (wizarding-made) Ron had liked, Hermione had vetoed because her parents weren’t able to drive there. 

Personally, Ron thought having a Quidditch pitch was far more important, purely because her parents could be Floo’d to wherever they lived. 

Apparently basing their decision around whether he could play Quidditch in the garden or not was not how Hermione wanted to choose their house.

“It’s not like you are going to try out for any professional team,” she had said. “Play it on the ground if you’re desperate.”

He loved Hermione with all his heart, but she really didn’t understand Quidditch. 

“It’s important, alright!” he said. “I know you don’t get it, but I want a place… I just want to be able to have one… for the future.” He looked away from her after he said that, but he knew she understood.

She said nothing more on the subject — good or bad — so Ron took that as a win. 

Two more couples showed up by the time the agent managing the sale made an appearance. One couple were middle-aged, probably looking to buy a house for just them after the kids had all moved out. The other couple were roughly around Ron and Hermione’s age. 

“Come on in,” the agent, a young-ish woman, said, smiling at them. 

Ron and Hermione followed the others down the dirt driveway, which was overgrown with grass and weeds. There was nothing in the front garden apart from mown grass. It would have been perfect for Quidditch if it wasn’t for the fact it could be seen from a hundred houses in the area if they so much as got a foot off the ground. 

Disappointing.

The house itself had clearly been renovated on the inside. There were fresh coats of paint in the entrance hall and brand new polished floorboards. There were stairs leading to upstairs almost the moment they entered, and then to the left was a hall that led to the back of the house where the kitchen was.

The laundry and a toilet were off to the side, but the first thing Ron noticed upon reaching the kitchen was how spacious it was. It was the largest kitchen they’d come across so far, and while it looked old, it appeared well-kept. 

The kitchen overlooked the back garden, so while Hermione looked around, he peered outside. It was long and narrow, with lots of trees growing rather tall.

Suddenly, he felt a sense of joy that he hadn’t felt with any other house wash over him. None of the others had excited him this much. 

“Ron, come and have a look through here.” Hermione indicated a door off from the kitchen and dining area. He followed her, stepping into a large conservatory with glass windows and doors that opened up to outside. 

He looked at Hermione, and there was a look between them that said it all.

This was the house. They didn’t even need to see the rest of it to know. None of the others had had as much appeal to them as this one. It had what they’d both been looking for and they knew it. 

Nottingham. 

This was where their future lay. Ron was suddenly certain of it. 

They explored the rest of the house, Ron with a happy feeling in his chest. With every room that he entered, he began picturing what it would be like for him and Hermione living there. Sitting on the couch in the living room, curled up while the fire blazed in winter. Hermione poring over a book, or her work notes, or anything really. 

In the summers, he could see them having breakfast in the conservatory, overlooking the garden. Maybe with birds there. 

Call him sentimental, but Ron had long ago established that, with Hermione, he liked the romance. He liked thinking about those things with her. He wanted it all. 

Upstairs, there were three bedrooms and a bathroom. A fireplace was even in the master bedroom, which Ron liked. I could just get up for work, hop in and go.

But, of course, the part that appealed to him the most out of everything was the garden. Along with the trees that obscured it from the neighbours, there was even a shed in which he could store all of the Quidditch stuff so it wasn’t in the house. 

The only downside to it — and it was one he’d assured Hermione that it didn’t bother him, though it did a little — was that it was in a Muggle neighbourhood. On the houses either side, lived Muggles. The whole street was Muggle. 

He’d known — he’d virtually accepted the fact — that this was where they’d end up. The wizarding places they looked at were just not compatible with the lifestyle Hermione wished to live. And she had every right to want to see her parents and want to have them visit. It was far easier to live somewhere where they could put up protective enchantments than to get Muggles to trek out to a place with very little access apart from Apparition, which was where most wizarding families chose to live. 

He loved the Burrow, and growing up, he’d assumed that he’d live in something like that — building level on top of level, and being surrounded by open fields, maybe some chickens, and de-gnoming the garden every so often. 

But that was all he had known back then.

Now, he knew a whole lot more. He had a clear future, which involved Hermione. Where they lived was a trivial matter in the scheme of things. 

He just wanted to be with her. 

He turned at the sound of footsteps on the crooked paved area directly outside. He’d been standing there for some time, taking it all in, that when he looked up and saw Hermione standing beside him, he discovered that they were the only ones left.

Everyone else had been through the house and left already. It was just the two of them and the agent now, who was still somewhere inside.

“What do you think?” Hermione asked, though by her tone, she seemed to know what he was thinking. “Do you think it’s a good start for us?”

Ron returned his gaze to the long, grassed area before them. “Start?”

“It doesn’t have to be our only home. It can just be a —”

“I can see us living here forever,” Ron said. 

There was silence. He glanced sideways to see that Hermione was now also staring ahead, a thoughtful expression on her face. 

“It has everything we’ve been searching for,” Ron continued. “It has the space inside, a long driveway at the front with plenty of space for a car or two if your parents come to visit. There is a living room with a fireplace for winter, and a conservatory for the summers. And this garden — it runs deep, with lots of trees. There’s a lot of… protection here, which would make it easier for us to add our own touches to.”

“It’s a fair way from London, though,” Hermione said. She was trying to reason logically, to think of all the pros and cons of this place; though Ron could tell her heart wasn’t fully in picking it apart. She liked this place too. It suited them. 

“Only a few seconds for us,” Ron said, and he lowered his voice just in case the agent decided to come and find them. “We could easily connect the fireplace to the Ministry for work purposes. We could even connect to Grimmauld Place to visit Harry and Ginny. The Burrow, your parents...” He turned back to Hermione and smiled. 

“And you’re okay with it being in a… Muggle area?” she asked. 

Ron shrugged. “I’ll adapt alright, I think. And it will be magical on the inside anyway. It’ll just be keeping up appearances. Wizards have been living amongst Muggles for centuries.”

Hermione smiled. “I really like this place.”

“Me too. I love it. And I can see us living here for a long time. Even, you know, having children here.”

There was a long pause from Hermione, and Ron wondered if he’d said the wrong thing. It had always been a topic that he’d felt nervous about, but one that was becoming increasingly important to him. 

He waited for her to say something, but when she didn’t, he added, “Obviously I don’t mean now, but I can see this as a home… for us.”

Hermione smiled, seeming to come back to reality from wherever her mind had gone to. She looked up at him. “I know what you mean,” she said. “And it’s perfect for all of that.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“How would you feel about getting a car, too?”

“A — what?” He wasn’t asking what a car was, obviously, because he knew that, but… just how many things did Hermione expect them to buy? 

“It was just a thought,” Hermione said, shrugging. 

“Do you know how to drive one?” Ron asked. Because he sure didn’t. Not on the road. A flying one… sure.

“Well, no,” Hermione said truthfully. “I don’t. I never got around to learning, being away at school and all. And then a war… but I’d like to. And having a car in the driveway wouldn’t draw attention to ourselves. Everyone has one.”

“Do they?” Ron hadn’t paid that close attention to know whether that was the case or not, but a lot of Muggles seemed to have cars. It was one of the fastest modes of transport when they couldn’t Apparate.

“Yes.”

Ron swallowed. He’d avoided asking this question until now, but he thought it needed to be said. He had been to their vault in Gringotts on many occasions these past few months and he was almost certain that there wasn’t enough in there for them to buy a house, let alone a car on top of it (and a ring on top of that). “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Hermione said, her smile faltering a little. “Do you have a problem with getting a car?”

“Not a car, no,” Ron said. “But how are we going to actually pay for all of it? I don’t know how much money Muggle houses cost, but I would bet that we can’t afford it. And a car as well…”

At this, Hermione went faintly pink and she turned away from him. Ron felt a wave of panic wash over him. 

“What?” he asked. 

Hermione shook her head. “It’s nothing…’

“Hermione…”

She cast her eyes back up at him, and there was guilt. A lot of guilt. 

“You haven’t been stealing money, have you?” he asked, only half joking. She seemed to think they had enough to do this.

“Ron!”

“Well, I just can’t see —”

“Mum and Dad are helping, alright.”

Ron fell silent. Oh. 

“I didn’t ask them, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Hermione continued. “I have a Muggle bank account set up for both of us to make the house loan a lot easier — just in case we did choose a Muggle place. I told Mum that I wanted us to start saving for one, and, well, she offered to contribute.”

“So… they’ll basically own the house then?” Ron asked, unsure on what to think. On one hand, he liked that they were willing to help. On the other, it confirmed with him that they really couldn’t afford this on their own. 

“No, it’s a gift, Ron,” Hermione said. “They offered it to us. Fifty thousand pounds.”

Ron didn’t know how much that really was, but it sounded like a lot. 

“You could have told me, you know?” Ron said after another pause. 

“I know.” Hermione sighed. “I just wasn’t sure how you’d feel about having people give you money. I know… I know it’s a tricky topic with you. And I know how badly you want to be able to do things on your own, buy things with your own money. And you’ve been even more worried about it lately. More than usual.”

“Yeah, but I’m not going to say no to someone offering money,” Ron said, and he almost laughed. “I’d be mad to. Merlin, we can’t afford a bloody house on our own, anyway. But I want this one.”

Hermione smiled, seeming relieved that he wasn’t upset with her. If he was being honest, he was relieved, too. At least some of the money wasn’t coming from them. And he knew her parents had a fair amount of it. Fifty thousand pounds was probably nothing to them. 

“How much is fifty thousand… pounds?” he asked. “In wizard money?”

Hermione flushed. “Around sixteen and a half thousand Galleons.”

Ron’s mouth hung open for a very long time. And her parents just had that to give away?

He watched her for a moment. She almost seemed embarrassed. “What kind of life did you lead growing up? What are you doing with me?”

“Ron, that’s a terrible thing to say!” she admonished. 

“Well, it’s true,” Ron said. 

“It’s not. I lived a mostly normal life. You already know that when you quizzed my parents about my childhood, remember?”

Ron grinned. “I was just curious what it was like to grow up without magic.”

“It was normal.”

“It’s weird.” He stared at her for a moment. “Well, tell your parents thank you, and we accept their gift. I want this place. It’s our home. But anywhere with you is home.”

Hermione beamed. “I feel like it is, too. I feel like this is our place already.”

“Should we Confund anyone else wanting to buy it?” Ron asked.

“Ron!”

“What?”

Hermione shook her head, smiling. She offered her hand to him, which he accepted. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s make an offer right now. That way, we’ll hopefully get a head start on everyone else.”

Turning to go back inside, Ron couldn’t help but smile to himself. A sense of peace washed over him as Hermione led him back into the house that he hoped would be theirs very soon. 

Ten years ago, he would not have known that this would be his life, and that he would like it. At twelve years old, he’d seen himself as one day becoming an Auror (he was almost there), living in a dingy little place on his own, and he thought he’d be relatively happy. He’d not spared a single thought for this other part of life that made him even happier. 

Being in love, and the feel of that person’s hand in his, dragging him through a house that they wanted to live in together. Finding happiness in the smallest of things — like wondering if they should get a car because they were going to be living amongst Muggles, or knowing he had an engagement ring and soon he was going to ask Hermione to marry him, or them talking about having children one day and wondering if the garden was big enough for them to play Quidditch in.

At twelve, those ideas hadn’t even been a factor, and he sure as hell knew that even if the thought had crossed his mind, Hermione wouldn’t have been the one he thought he’d be doing it all with. 

But, she just made him so happy, and having faced near death on more than one occasion, he couldn’t help but feel grateful that he even got a chance to do something so normal. 

This place was it. He knew it. 

Nottingham. 

It was going to be where he lived out his days with Hermione. 

And nothing made him happier. 

[ororowrites]

Scripted - Yahya x Black OC

Sweet Thang- Chapter 3

One-shot: By the Open Fire

Chapters: 1 2 

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 2,003

Two months later

Candace finished her last night at Dynasty and vowed to never return. She had collected enough money to support the remaining tuition payments, graduation fees and the application fee for Yale’s School of Drama. March had snuck upon her and her application was due in a month for the 2012-2013 school term. The process was daunting because this was the only M.F.A program she planned to apply to and she prayed this wasn’t a mistake. Yale was her dream school and though she was the type to have a plan B, C and Z, she was gambling on her resume and audition tapes.

Yahya had already made one visit to Los Angeles, since he met Candace at Dynasty. He was collecting unemployment and attending acting classes to get more experience to add to his resume. They had talked about his plan moving forward and Yahya was enjoying acting so much, he planned to apply to Yale as well. Candace had convinced him to live a little and follow his heart and talent. Even if his application was denied, he would have the experience and could apply to another program. During their acting class, Candace was surprised by Yahya’s natural talent in theatre. He deeply connected with the scripts and scenarios and she was in awe of how he could change his entire persona to fit the character. Candace wouldn’t admit it, but her attraction to Yahya was growing. Not only was he physically attractive, but his sensitivity and thoughtfulness made him appealing. He was also attracted to Candace and took his time getting to know her, while also respecting her space after her breakup. 

Another acting coach was in town and Yahya made the trip to LA to attend a session with Candace. It had been two weeks since his last visit and he was eager to get into another class and spend time with his friend. They decided to meet at Candace’s apartment and ride to their class together. 

“Do you think this man will make us cry on cue or what,” Candace joked, flipping on her turn signal to take the exit off the expressway. 

“It’s called the Degree of Emotion, I’m sure we’re crying in this class,” Yahya chuckled, scrolling through his email for job postings. Right now, he was living off of unemployment and his savings, he would need a job sooner rather than later. 

“I can’t cry on cue. It takes a bit of coaching to get me there. Hopefully this class can give me some pointers,” Candace revealed. 

Dr. Ben Mayer, renowned acting coach to many in the industry and professor at Julliard, was standing in the middle of the stage when the students arrived. As they walked into the class, he recited an excerpt from the Odyssey. His heavy voice carried throughout the theatre, capturing everyone’s attention before they reached their seats. Yahya grabbed Candace’s hand, helping her down the dark theatre stairs and to the front row. 

“Welcome to the Degree of Emotion. I’m Dr. Ben Mayer, your instructor for today. Please use the first two rows. Don’t be shy, I don’t bite,” the instructor ordered, pointing to the empty seats in front of the stage. “Today, I’ll be working with you on how to convey emotion with your voice, body language and expressions. Many that come into this field think showing emotion is only about crying or showing sadness onscreen or onstage. Emotion is more than that though. Anyone can be trained to cry on cue but what about that makes you feel like the character you’re portraying. Are you stepping into your character’s shoes or simply putting on a hat? Stepping into the shoes is more powerful and more fulfilling than putting on a hat. You walk in shoes and feel them out. So, I’m going to teach you how to do that.” 

For the second half of the class, the group split up into groups of two and practiced different scripts. Dr. Mayer watched each group and offered criticism and advice. Candace was in Yahya’s group and they were supposed to be performing a piece about a couple who hit a rough patch. She felt good about this particular script because of her recent breakup but to her surprise, her performance fell flat for Dr. Mayer. He told her she was wearing a hat instead of stepping into Charlotte’s shoes and she had a lot to work on when it came to emotional acting. 

That criticism stuck with Candace and ate at her for the remainder of the class. The second half of the course was in three weeks, where they would perform their scenes in front of their peers. 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Yahya proposed as they walked to a near-by coffee shop. 

“I can handle criticism. It’s being told I don’t convey emotion that bugs me. No instructor has ever said that and here I am trying to get into Yale not conveying enough fuckin’ emotion,” Candace spat between her teeth. Being a perfectionist ended up being her downfall in many things. She believed in being perfect at her crafts, which is how she ended up in extra acting classes outside of her regular theatre courses. “Are my emotions not believable, Yah?” 

“That’s coming from one instructor. We all have different ways of approaching this acting thing. But if you want to work on it, I’m here for a couple of more days. We can practice. No biggie.”

“I don’t know why I’m this bothered about this shit. But I’m going to give his ass emotion next time,” she promised, tossing her curls behind her ear. 

-------

Trinity was out studying with some friends, leaving the apartment free for acting practice and a late brunch. Yahya was on fruit duty, while Candace made waffles and turkey bacon. 

“What do you think is holding you back,” Yahya questioned, glancing over at his acting partner who was concentrating on whisking the lumps out of her pancake mix. 

“Fear of failure. I think too much when it comes to certain scenes and end up closing myself off,” she replied after a few long seconds of silence. “That’s my only explanation. After all that stuff with Maxwell, it got worse, I guess.” 

“I did this class in San Fran and the instructor had us doing meditation before we got to the acting. Maybe you can try that when you have those hard scenes. It helped me because I get too into my own head at times, too,” he offered, wiping his hands on a towel. “For now.... I need you to relax.” 

Once Candace felt Yahya’s strong hands on her shoulders, she could have melted into a puddle in the middle of the kitchen floor. He massaged the tense muscles and rested his chin on top of her head. She hummed in relief, leaning back into his big body. 

“Instead of thinking about how you can hide Dr. Mayer’s body, think about how you can prove him wrong. Put all that anger into Charlotte because she needs you in order to come alive.” 

“Okay,” Candace sighed. 

“Let’s try meditation first,” he suggested, leading Candace to the living room. “Try to get you nice and relaxed before we start.” 

They meditated for ten minutes before returning to the kitchen to clear up counter space. 

“Ready?” Yahya nodded towards his scene partner and earned a nervous nod in response. 

Charlotte and Tyreik - TAKE ONE

“You’ve changed, Ty. Changed in ways you may not realize but I see it. Hell, I feel it too. When we supposedly make love and you aren’t present...you fill me up but you feel empty,” Candace spoke, shifting her weight from hip to hip. Playing Charlotte made her nervous for some reason. Maybe it was her own fear of opening up to another man after having her heart stomped to pieces by Maxwell. Like Charlotte, she no longer wanted to be a doormat to anyone, especially the opposite sex. 

“You sure you even know how to feel anymore,” Yahya replied, pretending to cut invisible vegetables on the cutting board. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You can’t stand here and tell me you feel a thing, Char. I’ve been trying to talk to you about our relationship for months. But you’re always busy or too tired. So yeah....I’ve changed.” 

The conversation was similar to one she had with Maxwell, except the roles were reversed. Like Yahya suggested, she dug deeper to find that spark that would turn on the switch. 

“Because you talk at me. Yelling isn’t talking and it won’t get my attention,” she shot back, narrowing her eyes. “And the only reason you’re even talking is because you feel guilty.” 

Yahya slammed his hands against the the cold, marble countertop, causing Candace to flinch. “Are we still stuck on that shit? I apologized, you accepted, it’s done. Stop bringing up old shit to hide your own insecurities.” 

“We.... then why are we pretending this is what we both want? If we’re this unhappy, why are we doing this,” she mumbled, her eyes falling down to her feet. 

“I don’t know. Maybe because we’re both afraid to let go of what’s familiar to us. I’m your first love and you’re my first long time relationship. Hard to let go of something you worked hard to keep going all these years.”

Dig deep, Candace. Thinking back to how she felt about Maxwell and his unborn child, Candace’s eyes began to water. “I want this to work, Ty. I really do,” she sniffed. Yahya’s eyes met hers and he tried to stay in character but he couldn’t hide how proud he was the moment he saw his advice working for Candace.  

“I do too. But you have to let go of shit if you claim you forgive me,” Yahya moved in closer, letting Candace know they were close to the kissing scene. 

“I’ll try,” she offered, her big, brown orbs searching his looking for a hint of Yahya. He rarely broke character, but there was an extra gleam in his eyes. This was the first time they had done anything outside of hugging. Yahya was respecting Candace’s space and allowing her to heal after her recent breakup.

 Her heart beat violently against her chest when Yahya’s cologne flooded her senses. His lips became Candace’s main focus as he closed the space between them and placed his mouth on hers. The kiss was brazen, making Candace’s knees weak. Yahya placed his hands on the counter, caging in Candace’s small frame. His 6′3 frame towered over her, forcing him to duck his head down to deepen the kiss when her tongue slid past his. Since that night at the club, he had been waiting to kiss Candace’s lips. Just as he thought, they were as soft as pillows and the urge to take things to the next level invaded his thoughts.

Heat rose to Candace’s cheeks before spreading down to her belly, meeting the butterflies that were already dancing. Their scripts were long forgotten and they were well past the point of blaming their actions on their characters. Candace’s fingers toyed with the hem of Yahya’s shirt. They were both breathless when they pulled a part and Candace didn’t give Yahya time to catch his thoughts before her lips were back on his, fighting for dominance. Yahya’s shirt ended up on the kitchen floor, exposing his sculpted but slender mid-section. It was dangerous, yet neither one of them stopped it. The sexual tension had been strong from the moment they met and given the current circumstances, it was boiling over. From the slight touches and long gazes, hormones were bound to get them in this predicament. Yahya’s lips left hers and traveled to her neck, where they stayed, creating love bites.

“Do you want me to stop,” he questioned, his baritone causing a vibration between their bodies. The thumping between her ears and thumping between her legs had Candace’s mind swimming in circles. 

Sorry for the wait and short chapter. We will get A LOT more Yahya and Candace in the next one though!

taglist: @blackburnbook @emjayewrites @just-peachee @chaneajoyyy​

[gnarf]

Gnarf’s 2020

and what a fucking year that was... Anyways, let’s talk about the good things, shall we?

I made it through 2020 alive and without going insane! Yay! So lets see what else I did. (This is a long post)

In the beginning of 2020 I said I won’t participate in many fests. Only three or something like that. Lets check how that went!

Fests Gnarf participated in: 9

@lockdownfest @lcdrarry @hd-wireless @hpfluff-fest @hd-hurtfest @hd-fan-fair @hd-erised @gameofdrarry in drarropoly @wireless-festive-minifest​

Haha yup, three. Sounds legit. I also wandered off to try if I can art! No worries, I gave that up :D Mad respect to all Artists, arting is exhausting and the progress is too slow for me.

If you really want to check out my attempts, here’s what made its way onto AO3:

Dont Blink! for LCDrarry, it includes the Angels from Doctor Who and was a pain in the arse.

If you knew... was made for H/D Wireless and has the armiest arm i ever saw, very proud of that one. Its also the last thing I made.

Home Sweet Home was also made for H/D Wireless, and the first bigger art piece I tried my hand on.

A muffled groan which is rather explicit and I entirely forgot about making it :D it has a ficlet going with it too.

(I think theres other Art stuff here with the tag #gnarf draws or something)

I reached my yearly goal of writing 100k words once again!

Fics and Ficlets I wrote this year: 20(ish)

Better Side of the Bed (Lock Down Fest, T, 2k)

It was all Malfoy's fault. Harry could be at the Burrow right now, but instead he was trapped in Malfoy's tiny flat. All because that dick couldn't stop bothering him about a stupid life debt he didn't even care about.

Doing What's Best (G, ~800 words)

Lucius looked down at the little bundle currently sleeping in Narcissa's arms and felt terror shoot through his body. A little boy, his hair so white it was nearly invisible. Born only a few hours ago, taking his first breath in the light of the rising sun. Narcissa had whispered a welcome, her eyes wet, her smile bigger than ever. But they both knew, even though temporarily safe, he really wasn't. Draco was born into a world ruled by war. If only it'd end soon.

I better be hallucinating this (T, 3.8k)

After the war Draco Malfoy is sentenced to Azkaban for a really long sentence. Apparently aiding in Dumbledore's death overrules any argument Harry could put up for him. After the trial, as the days pass by, Harry is more and more outraged at the sentence. He can't stop obsessing over the fact that Draco Malfoy saved his life and aided him during the war and is very much capable of redemption. Not to mention that Malfoy has always been a delicate git and would never survive Azkaban. After a few weeks obsessing Harry decides that Malfoy indeed can't remain unjustly in Azkaban and starts to plot a way to break him out of jail and hide him in Grimmauld Place. When Hermione finds out she's not amused. Ron is horrified. Draco still thinks he's hallucinating.

Keep Holding On (Wireless, M. 33.333) A collab with @maesterchill​ who surprised me with lovely art for it!

After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry and Draco both fall into their own battles with their mental states. Draco is sent to Azkaban, and Harry turns to drinking, hoping to forget. Months later, Harry visits St Mungo’s new ward on the request of a friend, only to find Draco in a deep vegetative state. Not willing to give him up, Harry stays by his side, while simultaneously dealing with the Ministry's newest grand idea to make everything worse. Making new allies, and losing old ones along the way, will hopefully be worth it in the end.

Age is just a number (Fluff Fest, T, 1.5k)

Married for decades, their life is perfect. Until Harry gets a call and hears the following words: "Mr Potter, we caught your husband stealing ten large packs of King Sized condoms."

There was still hope (Hurt Fest, M, 3.1k)

Draco winced as pain shot through his leg with every step. This secret, back-alley laboratory had been his last chance, last hope, to find the potion. But nobody had it in stock, and there was no time left to brew it himself. Panic was slowly overtaking his entire mind as he crept out of the store and back to the nearest alley to Apparate back home. He already felt off, and it was still early in the day. Of course this thestral-shit had to happen to him, of all people. As if life wasn't bad enough for him already.

Desire (E, 1.7k)

"Auror Potter, what a pleasant surprise to meet you here. What can I do for you?" "Stop the show, Malfoy. There's no one around, and I'm not here as an Auror." Draco watched Potter move closer until they were nearly nose to nose, only the small counter of his shop kept Potter at distance. Potter's eyes were dark with something Draco couldn't exactly name, his face was flushed and the air surrounding him felt somehow static. Draco felt the urge to lean further over his counter, to drink in his sight, to touch the man on the other side—but he didn't.

Drarropoly 2020 currently holds 7 ficlets and is in a Series. The highest rating is Mature and its 3.2k in total at this point.

Let's not wait for France (Fan Fair, T, 17.7k)

All Harry had wanted from his Eighth year at Hogwarts was a little peace and a little privacy but, from the moment that he stepped onto Platform 9 3/4, it was obvious that nothing was ever going to be that easy. An accidental bond with Malfoy that resulted in them having to stay together at all times was the final straw. Things couldn't be worse. So much to a quiet year in Hogwarts.

Love letters for the oblivious (Mini Wireless, T, 716 words)

Draco had gotten the strangest letters all week long, which wasn't what anyone needed at Christmas. Especially not him. Either someone was taking the piss, or he had a very dumb and inefficient secret admirer. And Draco didn't know which would be worse.

Double-Booked (Mini Wireless, T, 2.1k)

Finally, peace and quiet, and— "Malfoy?!?" Or the one where Harry thought he could enjoy a quiet Christmas far from everyone, just to find out that the cabin he had booked already accommodated another guest.

The best Christmas he ever had (Mini WirelessT, 1.9k)

Christmas had never been less appealing to him than this year. That was until Arthur Weasley showed up at his door, dressed as Santa, inviting him to the Burrow.

Anon Fests to be added

Whoever made it to this point: yoooo! Friend! Lots of love to you! I also got tagged in many get to know me posts, plenty of love in my Inbox giving me love slaps left and right (honestly, im bruised, stop slapping me), amazing person awards, top 5 fics, and whatever you can think of.

To make up for not answering most of them because I’m a horrible person:

My favourite colour: purple My age: I’ll be 30 next year in April, I expect gifts, I don’t accept first borns My favourite trope: eight year My favourite animal: cat My favourite ice cream: Ben and Jerry’s Cookie Dough Here’s my writing Playlist, it’s the worst you’ll ever see, and yes, I use YouTube, I’m old.

Other things that happened in 2020 that made me happy:

I kicked out my mentally/emotionally abusive partner of 7 years in January

I kept my grandma alive through this *waves hand at world*

I was able to share my birthday cake with my family becaus I got to leave my first quarantine a few days before my birthday

I got to keep my job

I found a lot of lovely friends in this fandom, and got to keep them through this year

My cats are their usual little jerks and actually enjoyed me being at home due to the raging pandemic

I finally cut off my hair

I’m about to hit 3.5k followers here and I love you all

I’m also tagging everyone who sees this and wants to do something similiar! Show us what you did in 2020, the things you’re proud of, and the things you loved! Let’s spread some happy for the end of the year 💜🥰

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

You messed with my heart too long

A/N: I posted this anonymously on ao3, but I’m really proud of writing this so decided to post it on here as well. Please, please let me know what you think, it would mean the world to me. 

Summary: When Richie accidentally burns his food right at the same time as Eddie arrives home, he fears he's in for a verbal beat down. He's used to that thank to his ex-boyfriend, who mentally and emotionally abused him before Richie realized what he was doing to him. Once Eddie works out what is happening, he is quick to assure Richie he would never treat him in the same manner.

Warnings!: mental abuse, mentions of physical abuse and Bev’s abusive ex, Richie thinks Eddie going to react badly (he doesn’t but he still thinks about it) 

read on AO3

Richie, in all fairness, has never had any confidence in any way, shape or form. He’s not sure why that is. His mom and dad were good, loving parents that indulged into his secret little hobby’s, and when Richie at age 24, a fresh college drop-out, told his parents he was going to take a gamble and try to make it as a comedian, they supported him wholeheartedly. Of course, they were a little disappointed that he never got a degree in case things in the comedy field didn’t work out, but they were convinced of Richie’s talent. They were truly the best parents anyone could ever wish for, at least in Richie’s mind.

The losers were also nothing if not supportive towards him, though they had been long gone before Richie turned 24. They made fun of him sometimes, on the occasions where a joke ran too far or failed miserably, but they also made sure that Richie knew how much they adored him in reality.

Beside from getting scolded at every now and again by Eddie or Stan, about his hygiene or lack of self-awareness, they also never tried to change him to fit their wants. For some unknown, nonsensical reason, they liked Richie with his flaws and all.

Truly, Richie has no inkling as to where his insecurities came from, but he does know that he never let them stop him from doing anything when he was still friends with the losers. Quite the opposite even, if he got nervous about performing in front of his class, he would loudly ask to go first, laughing boisterously and slouching against the teachers desks, pretending like the activity wasn’t even a blip on his radar. When Henry’s taunt would hit a particular soft spot, and Richie felt the urge to sulk or mope, he’d double down on the thing Henry found annoying, and get a bloody nose for his troubles.

He fought hard to be ready to perform in front of people that weren’t the losers or his parents, and the losers departing from Derry just made that worse. With the losers, he felt confident enough to try and be himself, without them, he saw himself as useless in every sense. His very first live performance sucked, and in retrospect he’s really glad none of the losers were present because within five minutes of walking on the stage, he had forgotten his lines and threw up in full sight of the audience.

If his mother hadn’t persuaded him into trying again a few months later, and that one actually working out, Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier would have been buried before it began.

But that was before all the progress Richie made in all the years he’s been doing comedy. Despite having the occasional setback, he mostly outgrew throwing up before an act, and he could objectively look at himself in the mirror and conclude that he wasn’t the most hideous person the world had ever had the displeasure of seeing.

In fact, according to people on his twitter page, he was being described as hot and possessing a form of appeal that drew people in. He didn’t find himself good looking by any means, but there was a huge difference between hating everything about himself, and accepting that he was not as hideous as the beast from the Disney fairy tales he was a big fan of as a kid.

And then, in the prime of his mental health, he had met David, and every ounce of self-worth faltered like snow under the burning scorch of the sun. It only took five weeks for David to absolutely destroy the very thing Richie had toiled at for over twenty years.

David was his first boyfriend, who he met just shortly before his thirtieth birthday, and he took more than advantage of that. The first night they first laid eyes on each other, after one of Richie’s shows, David had walked up to him at a bar and promptly declared his show was absolute shit.

Normally Richie would feel hurt by these comments and would pretend to brush them off as if they were never uttered, but something about the way he said it caused Richie to laugh so hard he snorted part of his beer through his nose. It wasn’t until he saw Eddie with Bill and Mike at Jade the Orient ten years later, that his quarter fell. In the beginning, David had reminded him of Eddie. It wasn’t until much later that it became clear David’s intentions were not as innocents as Eddie’s.

Richie assumed the guy was pulling his pants, because who would dedicate their time to flat out insult someone they had never met, and so he had greeted him and bought him another beer. David wasn’t particularly funny, and he never laughed at Richie’s jokes throughout the night either, but he was very eloquent and could keep up with Richie’s conversation topics, though he always seemed to be able to turn and twist the subject so that it gave away another one of his qualities.

By the end of the night Richie never expected to hear from him again, and he was okay with that. His conversation partner had been interesting, but not to the point where Richie wanted to know everything about him or see him again.

David felt otherwise, as thanks to a mutual friend of theirs, he’d found Richie’s number, and when he texted him to ask him on a date, Richie had been too thrilled that someone was interested in him to containplat if he even wanted to go.

That same day the date took place, David had granted himself the title of boyfriend, and Richie went right along with him. They never officially verbally agreed to date, but they held hands and David slept over most nights then not, and his mother got so happy that she saw him with someone that things progressed naturally.

At first, Richie didn’t notice that David was influencing him in a negative way. He only had one close friend, Steve, who was simultaneously also his manager, and he constantly praised David for making Richie a changed man. Because Steve saw it as something positive, so did Richie.

His voice got progressively stiller, as David would ream at him multiple times a day that he was annoying everyone around them with his booming voice, and that he was an attention-seeker who would do anything to get the limelight on him. Richie practiced his voices less and less when David started to critic every aspect of them every time he would overhear him. It got worse once they started living together full time.

‘Hey Rich, no voices? Come on I want to know if you’ve improved over the years, let us hear it.’

He cut off all fatty foods when David glanced at his plate and grimaced, asking if he was really going to eat everything on the plate. He didn’t say it in so many words, but Richie could connect the dots that led him to believe David found him too fat. Lying became a sort of second nature to Richie, as he dared to eat a small pack of chips when David was away, and deluded him the next day by stating he hadn’t eaten any. Sometimes, at times where David thought Richie was away, he would observe him going through their trash to catch Richie in the lie. He’d fight tooth and nail to deny the accusation, and never admitted to it.

David complained just about everything Richie did, including the way he held his towel whilst drying the dishes, ‘For god sake Richie don’t rumple up, hold it in your palm and open it up so you can get to the surface more.’ When Richie tried to joke that David’s way didn’t necessarily mean the best way, he’d yelled that Richie was an ungrateful bastard and that if he had to do it his way because the way he was doing it was useless.

Useless, that was a word Richie learned to associate with himself as whatever he did would get dragged down by David, until there was barely any Richie left. Once again Richie began getting stage fright, worse than when he was a child, and on one evening David witnessed his total bomb of a show, and told Richie he had pretended he didn’t know him to the people watching. That hit so hard, the fact that someone was disgusted to be linked to him, that he stopped writing his own comedy and hired someone to do it for him.

There was so much negativity surrounding him and David, but when Richie tried to address his problems, David would make him seem like he was the one that was crazy. Like he was seeing things that were not there. David rolled his eyes and waved off any of Richie’s attempts to defend himself, but then denied doing it after the fact.

‘You’re a loser Richie, I can’t believe you’d be so stupid to take my ribs seriously. Aren’t you supposed to be a ‘comedian’? You’d think you’d know what’s a joke and what isn’t.’

A can of coke being set down too hard on their dinner table was enough to get David off of the couch, where he’d been watching football and ordering him around, and into the kitchen, striking a tirade that Richie was ruining their furniture with his fumbling. Richie was constantly on edge that he was doing something wrong - and he was according to David -. He avoided David as much as he could, but the latter would find something to fault him on regardless. Life had transformed into a prison cell.

Later Richie would scold himself for not leaving, but how could he? David manipulated him to the point Richie truly believed he was doing all of those things wrong, to the point where he was the one crying and begging for David’s forgiveness. He was gaslighted, manipulated and blackmailed at the same time, with gifts that weren’t a one-off after Dacid crossed a line too far, and they often contained a very expensive item that Richie had eagerly awaited for a long time. Richie felt like he owed it to David to stay, if only for all the money he had spent on him.

There were days Richie would get so furious he was prepared to scream back at David, to let his anger be set free and unleashed upon the one person who deserved it, but then David would show up with a gift out of the blue, or would grant him a loving caress, and Richie was gone for him again.

Not to mention that Richie’s self-esteem had sunk so low, he wasn’t ready to face a world without having David there to guide him along with things.

Barely five months before Mike’s earth shattering phone call, Richie ran out of all mental capacity to deal with the torment a moment longer, and packed his things, disappearing on a cold blistering night. David called him, of course, but Richie was a coward, and never answered the phone.

He only sent David one text to tell him it was over, and then promptly blocked his number without waiting for a response. He heard from gossip that David spread lies about him, and told other people about how much of a terrible boyfriend he had been, but Richie never objected to the claims. He agreed with him anyway.

Mike’s call had been, for a large proportion anyway, a saving grace. Reconnecting with his best friends and destroying the thing that loomed over him for so long was liberating, and Richie viciously wished that Pennywise had come back sooner, so that his tortures road would have been that much shorter.

There was no lingering bitterness inside of Richie because of this though, not when his life was finally in the best possible place it could be. Eddie and him got their heads out of their asses, or more like Eddie got out of his and decided to yet again be the brave one out of the two of them, and they started dating almost immediately after defeating Pennywise. In only a week's time, Eddie made the move from New York to Los Angeles, and with him he had brought the happiness Richie had long forgotten he could ever possess.

His marriage with Myra had been just as much a scam as the relationship between Richie and David, and his divorce was swift - no surprise there with the way Eddie always prepared for every possible scenario-, but Eddie almost always avoided talking about it. In a way, Richie was disheartened by that.

It was no secret Eddie married a woman that was basically a mirror image of his mom, and at times Richie caught himself wondering if Eddie had realized how smothering she was or if he had been so hunkering for the normality of life as a straight, married man that he never paid her enough attention too. He wonders if he was the only one stupid enough to not realize the gravity of what was happening to him.

Richie has debated on flat out asking Eddie about it, but, and there’s always a but, that would mean he would have to tell Eddie about David, and he is overcome with a rare form of anxiety, something deeply ashamed nestling in the place where his trust is supposed to be at the mere idea.

Swearing on the holy turtle god that managed to save them from Pennywise’s claws, Richie was originally planning on confessing the whole thing to Eddie on day one of their relationship. He truly was, and he had even conjured up humorous escape alternatives to duck his way under a fire load of questions Eddie was surely about to ask him after.

He even prepared himself to tell Eddie in Derry, right after overhearing Eddie’s phone call to his wife, feeling empowered that Eddie would come to understand. Bev interrupted before he could, perhaps a blessing in disguise. Before Eddie fully put down his phone, Bev had sweeped in the room, requesting a meeting downstairs to talk. Richie had been helpless to follow and listen intently, and if he was being honest with himself – he wasn’t – he felt a tiny bit of relief that he wouldn’t be subjected to any negative attention. Until Bev started to confess how her life had been before Mike called them.

All at once, a sickening hatred from himself overwhelmed Richie. He was so angry that he had dared to feel sorry about himself, and here Bev was, with a situation that was incomparably worse. The more details Bev entrusted them with – Richie may have promised to never kill anyone again, but he an exception could be made - the more Richie’s food from a few hours before threatened to choke him, and not even Eddie’s cream smoothed hand holding his distracted him.

Near the end, after they’d progressed from such an melancholically topic and began drinking away the booze in their hotel, Richie had drawn Bev’s attention with a call of her name, to either make her smile or to assure her that she wasn’t alone, Stan send him a withering look, as if to warn him not to open his mouth. Stan’s assumption was fair, it was in Richie’s nature to find humor in places there shouldn’t be, and he had no idea about Richie’s past to think otherwise. Still, every time Richie considered telling Eddie, the look flashed in his mind and sewed his mouth shut.

Not telling Eddie hasn’t impacted things the way Richie had predicted it would. Really, Richie was doing fine. Eddie chastised Richie on certain things, but Richie didn’t freak out or experience any sort of flashback. He would be given a peck on his forehead, or a hand running through his hair, and he’d know that Eddie was never mad at him. It was the littlest details that had Richie out of his mind with love, that highlighted just how different Eddie and David were.

By now, Richie had decided he was fine with not telling Eddie anything about David, and the extra weight of keeping something a secret was his boyfriend was just another fee to carry around with him. But life always throws a curveball Richie Tozier’s way when he has finally made plans.

This curve ball comes in the form of soup. A horrendous chicken soup that Eddie cooked up two days in advance, an experiment of different herbs that clashed into a symphony of flavors all competing to be the primary flavor. There are two things to know about Eddie as a cook. Number one is that he is not an impressive cook – and it’s not for the lack of trying - but Richie doesn’t mind. Eating food that doesn’t please his taste buds but getting Eddie in return for it is a fair deal in Richie’s books.

The second thing to note is that Eddie is a lazy cook. He turns the kitchen into a battlefield of different sauces, with jars a million different pots and pans skewed across the stove and no more room to place anything else left. It’s gotten to the point that whenever Eddie is in charge of cooking, they will not even put their dinner on a plate anymore, but instead leave it in whatever it’s made in, because it eliminates dishes to wash. That’s what starts the mess that day in first place.

Richie isn’t an idiot. Yes, he can be dense at times, and when it comes to loving Eddie he’s more than a bit moronic, but he’s not stupid. He’s had to survive on his own – and with someone who didn’t lift a finger - for a long time, thus there was no other way. He’s aware of the danger of putting a metal bowl in the microwave, and how it can cause the metal to heat up and start a fire, and therefor has never been stupid enough to try it. But today, Richie is stressed.

Steve has been calling him all day to try and persuade him into doing an interview for a magazine, and no matter how many times, how loud or agitated Richie says no, Steve still insists. Richie paces annoyed towards his fridge phone locked between his shoulder and ear, so he can take out the metal bowl of soup with his hands, and place it in their microwave without a second thought.

‘Steve I don’t care how much publicity you think it will get me, I don’t want to do it,’ Richie mutters, turning around with his back towards the warming soup. The consistent arguing with Steve has his teeth grinding, his shoulders tense and his anxiety sparked.

Eddie is still out for work, but it’s closing at five pm, the time he ensures he’s at home, and Richie thinks he can hear his car driving up into the gravel parking lot. The absence of his boyfriend is about to be filled, and Steve is yapping away in his ear, not content to admit defeat just yet, it’s maddening.

‘Steve… Steve listen to me, don’t get your panties up in a twist, I have to go. Don’t book the interview. I won’t take any part in it.’ His denial doesn’t put a stop to Steve’s yapping, but at that point Richie is over his nagging. He pinches the bridge of his nose and utters; ’Okay nice chat’, and hangs up without waiting for a response back.

He lets the phone clatter on top of their kitchen surface and says that Steve got the message, if only for the rest of the day. His phone doesn’t vibrate again, leading Richie to assume he has won this round. He can’t help but lean forward so far his head rests against the cold tiles of the kitchen counter, just sighing for one long, extended breath. A night in on the couch with Eddie spooning him has never allured him so much. His back cracks with a satisfying pop as he readjusts his body, and he groans in gratifications.

Their alarm dings loudly in the open concept kitchen, a warning that someone has just entered their driveway. Richie doesn’t need to go look to know that it’s Eddie and his large, black suv, but he wants to anyway. He’s about to walk towards the front door to greet Eddie like he’s a pet that has been waiting anxiously for its owners return – and some would describe him in the same manner - when the air fills with smoke and a rancid smell. It’s barely detectable at first, nothing more but an insentient odor that is unpleasant but not resolute and easy to ignore. But then actual smoke begins to wash it’s way around Richie, and he has a split second of blissful unknowingness left, until the problem dawns on him.

Richie follows the smoke trail, and is shocked to find their microwave steaming and actually crackling, like it’s on the verge of exploding. It probably is. Still, it’s nothing compared to the cluster bomb of fumes that spread throughout the room when Richie actually opens the microwave door and gets slapped in the face with the enormity. It’s a surprise that their smoke detector has yet to erupt.

Instantly, his airways fill up smoke, prickling his cough reflection so tremendously he doubles over in extortion. The coughs rattle his body in a painful manner, his chest and back start to hurt from the brutal movements and the fact that he can’t grasp fresh air no matter how wide he opens his mouth. Objectively, Richie should understand it can get a lot worse - their smoke detector hasn’t gone off, and there are no flames to accompany the smoke and therefore turn their house into a major safety hazard - but a panic he hasn’t felt since David has shut down his logical thinking skills.

A key is slotted into their keyhole, and it turns a first time to leave. Eddie is about to open the door, in give or take in about a minute – it always drags out because despite living here for give or take two years, Eddie still can’t remember this lock unlatches via the left side and not the right – and walk in on an absolute shit show that Richie’s engendered.

So far there was indication, no sign that hinted to Richie he still had leftover, undealt trauma left from his time hanging around David, but now, his only thought revolving around how mad Eddie is going to be, how much trouble he’ll be in once Eddie sees everything, he starting to realize he might not be as over things as he originally believed.

He ignores the way his lung burn, and reaches forward to grab the pot – with fogged over glasses rendering him blind - protection less, not even grabbing the oven mitts to provide some shelter for the warmth. He can’t comprehend how dangerous that is, can only focus on the red lights blaring in his mind, telling him he needs to get rid of the evidence before Eddie gets here and unleashes hell upon him.

Unfortunately, he’s too late. A door unlocks and Eddie enters the house. His feet pad on their wooden floor, brazen and fast, like he’s been waiting for a shot at grilling Richie and he can sense his opportunity to do so has arrived – the motion is so un-Eddie Richie dismissed it as absurd then and there, but a seed of doubt remains -.

With time, Richie comes to learn how to listen to the different footsteps, and he can now recognize who’s walking towards him and in what kind of mood they find themselves in, without taking one look at the person's face.

Eddie’s footsteps, after every work day, drag across their floor, as if a thousand pound weight has been added to his back. The bottom of his shoes wear out a lot faster than Richie’s do, and it drives Eddie nuts because out of the two of them, he’s the one that treats his material objects neater than Richie.

Richie’s always delighted to notice how light his footsteps get after just a few minutes spent with him or the losers.

Now, he is too scared to pick up on such little details. His palms tingle unpleasantly, the boiling liquid burning them more with each second he hangs on. He stands in the middle of their kitchen like a fool, turning his body every which way and letting his eyes dart out an escape plan. The smoke is nowhere near gone, and there’s too much of it for Richie to open a window and it to be blown away. Eddie’s going to notice, there’s no way he can’t.

‘Richie, you won’t believe what this imbecile Josh did at work today. I swear, I don’t understand how some people can get fucking hired sometimes.’

Eddie trudges into the kitchen, his suit wrinkled from a long day of frantically working on a report that should have been finished by some other incompetent coworker. The groves in his face are more prominent today, acquired by the years of unhappiness he experienced with Myra, the ages of his life cut off by the shock of Pennywise's return and the occasional busy work day his job supplies him with.

A nausea craters in Richie's stomach, filled with guilt for turning Eddie’s night off into a stressful event that requires a ton of clean up. Eddie stops dead in his tracks when he notices the mess, his mouth slips shut, the word dying on his tongue.

He’s waiting for Eddie’s frown to deepen, for his lips to cresting into a fury. He’s waiting for the waterfall of insults that will be hurled at his head, each one meaner than the last, honing in on his deepest insecurities and having them exploited because Eddie’s so angry he’ll do anything to strike a verbal blow. And it’ll be worse now, because it’s Eddie. It’s the love of his life doing it now, the one’s approval he seeks most.

Eddie’s the person that knows him inside and out and knows exactly what boundaries to push and prod out to crack Richie open from head to toe. He waits for all that, with his hand still clamped around the bowl of burning hot soup, scorching his palms – by this point, Richie is sure there will be blisters by the time he finally unclasps his grip.

Eddie’s frown does deepen, but it’s not out of anger. ‘Rich, be careful you’ll hurt yourself.’ Richie doesn’t let go, but holds onto the sides of the bowl tighter. Part of him wants him to experience the pain, to let what he did sink in like David’s words always did.

‘Richie’, Eddie says startlingly firm. He’s not trying to approach Richie or the bowl, but he’s capturing Richie’s attention just by his firm voice. ‘Put it down.’

Richie drops the bowl of soup, watching helplessly as it splatters all over their freshly painted walls and the ground. Out of the corner of his eye a flat glob of liquid drips down the wall, dirtying a whole line down to the floor. Richie cringes, his heart beating so fast he could swear it’s about to jump out of his chest, and his mind a mantra of ‘look what you did, look what you did, look what you did.’

‘Fuck Richie, did you burn it?’

And Richie knows he’s caught. He was, up to two seconds ago, holding the evidence right in his hands, but he’s so petrified logic is not operating in his brain at the moment. The only thing he can focus on with great clarity, is that he’s willing to try anything to get him out of a verbal tear down.

‘No..’, he tapers off at the end, leaving his statement much more alike a question than he would have preferred. Eddie raises one eyebrow suspiciously, pointily averting his gaze towards the smoke floating around them.

‘No?’ He asks back equally confused, head tilted to the side. Richie can feel his throat closing up in panic, bracing himself for an onslaught. He doesn’t foresee Eddie’s nurturing and concerned approach. ‘Let me take a look at your hands’, Eddie murmurs tenderly.

It’s technically nothing new, the way Eddie treats him. After Neibolt and Richie’s big coming out, Eddie commenced all his vacation days and flew Richie all the way to Hawaii, for the pure intention of getting him away from any and all consequences. He’d allowed Richie to eat what he desired - within reason of course, there was no way Eddie was allowing Richie to eat pizza at 8 am-, waisted their days sitting by the pool and indulged in Richie unchancy pranks - one of which ended up with Eddie scrubbing out blue glitter out of his hair. Eddie had been kind then, so it shouldn’t be surprising he is in this situation.

It doesn’t take away the fear Richie is left with. David had good days too, days that he was the perfect boyfriend, but that would never last long, and Richie is left to speculate if it’ll be the same thing with Eddie.

Maybe it’ll be hidden in a secret message, maybe Eddie is busy hatching a plan that will utterly deploy Richie from the inside out. Eddie’s hands are gently skimming over Richie’s palms, inspecting the damage without irritating the skin even more. ‘It doesn’t seem like it’s bad. It hurts right?’

‘Yeah’, Richie croaks when he figures out the question isn’t rhetorical. He isn’t sure at the moment why that’s supposed to be good.

Eddie tips forward, stretching up higher so he can kiss Richie’s forehead tenderly. Against his skin he explains. ‘That means the burn isn’t too deep, but hold it under the water still.’

‘No but you know what does go deep?’

‘Nothing if you don’t treat your burns,’ Eddie teases with a smirk. He gently ushers Richie closer to their faucet, and holds his own palm under the stream of water, twiddling with the different temperature taps until he finds one that he deems just lukewarm enough to allow Richie’s hand under it.

The smoke in the air remains unspoken about. It’s almost as if Richie is more important than a potential house fire to Eddie, but that’s absurd. Not only because this is the house that both of them felt was the right one, and subsequently paid a lot of money for, but also because Richie isn’t that special. He’s not even trying to be condensing towards himself, because he truly believes that.

‘How did you manage to do this huh? Idiot.’ Eddie jokes while guiding his hand under the water at the correct angle, his salutation gets smoothed over by a hand ruffling his hair. Coincidentally, or perhaps the exact opposite, a part of the stress Richie accumulated falls away when Eddie calls him an idiot. It helps to underline why exactly Eddie will never be like David, why the two aren’t in the same league of each other even.

When Eddie says idiot, it’s a nickname, it’s a middle school jab when Richie runs too fast and trips over his own feet, it’s the symbolic soothing pat on the back he receives after he can get all of the losers to laugh at his humor. It’s their love langue no one understands, It’s Eddie’s way of hiding how deep his adoration goes with a job that’s unusual to others.

David’s condescending tone alone tipped Richie into the deep end, into a cave that echoed his deepest flaws and slammed it into the cavity in his chest every time something didn’t go according to plan. Idiot for David did not mean the same things. For David, idiot was shoving aside Richie’s concerns, it was disinterested in all his quirks and his passive attitude. He meant what he said without sarcasm.

A first tear tracks down Richie’s cheek. ‘Rich?’ Eddie inquires startled. His hand previously stroking Richie’s curls slides towards his elbow in a smooth motion.

Richie tries to tell him it’s okay, that he needs a minute to regroup but that he’s fine, but instead of that he sobs, more tears spilling over with no regards to him uneasy Richie is to cry in front of someone.

‘Richie shit I’m sorry. Does it hurt that bad? Do we need to go to a hospital? We’ll go right now.’

‘No, no hospital,’ Richie waves him off with his injured hands. Eddie leads his hand back without response, tracking his face to see if he gives away anything. Richie had forgotten his hand hurted in the first place, so he definitely didn’t require any treatment beyond what he was doing already. His tears are the result of being overwhelmed by his emotions, and his default response to that is to cry.

‘If you don’t want me to do that, that’s okay you know?’

Because his hand is incapacitated, he wipes his nose on the corner of his shirt, watching as Eddie’s wrinkles his nose at that. Still, even with the disgusting move on Richie’s part, Eddie leans in closer, molding Richie so he fits in the fold between Eddie’s neck and shoulder. There, he resumes his path of caressing Richie’s hair, and kissing his temple. Richie fists one of his hands in the back of Eddie’s shirt, pressing them as intimate as he can.

‘Hey sweetheart, it’s okay. What’s wrong?’

Richie sobs harder, not particularly keen on telling Eddie why he’s this upset. It’s a difficult topic to talk to anyone about, Eddie and the losers included. There were days that Richie twisted his mind to convince himself that it was all in his head. That David was the best boyfriend anyone could ever wish for, and that the tirades he had to endure was just the cost of that. He was afraid he added things in his mind that hadn’t actually taken place and he created his own narrative.

Apprehension held Richie back, dreading what Eddie’s response might be. He could exclaim Richie to be a complainer that should have praised himself lucky to get the abuse he got, or he could say that Richie was a sourpuss, turning a fly into an elephant.

‘Shouldn’t we get rid of the smoke first?’, Richie questions to stall.

‘Later’, Eddie soothes with another kiss to his temple. ‘Talk to me. Please Rich.’

‘There was this guy I used to date, David.’

Eddie’s head shoots up in bewilderment, his brow furrowed. ‘You never told me about him.’

‘Yeah well we never talk about your wife either and I thought that would mean we wouldn’t disclose our previous hang ups.’

‘Ex-wife. Remember Rich? She’s my ex-wife. There’s nobody in the world I would rather be with then with you.’

‘Stop it you bastard,’ Richie sniffles pathetically. ‘You know I can’t deny you anything when you sweet talk me.’

‘That’s the plan.’

Eddie thumbs underneath Richie’s eye socket, brushing in a hypnotic rhythm that ankers him to reality. If Richie nuzzles into Eddie’s palm, then no one else but then needs to know.

Talking about something that brings forth a lot of anxiety goes smoother with closed eyes, Richie’s come to find, so he does that before revealing what he should have revealed a long time ago.

‘He was.. not so kind’, he chuckles humorless. ‘He really thrived when he pointed out everything I did wrong, liked yelling too.’

‘Rich?’

‘Wait let me finish. If I don’t say it now I’ll never get the courage to again.’ He opens his eyes only to see Eddie nod in agreement, and his face starting to tang a bit red.

‘Sometimes I couldn’t even walk right without him being all up in my ass about it. At parties he would gladly tell everyone embarrassing things I did, or he would pretend like he did all the work at home while really he was the one that did nothing. And the way he spoke to me.. like I was a child and he was a teacher or something. And he had this way of saying things so I’d know I was a breath away from being yelled at, but so that he could still claim he never once raised his voice at me. I guess I was scared you were going to do the same thing after seeing what a major fuck up I am. . He kept insisting I didn’t do things good enough, but I was really trying my best. I fucking swear Eds. I can’t help that my best isn’t good enough.’

The repetitive motion that Eddie kept up during his long monologue abruptly ends, and Eddie instead balls his hands up into two fist, pulling away from Richie to lean on the counter. He bounces on his heels, unable to stand still any longer as he is now the one to squeeze his eyes shut.

‘Eddie?’ Richie implores, the panic from before quickly flooding through his bloodstream and entering every part of his body.

Eddie opens his eyes, and something on Richie’s face must give away what he’s experiencing, because he’s quick to assure Richie did nothing wrong. ‘No, shit Richie it’s not you sweetheart. I love you, you did nothing, nothing wrong.’

He pecks Richie on the lips twice, very softly and barely noticeable, almost a goad to get Richie to cram their lips together tighter. For a long moment, they don’t move. Their lips stay hovering just out of reach, and one of Eddie’s palms slide down Richie’s chest down to his belly and up again. It’s an effort for Eddie to try and generate as much love towards Richie as he possibly can, before his resolve breaks and he has to let his resentment for David out in some way.

‘I’m going to kill him.’ Eddie turns away from Richie, but his hand remains on Richie’s stomach, a connection so they don’t separate. His chest puffs up, almost like he’s gearing up to go fight David right now. He would if he got the chance.

‘Spagheddie you don’t have to do that for me. I don’t even own his number anymore.’

‘I don’t care Rich,’ Eddie’s voice trembles but is laced with a deadly amount of venom. ‘He should have never done those things to you. If I ever see him I’ll fucking strangle him with my bare hands.’

‘It’s fine Eds, it wasn’t that bad.’ The denial burns in his chest. He wondered for a long time if he could qualify what he went through as abuse, not because he was actively hoping to label himself as an abuse victim, but because he questioned if what happened to him was worth being this upset over. In conclusion, Richie decreed it wasn’t. Eddie's eyes snap up, burning behind a sheen layer of glass.

‘He never hit me like Bev’s husband did to her.’

‘That doesn’t fucking matter. What happened to Bev is terrible, but that doesn’t make what happened to you any less dire. Both of you were victims of abuse, save for a different kind.’

Are they comparable? If they were talking about another person Richie would say yes, that both leave lasting scars, but because he’s the subject of the question, he can’t say for sure. He’s not lenient enough with himself to allow such a statement to be made. Bev can suffer from the consequences of her abuse, but from Richie’s perspective, he should be over it by now.

‘Oh fuck,’ Eddie curses explicitly, ‘and I called you an idiot. Richie I’m so sorry.’

Eddie’s little crease that only appears when he’s discontent about something appears again, and he avoids eye contact with Richie. There’s no need for any of that. Richie hadn’t even taken that big of a notice about the word. He was reassured Eddie would never use it as a true insult, and even if he wasn’t convinced of that, the tender way Eddie reacts towards him otherwise would be enough to convince him.

‘No Eddie. I don’t mind, really. I don’t want things to change between us because I told you this. I like our banter.’

He finally takes his hand from under the lukewarm water stream, and dries it on his pants -the water, come Eddie’s prediction, has eased the aflame skin -. With both hands now free, Richie cuddles up closer to Eddie, using his arms to tug him closer. Eddie is still dressed in his suit from work - and it might deem handsome, but it is not very comfortable - but has not mentioned getting changed once, too enraptured with taking care of Richie.

‘They won’t if you don’t want to, but we’re making a deal. If I do something that hurts you, you need to tell me, so I can apologize and tell you I didn’t mean any of it. Are we clear?’

‘Aye aye captain. Shall we pinky promise on it?’

‘No, I’d rather kiss on it.’

They do, and this time the kiss progresses further than just a simple peck. Eddie cups Richie’s face in between his palms, a soft, sentimental smile ruining it a little. It doesn’t matter, Richie still greedily savors the moment as it comes.

‘All those times that you went on stage and rocked that whole performance I was already infinitely proud, but shit Richie, now that you’ve told me I’m even prouder. He tore you down but you spit in his face and said fuck no, I’m still going to be my own person. I’ll never let him treat you badly again. More importantly, you’ll never let him do it again. You’re so strong sweetheart.’

Richie sniffs, ‘why the hell are you still being so sappy? I told you everything already, there’s no need to spawn me further.’ He giggles, and Eddie can’t help but chuckle at the sight too, then he turns serious again.

‘Okay, now let me take care of you. I’m going to clean up, hush I am and you’re not going to lift a single finger, and then we’ll order in, watch tv from the bed and cuddle. That sounds good? We can talk about the heavy things in the morning.’ Richie has been through enough for one day.

‘That sounds perfect Eds.’

They let go of each other, but not before Eddie sneaks in a kiss on his forehead, cheek and jaw.

While dating David, Richie never used the word love. He knew, with manipulated affection and all, that he did not love David. Love isn’t supposed to change us, it’s supposed to accept us, makes us laugh and cry at appropriate times, and cocoon us in her warmth. Love doesn’t change us, but it adds something more to the previous person we were yesterday. Eddie adds something more to Richie every single day, be it by teaching him or standing by his side when he messes up. Richie loves Eddie, and he gets loved back equally as fierce.

[mimssides]

One Spade for five Hearts: Chapter 1

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Warning: Talk about transition, periods and dysphoria.

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A usual Tuesday.

 ■ Waking up 07:30.

□ Leaving the house on 08:30.

□ Math from 08:30 to 10:00.

□ Break from 10:00 to 10:30.

□ Spades History from 10:30 to 12:00.

□ Lunch break from 12:00 to 13:15.

□ Chemistry from 13:15 to 14:45.

□ Break from 14:45 to 15:00.

□ Fencing from 15:00 to 16:30.

□ Arrival at home 17:00.

□ Doing homework until dinner at 18:30.

□ Finishing homework until 21:00.

□ Getting ready for bed 22:00.

□ Going to sleep 22:30.

Logan Ward was as organized as ever. He had to be. He was a Ward after all. Which was why he looked over his list again before crossed off the second checkpoint.

 ■ Leaving the house on 08:30.

He called his mother goodbye over his shoulder and left the house. Quickly, he walked down the driveway, waving to Virgil who was already waiting with his bike for him. As usual he looked tired, was slightly bobbing along the music of his headphones, music Logan couldn’t hear, and only after a few seconds returned the wave of his oldest friend.

As usual Logan joined Virgil and they silently walked to school. As usual Logan thought that Virgil was ridiculous for taking his bike with him even though he wouldn’t drive it. As usual Logan didn’t mention these thoughts because, despite it being illogical, he was happy to walk alongside Virgil.

 ■ Math from 08:30 to 10:00.

His first class in the day. Virgil was in a different course than him, so they parted before the class started and Logan found himself in the company of Remus Butkus. A terribly smart Club, who had no sense of decency and tact. And while he liked algorithms and geometry well enough, he had to admit that with kæm they were expansionally more interesting with the freckled redhead by his side.

 ■ Break from 10:00 to 10:30.

Meeting up with Virgil again and telling Remus goodbye until lunch.

 ■ Spades History from 10:30 to 12:00.

Usual class. They were to do a group project about the history of Spades before the equality treat had been signed 600 years ago. Virgil was his partner, as usual, and they would meet up in Thursday after class to talk about the details, as they usually did when they had a group project.

 ■ Lunch break from 12:00 to 13:15.

At lunch Logan and Virgil re-joined with Remus. Kæ had brought kæs boyfriend Patton along. They smiled at the two Spades before they kissed Remus and started talking about their day. As usual they asked Virgil how his day went and Logan greeted N (apparently going by Janus today judging by the bowler hat on their head) and Roman, Remus’s twin.

As usual Janus made a snarky remark about Patton’s all too positive attitude and Remus laughed at kæs boyfriend’s pout but helped them defend themself against Janus’s bickering. As usual Roman –

No, Roman did not get involved into the quarrel for once. He was uncharacteristically quiet and Logan shot him a look. The otherwise always boisterous boy looked figuratively down and almost seemed to have waited for Logan to acknowledge him. Confused Logan was about to ask what was going on, when Roman pointed to Logan’s phone. Logan looked down to it and unlocked the screen. On the lock screen a message from Roman was showing and Logan silently read:

Roman Butkus:

you have pads? frogt mine at home

Logan looked back up to Roman. Gave him a short nod and stood up from the table. Virgil shot him a funny look and Logan simply said, as he took out his little necessity bag from his satchel: “I need to go to the bathroom.”

“I’m coming too!” Roman announced immediately and was already on his feet following Logan leaving the cafeteria.

Logan walked quick and did not look back, knowing perfectly well that Roman could keep up with him. And not a moment later, the shorter boy walked next to him, arms folded over his chest. He looked uncomfortable and Logan suspected that he might have been wearing his binder too long or that he felt more sensitive during his period or in the worst-case scenario both.

Finally, they made it to the bathroom and entered. Logan quickly walked along the stalls and checked if they were alone, which was the case, and then took out a pad of his little necessity bag and handed it to Roman. Grateful Roman took it and disappeared in one of the stalls, as Logan leaned back against the wall waiting for Roman to finish.

They didn’t need to be secretive about having periods. Everybody knew and they were generally accepted. But Logan understood quickly after getting to know Roman that he tended to struggle with some parts of his body when he didn’t feel like he was a woman. For himself that was not the case but he understood that gender was different for everybody and he would do anything to support Roman in the way he could and needed to.

“Fuck.”

Logan’s train of thought was broken. Roman’s tone sounded watery and Logan got alarmed.

“What is it?” Logan asked not quite certain if he was approaching this the right way.

“I – I uh, fuck.”

Roman was definitely crying and Logan walked up to the closed stall door. He just stood there and waited, not knowing if there was anything he could even say.

“Blood got onto my jeans. I – I -”

Roman broke off and Logan heard some small sobs. He sighed and opened the little necessity bag again. Silently, he crouched down and slid a little package through the slit close the stall door.

“It is okay, Roman,” Logan said trying to sound soothing. “It happens. It happens to me too sometimes. If you open the package, you’ll find a cleaning cloth. It’s enhanced to get blood out of the fabric, so no one will notice.”

Logan listened to the movement inside the stall, heard the package being opened and how Roman apparently cleaned his jeans. There were still some sniffles but Logan felt himself relax.

A minute went by and you could hear Roman flush. Logan awaited him coming out but Roman let him wait.

“Thank you so much… I’m sorry for making you wait here with me,” Roman finally said.

Logan frowned and looked at the door as if he could send a look through the wall. But knowing that he could not do that he instead said: “It is quite alright, Roman. Periods are not the most comfortable topic among our peers, even if they are cis girls. It is okay to struggle with it. Just try to remember that is normal and that you do not have to be ashamed of having the parts you have.”

A sniffle.

“I’m trying. But dysphoria is mean… You don’t have to answer but do you have it sometimes? Do you sometimes think your body is wrong a little? Not really you?”

Logan looked up to the ceiling and mused for a moment.

“I don’t think so. I am fine with how I look. But that might also be because I never had to wear things I did not want to. That my parents didn’t had me have long hair or anything. It does have its perks to have an older sibling who came out as nonbinary when they were twelve, I guess.”

“You wear a binder, though?”

“I do sometimes, yes. I do so today and I probably should change out if it now, but I do not do so because of dysphoria. I just like how I look with a flat chest. Which is not that hard to accomplish with my cup size, I presume.”

A little snort.

“You’re quite lucky, Ward. Quite lucky indeed.”

The stall door was opened and Roman washed his hands. Looking at Logan through the mirror he continued: “Not that I’m jealous of you. It’s not like we could influence it. And quite honestly, some days I have the feeling that I am way more into being trans than you are. Like, it’s so fun to tell teachers that they are actually wrong and I use she/her or he/him today. Still, I’m stoked for when I finally evoke my powers and get to transition. It will be awesome!”

Logan grinned a little and shrugged his shoulders before Roman fully turned around, leaning against the sink and asked: “Do you wanna transition once your powers show? Like top surgery and stuff?”

“I don’t think that I want top surgery, but I am thinking about hormone magic, so my voice gets deeper. I think, that would be the one thing that sometimes puts me off a little. Also, I might grow a beard and that sounds pretty appealing to me.”

Roman laughed and the tiny gap between his front teeth was showing just in the way Logan liked it. It suited Roman far more than the sad expression from before. And then he suddenly stepped closer to Logan, his heart skipping a beat, and he tapped on Logan’s shirt with a grin.

“And don’t you think, I didn’t notice you trying to manipulate me to take off my binder, smart cookie!” Roman teased with a grin. “I will change out of it after the next period and you don’t have to change out of yours just to make me do it. I feel fine. Promise.”

Logan cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck. A little flustered he looked to the side and mumbled: “That is reassuring. Thank you.”

And then Roman gave him a hug, took him by the hand and led them back into the cafeteria, talking about some nice outfits he had seen the last time he had been in the mall. It all went down a little too quickly for Logan but in the end he didn’t care. Roman was in good spirits again and that was all what mattered to Logan. When they joined back at the table Janus asked Roman if he was alright, which Roman confirmed and gave Logan a little wink.

“Flirting with the shovel knight? That will work out perfectly fine, won’t it?” Janus teased and Roman laughed but hit them on his upper arm.

“Since when are you playing video games, Mx. Technology-Has-Its-Limits-And-No-Flair?” Virgil inquired deadpanned and a series of mocking insults got exchanged between Janus and Virgil until their lunch break neared its end.

 ■ Chemistry from 13:15 to 14:45.

Virgil, Remus and Logan left the lunch table together and got into one of the few classes they all shared together. Nothing unusual came to be, expect for Remus somehow enhancing one of the mixtures they made so it sparkled and smelled terrible. At least it did not explode this time.

 ■ Break from 14:45 to 15:00.

Virgil broke off the group to get to track training, while Logan and Remus went to change for fencing practice.

 ■ Fencing from 15:00 to 16:30.

The usual training. Remus got closer beating him today. But not yet.

 ■ Arrival at home 17:00.

Virgil had met up with Logan after training and the two said goodbye to Remus and leisurely walked towards their respective homes. They arrived at 16:52 in front of Logan’s house, as usual and talked for a few minutes before Logan needed to get inside and wished Virgil a pleasant evening despite knowing fully well, they would text later tonight.

 ■ Doing homework until dinner at 18:30.

Taking a shower after fencing practice. Then homework. Finishing up an essay for Common tomorrow.

 ■ Finishing homework until 21:00.

Dinner was fine. They had noodles and green salad. Father wasn’t coming home today and Grey was staying out later due to a trainings exam he had. Logan didn’t mind. He managed to finish his homework around 20:34 and began to prepare for the night.

 ■ Getting ready for bed 22:00.

Logan had sent the last text to Virgil for the night and laid out his clothes for tomorrow. Comfortably, he packed his backpack and then went to brush his teeth, and clean whatever had been stuck in his braces before heading to bed.

 ■ Going to sleep 22:30.

Finally, Logan took of his glasses and turned the light off. It wasn’t entirely dark in his room though. There were stars glowing at his ceilings, playful little gadgets, his father had hung up there for his seventh birthday. Logan didn’t feel like taking them off yet and closed his eyes.

A usual day, he thought. Well, maybe not, he corrected himself. Since the twins, Patton and N had bullied their ways into his routine, had become part of his routine, he was never as sure as he used to be that his days would follow a certain pattern. A clearly laid-out path that he had thoughtfully created for himself over the years.

But maybe unusual, was not so bad after all, Logan Ward thought as he fell asleep.

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@varthandi

@sammy-is-obsessed / @exhaustedfander

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@wolfs-feder

@just-a-neoclassical-painting

@winter-jay-official

@a-ghostlight-for-roman

[plethora-of-imagines]

Precious Present

AN: Boxing Day is still Christmas right? Here is another of the Christmassy/winter fic ideas that I thought of this year. I may not have gotten them all out before Christmas but I’m not going to let that stop me! This one uses one of my favorite tropes too.

Word Count: 1977

Warnings: smut/lemon, bondage, cockwarming

Description: You give the Master a present.

Tag List: @c-s-stars @queerconfusionthings @how-masterful @truthbehindthemysteries

You fidgeted and squirmed, unable to significantly move with the way you had bound yourself up. You hadn't thought that the Master would be so long. Then again he had no idea you were even waiting for him. You hopped he entered the room soon otherwise all he would get to do with his unwrapped present would be aftercare. He was very firm about how long you were allowed to be bound and you were quickly approaching that time limit. 

You had wanted to surprise him with your efforts to learn how to properly and safely tie yourself up in bondage. Especially the tricky slip knots that you had worked to learn. It had taken you almost an hour to completely tie yourself up in matte red ribbon. The smooth as silk ribbons laying flat against your skin in crisscrossed patterns. Accentuating your breasts and the rest of your bare skin. Ribbons tightly bound your thighs to your calves, keeping your legs bent. You had filled yourself with a generously lubed dildo and lit candles around yourself on the floor before starting the tricky task of securing your hands behind your back.

You had been waiting for the Master to find you for long enough that the candles were almost burnt out. To be fair they had already been well-used candles. All soft and subtle winter scents that the Master was partial to from his travels. He had given them to you as a present knowing that you adored burning candles. You had gotten a fair bit of use out of them and had figured that they would help set the scene well for him to stumble upon you all wrapped up as a gift for him. The low levels of light would hopefully hide any imperfections in your work when he first saw you. 

You were a little worried that he wouldn’t realize what your intentions were and would instead think you had been practicing and gotten stuck. That would result in a lengthy lecture on proper self-bondage safety. The large bow- almost as large as your head- that you had pinned to your hair would hopefully get your meaning across before he could start to get the wrong idea. And if it didn’t there was also the handwritten tag looped through the ribbon circling your throat to help.

You started to drift off as you waited for either the Master to enter the room or your preset alarm to go off. You would be deeply disappointed if the alarm went off and you had to free yourself, but you didn’t want to hurt yourself either. Your head shot up when you heard the door creaking open. The Master was here! Looking up to see him illuminated by the light from the hallway. A soft smile reached your eyes as you took in the sight of him.

"Is this bondage safe?"

You tried to resist pouting that these were his first words upon seeing you. He would take it as an admission of dangerous actions, and not of disappointment. It was sweet that he cared so much but you had hoped to inspire words of lust. It almost seemed like he wasn’t affected by the sight of you naked and tied up at all.

"Check my arms, Master. They should be tied so that one pull can free them. It took a few hours of practice but I believe I got it correct this time!"

He kneeled down to look at the knots and layered ribbons you had done. You shivered as the cold leather of his gloves gently examined the knots and ribbons more closely. Careful not to tug, less he untie you already.

Hands dropping down to his side he offered soft praise of your work.

"You did a wonderful job, my dear. Your practice has certainly made perfect."

"Thank you, Master!" Eagerly you accepted the scrap of praise.

The Master seemed to consider removing his gloves for a moment before deciding to keep them on while he appreciated the work you had done. Gently his gloved hands trailed across your skin, appreciating the decorative ribbons binding you as a pretty package. Cupping your breasts lightly in his hands.

Lifting the tag tied around your throat with care, he read it aloud.

"To a loving Master, from his dearest love. What a sweet sentiment, my dearest. A precious present such as yourself all for me."

You shivered at his voice, the trill and purr in his words. His voice was always so seductive, so enticing. His hands wandered lower, spreading the ribbons to reveal your cunt. His fingers explored, seemingly intent on entering you before they discovered that you were already filled with a dildo.

“And it appears that your, ahem, ‘stocking has been stuffed’ already so to speak, my dear.”

You squirmed uncomfortably at the phrase. It just sounded so, wrong. Your squirming made you feel the small stretch of the dildo even more as you shifted in just the right way to press the dildo into your vagina’s walls. 

“Please never say that again, Master.”

“So you don’t want to be stuffed full with my cock?” He teased. “Strange, normally you would be eager to have my cock stuffed deep inside of you so you could cockwarm for hours.”

You blushed despite the fact that your compromising position all tied up should leave you with no embarrassment left to be had.

“You're purposely misinterpreting me, Master!” You whined childishly.

“I know, my darling. But how can I be expected to resist teasing you while you are all tied up and can do nothing but squirm in retaliation? Besides, my precious present, the gift giver has no say in what the recipient of the gift does with it. I can tease you until you are as red as the ribbons you used if I so chose.”

He laughed at your face as he scrunched your lips together with his grip on your chin. Releasing your face to brush your hair behind your ear as he admired the sight of you again.

“The bow on your head is a lovely touch. I admit I’m tempted to keep it on you forever to remind the people of the universe that you are a gift from whatever higher powers religious people believe formed the universe.”

You blushed further at his compliment. Smiling shyly at him.

A quick kiss was pressed to the corner of your mouth. Instinctively you leaned forward to follow his lip in hopes of receiving a real kiss. One that fully covered your lips with his own.

You had somehow managed to forget how tied up you were... Your body fell forward as you squeaked in surprise. Landing face first in the Master's lap. With ease, the Master maneuvered you so that you were laying in his lap more comfortably, and much less suffocatingly. Your legs up in the air- still secured thigh to calf.

"What's this?" The Master questioned in a reprimanding tone as he looked closer at the base of the dildo. "Is my precious present guilty of using up some batteries while waiting for me to open her?"

"No! Of course not, Master," you quickly protested. "The dildo is in to prepare me for you so that you can use your present right away if you wish to. The batteries are included for your enjoyment of me, if you wish to use them at all that is."

His hands quickly flicked the vibrator on to full power. You violently twitched at the unexpectedly strong sensations. A loud moan passing through your tightly closed lips.

All at once, the candles went out and the subtle smell of smoke filled the air. 

"Well now, it seems like the perfect time to bring my gift to a much more appropriate location to unwrap."

The Master lifted you into his arms as he stood. Holding you to his side, arms supporting your arse and back. Normally when carried like this you would wrap your arms and legs around him like a child. As tightly bound as you were- that wasn't possible. You were reliant on the Master holding you to keep you from falling. He would never let you fall from his grasp so you had little to worry about. Even so, you still thought about how much trust it showed to let him carry you like this.

Gently placing you on the bed, the Master moved to untie you. Smoothly he unbound your arms from each other. Taking the ribbons still wrapped around your arms and securing them to the side of the bed. The little hooks that were hidden on the bed frame just for this sort of purpose finally being used. Your legs were done next. Faster than you could process the ribbons no longer secured your thighs to your calves. Pushing the ribbons up to your thighs the Master secured them to the same hooks as the others. Leaving your arms and legs spread.

The vibrator was turned off but you didn't so much as murmur in disappointment. You knew that soon you would feel much better than the vibrator had made you feel. 

Hands held your face with reverence. Lips softly meeting yours in a gentle kiss. You sighed in pleasure. Eyes taking in the breathtaking image of the Master hovering above you. The Christmas lights you had begged him to put up around the bed throwing their light onto his body. There was something about the particular glow of Christmas lights that were softer, kinder than other lights. 

"I believe I can understand the appeal of seeing presents underneath a tree now," he softly remarked as he lovingly looked down at you.

"Glad I could persuade you."

He kissed down your skin from your forehead to between your thighs. Biting the tip of his gloves and pulling them off with his teeth as you watched. Your breath hitched as his fingers walked up your thighs to the dildo pressed deep inside of you. Achingly slow he pulled the dildo out of you. You could feel your arousal leaking out when the dildo was completely removed.

You sighed, content as he undressed. A soft ringing interrupting him. He looked at you questioning if you knew the reason for the alarm.

"It was my alarm for the time limit of being bound like I was before," you explained.

"Good girl," he purred. "Make sure to stretch some now, you should have enough slack to properly stretch your limbs."

"Yes, Master."

He finished undressing before he began to unwrap the ribbons around you. Shushing you as you began to protest.

"I'm unwrapping my gift now, my dear. It’s my choice to do so regardless of the alarm."

As the ribbons fell from your body, the Master admired you anew. He seemed slightly disappointed to have to remove the gift tag from your neck. But he smiled mischievously as he tied it to the giant bow still on your head. Chuckling at his antics you knew that it would be a few days before he allowed you to take off the bow. Not that you minded at all.

The Master's hands rubbed circles into your skin anywhere it seemed the ribbons had dug into your skin. Once he had given your body a once over he slowly slid his cock into you. There was still a small amount of stretch that your preparations had not fully prepared you for. Still, it felt nice to feel the Master deep inside of you.

Leaning close he seductively whispered in your ear, voice filled with kind humor, "the cockwarmer you got me is the perfect size, my dear. I'll have to make sure to use it often."

You giggled in amusement. Giddy to have so pleasantly surprised him.

“Of course, Master. Any time you want.”

[missinghan]

night changes ⤖ bang chan

❖ genre : friends to lovers! au; fluff; 

❖ word count : 5.3k

❖ warning : explicit language & mentions of alcohol

❖ summary : kissing Bang Chan was never on your New Year's resolutions list but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

one.

This is probably the tenth wedding you’ve been asked to plan out and as always, you’re not having it. 

In your defense, there are countless reasons to hate a wedding. 

One, all of your friends are out and about, running into the love of their lives like it was meant to be. Soon enough, all of your girls’ night out would be cancelled in replacement for their date nights. The next thing you know is that you’re now standing somewhere in the audience while they’re having their soon-to-be husband slipping the wedding band on their ring finger. Meaning, all you can answer during every family gathering about your non-existent love life is “I‘m not seeing anyone.” 

Two, you don’t trust someone enough for them not to break your heart because you’re incredibly terrified of commitment. A single vow and a piece of paper simply means nothing if their feelings for you fade as time passes by. And obviously, they’d feel obligated not to leave you behind because, well, like they’ve said before - “I do.”

Three, people always say, if you love something, you have to learn to let it go. From your point of view, that’s just total bullshit. If you love something so badly, why should you even let it go in the first place ? You’re supposed to hold onto to it like your life depends on it, even if it makes you seem utterly pathetic. And you’re the kind of person who falls in love with someone, then let your entire universe revolves around them. Not to mention, you’d always end up getting hurt anyway. 

Four, who the fuck would want to get married on New Year’s Eve ? Kim Woojin, unfortunately. 

Not only do you feel personally called out because your best friend knows that you’re super single and super antisocial at the same time, but also because your other friends have already got themselves a kiss before 2020 even strikes. No doubt, you’d rather stay at home and cuddle with your dog instead. At least he’s willing to give you kisses at all times. 

Worst case scenario ? You can still sit back and chat with your favorite person in the whole wide world. Hyunjin is easily mistaken by people that he’s either a player or a fuckboy, but in reality, he’s the literal definition of a ‘Hot Cheetos’. Meaning, he’s quite the looker but has the IQ of a freaking Cheetos despite his sparkly GPA because he’s just lost all the time. Anyhow, you never take his company for granted. He would rather take a step back and watch others party until they pass out on the floor, very much similar to you. In conclusion, you guys are practically platonic soulmates. 

“How’s Felix been doing with that girl from work ?” You ask while sipping on the glass of rosé that a waitress has politely offered. Getting hammered tonight isn’t a bad choice, you figure as soon as ‘Beautiful in white’ starts playing in the background. 

Hyunjin purses his lips and stares at his glass of bubbly water. “He was shaking while talking to her via text. Via text ! Fucking pathetic.” He clicks his tongue in disapproval. “At this rate, I’ll have no choice but to steal his phone and ask her out on a date in courtesy of him.” 

You nod in acknowledgement. “He didn’t even have the courage to confess to the girl in Park’s business class back in college. How is he gonna get with someone from work where everything’s more complex and dramatic ? If he doesn’t have a girlfriend by next year, I’ll make him marry Seo Changbin.” Frowning at the burning sensation from the alcohol, you shake your head before placing the glass down. That’s too much wine for today. 

You low-key feel bad for Felix and high-key wants to grill his ass at the same time. He might not be very smart, academically, but his hardworking nature made up for everything and that’s why he’d always excel in every single class that he attended. And if you were one of those shallow girls who are all about appearances and shit, you’d definitely fall for him. With a decently attractive face and chiseled abs, he already had your whole school down on their knees back then. 

Okay, you might have exaggerated but Lee Felix is really something else. If only people could take more effort in getting to know him, he’s not just another pretty face to look at because nobody’s perfect. Felix is that kid who ran on three hours of sleep back in school because he had to finish homework then played video games in the dark until he’s sick of it. His parents’ bank accounts were probably mortified because they had to pay for their son’s eye surgery sooner or later. 

But he is your stepbrother after all, in spite of his flaws. 

“Wait, isn’t that Bang Chan from Changbin’s hip hop trio ? 3racha right ?” You notice a familiar face in the midst of chaotic people. 

Hyunjin cranes his neck over the crowd and spots Chan almost immediately. “Oh right, we did decide to keep in touch but haven’t really talked that much. I heard they got signed into a music production company so things have been a bit crazy for them. You know, the music industry. Problematic as shit.” 

Truth is, you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t have a crush on Chan back in the good old days college. You’ve only talked for a couple of times since he’s a mutual friend through Changbin but never really got the chance to get to know him because you’re extremely awkward when it comes to an authentic, in real life conversation. You’re also not the type to fall for someone twice but Chan looks really good tonight.

So your heart says otherwise. 

two.

Not thoughts. Head empty. Just Chan. 

Kim Woojin just has to have you and Chan sitting at the same table. Now he’s barely eight feet away and you’re already feeling the need to take a breather. You practically lost your feelings for him in the middle of your senior year because of the overloading amount of work and because you never mustered enough courage to ask for his number. But he’s currently right in front of you, too busy all smiling and laughing at Changbin’s dumb jokes to notice the mini mental debate that’s happening inside your head. 

Chan has never appealed to you as much of a fashionista like Hyunjin because in college, he usually showed up with long-sleeved shirts, shorts and caps. Black all the way from head to toe. But now you’re starting to wonder if Hyunjin got his good taste from Chan because he can effortlessly pulls off a simple black suit and steals your heart with ease. 

He’s wearing a one button suit with notch lapel, giving it a formal yet smart, casual look without overdressing. His white dress shirt is tucked inside his slacks neatly, hugging his body perfectly, and you know that he still takes good care of himself by the crispness of the cuffs. The matte finish of the black fabric makes the whole look that much more expensive with minimal effort. In which, makes your navy blazer over a silky black shirt, and matching pants extremely pale in comparison. Your black heels are also digging into your feet and you’re starting to regret the amount of money that you’ve spent on them. 

You’re looking like you’re about to attend a meeting while Chan looks like he’s next on the red carpet for some award show. Oh the things you do to plan out your best friend’s wedding. You just can never imagine yourself frantically running from one place to another in a cocktail dress or a full-on gown. Not even in the next life. 

“Christ, I miss my flats.” You wince slightly when the stilettos dig into the back of your feet, outstretching red marks across your skin when you try to sit down. Long story short, someone messed up the entire menu the day right before the wedding and nobody noticed it until you walked into the kitchen fifteen minutes ago for a last-minute checkup. So you’re obligated to spend another ten minutes trying to figure things out while having Jisung entertain everyone by a spicy session of the Pocky Game. Classic. 

Seungmin frowns. “Just go bare-footed, the floor is decently clean. This place is a five-starred restaurant after all.” He gently helps you remove the undeniably uncomfortable shoes, tossing them under the table not long after. Your feet finally stop yelling at you for the first time since the past hours and you too, think that it was the wisest decision you’ve made tonight. 

“Thanks Min, I really should have just said ‘fuck heels’ and gone with boots instead.” You smile weakly at your friend, feeling drained from the amount of work that you’ve put into Woojin’s wedding. Although weddings are still considered annoying in your eyes but Woojin has been there for you through every ups and downs. He’s the person who’d picked you up from really shitty parties and also the only one who’d cooked you hangover soup plenty of times because you just can’t accept how low your alcohol tolerance is for your own good. 

Speaking of which, your best friend creeps up from behind you out of nowhere and almost gives you a cardiac arrest. “How does it feel to eye-fuck my best friend in the middle of my wedding who’s also your ex-crush ?” He says and swings an arm around your shoulder. 

You quickly snap out of it, looking at him in disbelief while jolting up from your seat. “I’m not a freaking stalker— and your best friend, what ? Fuck you.” Woojin is usually pretty chill compared to your chaotic group of friends but when he’s in the mood to pester you, you swear to God, he’s louder than Han Jisung and Lee Minho combined. 

“Hmm, it’s about time anyway.” Woojin hums. He’s having that kind of smirk which makes you want to knock the daylight out of him as he angles his wrist to take a closer look at his watch. “Would you guys just kiss already ? Chan’s not coming back for a good year or so. 3racha and their dumb business trips.” This time, the playfulness in his voice disappears and a glint of sadness is evident in the corner of his eye. Regardless of how many times they drive each other insane, Woojin could never trade his friendship with Chan for anything else. How could he ? 

But wait, Chan isn’t coming back until the very next year ?

“Who said that our business trips are dumb ?” Someone voices from behind you. 

In that moment, when you turn around and see his beautiful face, you quickly come to a conclusion that this is rocket science. Talking to your crush is so fucking complicated you wish that they taught you this in school. Like okay, you know that a thermite reaction is basically what happens when metal burns. And if you perform it on a block of ice, you end up with a spectacular explosion. But still, there’s no spark in your dry ass love life. 

“Oh, hey Chan—“ You attempt to turn on your heels to meet his eyes but your feet fail you for the tenth time of the night, and gravity is apparently a bitch, which means you fall forward onto something which means you’re now on top of Chan which means he’s being crushed underneath your weight consider all you’ve been eating are donuts for breakfast and lunch while skipping dinner for the past few weeks.  

Chan flutters his eyes open, watching how heat slowly flares across your cheeks with mild interest. “Hey,” He grins, both dimples are fully on display. “Long time no see.” 

“Oh my god, Chan ! I’m so sorry !” You frantically try to get off of him and offer him a hand to stand up straight. You’ve officially entered panic mode when he grabs your hand firmly enough to lift himself up again. His touch feels absolutely magical because his hand perfectly envelopes your smaller one with ease. As if it’s personally mold by whatever god up there to interlock with yours. 

Chan laughs at your flustered state, giving your hand a squeeze in reassurance before slipping his fingers out of yours completely. “It’s fine, but shit, how much did you drink ?” 

Needless to say, you miss his touch. 

three.

Ryujin deadpans. “Kiss-him-already.” Your roommate proceeds to kick your foot from under the table when she sees Chan excusing himself from the table. 

Shin Ryujin don’t have to own the eyes of a legit eagle to see right through your nervous chuckles and the small glances that you keep throwing at Chan throughout dinner. It’s a pain in the ass to witness ‘awkward middle school Y/N’ all over again but at least she’d have something to post on her story in return. 

You let out a barely audible groan because she is in fact, being so fucking obvious. Like hello ? Chan’s not blind, nor deaf and not to mention, he has a whole group of idiotic friends who have their phones out at all time to record any juicy moments during special occasions. Especially when it’s Woojin’s wedding. 

But when you actually think about it, you’d definitely kick yourself too. Just thirty minutes ago, you had the perfect chance to strike a decent conversation with him yet your brain decided to have you chicken out of the situation instead. Everything was perfect to the T, the settings, the way that he smiles at you, the way that your heart picks up the pace just for him. But you indeed have to fuck up by blurting out the most pathetic little “I gotta go, the restaurant manager just texted me” to ever exist. 

“Ryujin, I don’t think that’s how you help.” Jeongin supplies unhelpfully over a mouthful of crème brûlée, a desert dish that he can’t even pronounce properly. He swallows the big bite and pops another raspberry into his mouth, chewing obnoxiously. “This entire situation needs to be handled professionally.” He declares as if he’s THE expert. Good gracious, he’s quite the bad boy in highschool but those days are long gone. 

Jeongin leaves his seat and cracks his knuckles dramatically. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. Changbin, give me a hand.” He waves Changbin over from the opposite side of the table. “You, me, on a count of three, get Y/N to the balcony for her New Year’s kiss. We better hurry cause we only got ten minutes to squeeze. Three, two, one.” 

“No, no, no, oh my god PUT ME DOWN !”

It’s like every single neuron within the other one hundred million in Changbin’s brain cells is connected to Jeongin’s because before you can even object, the two of them easily shove you through the crowd of people who are swaying their bodies to the slow, sensual melody. When you can breathe normally again, your vision quickly adjusts itself on the surroundings, which is the restaurant rooftop terrace. 

The cozy outdoor space features plenty of potted plants and contemporary furnishings. A sectional is complemented by an outdoor wicker square coffee table and a fabric covered butterfly chair. And there’s Chan, leaning against the black rail while admiring the city’s skyline. Your heart is thumping inside your rib cage so strongly that you can feel it through the veins on the back of your neck. 

“Be subtle.” Jeongin pushes your back as soon as he sees your dreamy expression and he quickly drag Changbin away from the scene before he can even whip out his phone. 

With his back profile facing you, Chan suddenly inquires calmly. “Are you gonna come here by yourself or do I have to hold your hand again ?”

You purse your lips. “Sure mom, I’m coming.” Yeah, real subtle. 

After when you approach Chan and let your forearm dangling in midair from the steel rails, you can’t help but stare at him like a complete dumbass. Moon is lighting up his skin and breaking through his hair, the light embraces him elegantly like a halo of his own, leaving you completely astonished. Although he looks so ethereal in this moment, there’s also something else within his present that makes you a little fuzzy inside. Just like college, but stronger, more profound. 

“How come you never asked for my number back then ?” Chan turns sideways and flashes you that boyish grin of his. He must know the effect that he has on you to keep playing with your heart like this. But also what ?

You’re gobsmacked at what he said, eyes as wide as a goldfish’s. “I didn’t even— how did you know ? It’s because of Jisung, isn’t it— my fucking God.” Words spill out from your lips one after another as if you've totally lost control of your own senses. When you’re able to finally snap it close, you also realize that too much has been said. All of your embarrassing moments were probably foiled right under your nose because Changbin and Jisung are two little big-mouthed shitheads. 

Chan just laughs wholeheartedly because he’s secretly a sadist who loves to see you being a blushing mess. “I really should have just made the first move, huh ?” When you give him a confused look, he just sighs and takes out his phone. He goes straight into his contact list and shows you the screen with your name and number displayed on it. “Lix slid your number into my locket during your sophomore year, you’re quite clueless too because he clearly didn’t know how to hide secrets back then.”

“You had my number this whole time ?!” You exclaim rather loudly, mentally debating whether you should hug Lee Felix or throw him into a tank full of sharks. “Then how come you never gave me a call ?” A smile unknowingly outstretches on your lips when you find out that you’re not the only one who has been hesitating for a while. At least now you know that the feelings aren’t necessarily not mutual. 

This time, it’s Chan’s turn to blush. In which you think he’s too cute when his pale cheeks are replaced by a coral shade of red. You start to wonder what it feels like to caress them with the tips of your fingers, to trace along his jaw and to run your hand through his locks of hair. And before he slips his phone back into his pocket, you catch a glimpse of his lock screen - a picture of Berry with the time displayed above her head [11:57p.m.].

Three minutes until 2020. 

“Never got the courage to.” He confesses timidly. “I really thought that you wanted to ignore me for a second there. You know, the whole ‘the restaurant manager just texted me’ and you were avoiding my eyes. Not gonna lie Y/N, that shit stings.” 

You roll your eyes at him. “FYI Christopher, it is scientifically proven that when a guy likes a girl, he looks straight into her eyes but when a girl has feelings for a guy, she simply looks away.” Despite the fact that you sound like a nerd, Chan still laughs it off since he’s a bit out of it because of the margarita that he downed about an hour ago. The alcohol really has to kick it right now, not before, not later, right-now. 

Two minutes. Time is ticking. The decade is ending. 

This is one of those moments where you wish time would just stop for a second because you’re already having too much on your mind yet too little time. The fact that Chan is looking at you with his dark brown eyes, full of liveliness and all, does not help to cope with the situation either. 

He smiles sadly. “Y/N, I’m not coming back to Seoul until next year’s January.” 

“I know,” You interrupts him awkwardly. “Woojin told me.”

“Do you want me not to—“

“Christ no ! Why would I ?”

God, how do people do this ? Do they just go for it ? No one told you that snatching yourself a kiss would be this hard. You really should have planned everything out first. “Chan, I—“ You blurt but mentally facepalm yourself not longer after. It’s not gonna work out anyway. “Whatever, I’ll just head back inside, it’s freezing out here.” 

One minute. Only sixty seconds left. 

Those words which left your lips ten seconds ago finally knock some sense into Chan and have his eyes twice as big as before when you suddenly walk away. He instinctively grabs your wrist and turns you around. Nothing seems to make sense anymore when all you feel is Chan’s hand holding onto your waist as if you’re gonna disintegrate into dust the moment he lets you go. His other hand gently caresses your chin and quickly decreases the gap between your lips. 

Shivers bubble up on your skin as Chan’s mouth repeatedly brushes against yours, backing you up against the wall. All you can do to deal with the mess running through your mind at the speed of light is to lay your palms onto his firm chest for dear life. The feeling of his soft lips makes you feel like you’ve just spent the whole night by the bar where Minho is mixing up some sketchy looking drinks with you chugging from one glass to another without hesitation. Undeniably intoxicating. 

Chan smiles into the kiss when you suddenly grab a fistful of his tie to pull him in closer, deepening you both into the downward spiral full of tenderness and devotion. Although he’s not your first kiss but Chan will definitely be on your mind all day all night for the next few weeks because this kiss is the kind of kiss that leaves you a bit lightheaded but can put a dumb, lovestruck smile on your face anytime. 

A small ‘clank’ occurs out of nowhere, making you two flinch. When you break away from the kiss, Jisung is standing there in front of the glass door dumbfoundedly with a can of Coke lying on the concrete floor. “Uhm- sorry. I didn’t know that the rooftop is already taken.” He coughs awkwardly and picks up the red aluminum can. 

Woojin isn’t allowing a single drop of alcohol inside his body since he’s the chosen one tonight to drive everyone home after when they all get shitfaced. “Just so you guys know… we’re having cake. It’s— it’s confetti by the way Y/N, your favorite. So.. uhm yeah.. come back whenever you guys are ready— we’ll just— just wait haha, okay bye.” 

And that is how Han Jisung learnt how to run. As if he’s Usain Bolt before Usain Bolt was even Usain Bolt. You’ve never seen him running away from something so fast before. He’s not gonna get a good sleep tonight, that’s for sure. 

“So…” Chan drawls and you love how his cheeks are still tinted pink, his cool breath fanning your forehead. Fireworks are crackling and whistling in the background, painting the sky with different shades of glitter. Like an explosion of paint on a black canvas but you can’t care less when you already have him by your side like this. Talking about kicking off the New Year by kissing your ex-crush, how drama material. 

“Do you still want my number or nah ?” 

You almost scoff at him. “I believe that’s not how CB97 get all the girls.” 

Chan grunt softly before pulling you into his embrace, nuzzling his nose into your hair. “Ugh, don’t even remind me. I’ve been clowned enough for ‘Wow’ already.” And you just stand there with your hands clasped onto his back, letting every single word, every single moment sink into you like you’re rewatching an old movie. That’s also when you realize that, you just got yourself a New Year’s kiss. 

“I’ll miss you, Chan.” You whisper into his ear, teary-eyed. 

“Well, you know what they say : Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” He replies like the exceptional composer that he is, holding onto you firmly. Just firmly enough because he wants to hold you like you’re a single snowflake, threatening to disappear if he accidentally squeezes too tightly, but will easily slip away if he doesn’t hold you back. Chan might not know what the future has in store for him but he knows that everything will turn out just fine as long as you’re right here, in his embrace. 

Nothing matters when he has both of his hands clenched and remains still in your heart. 

four.

[ 3:25a.m. ] 

shrek | take care :pp I hate you.

quokka | I’ll give you half of my salary when I get back so please don’t kill me for dropping your favorite mug =)))

Another thing school has yet succeeded in teaching you : how to not be late to literally every single important moment in your goddamn life. 

It’s barely forty-five minutes before the flight and you’re THIS close to having a mental breakdown because Chan is actually horrible. Yeah, you kissed him three hours ago and he’s just gonna repay you by booking a flight at three in the morning ? His friends aren’t the best either, really. If Jisung didn’t text you on when you’re brushing your teeth then you would have curled up in your blanket and dozed off. 

2020 just arrived and everyone’s already gone wild with their schedules for trips and vacations. Even from the inside of your car, you can still hear people cursing at one another from across the street and be able to bathe in the smell of smoke and gasoline shit. You scrunch your nose at the particular ways someone people prefer to park their cars and carefully park yours neatly in the corner. It’s definitely gonna take some time when you go back to get your car. 

Just when you frantically grab your keys and phone your purse before stepping out of the vehicle, you quickly realize that there’s absolutely no need for you to show up. Chan didn’t ask for it, Jisung and Changbin didn’t even ask for it, they just simply wanted to ‘notify’ you about their departure. But there’s still something that’s stirring inside your stomach, which makes it even harder to concentrate while driving. 

So you’re determined to find out what that is before he leaves. 

And that is also why you’ve chosen to push yourself through the sweaty lines of people queuing up for security, luggage check-in, shopping, and other boring paperwork. Everyone is obviously a bit ticked off since business in airport is slower than a sloth when it comes to holidays. If you were them, you would have just taken a nap on one of the spare benches while waiting for your flight. But the problem is : there’s no empty seats. There are literal people using their jackets as a mattress to sleep on the floor that janitors clean up one two many times with bleach. How tragic. 

Besides, it’s been forever since you’ve come to the airport and now you feel like a fucking caveman, just watching the bustling, noisy life passing by with wide eyes. Meaning, you have no fucking idea where their gate is, but you do know that if you’re stubborn enough to have a five-minute staring contest with the map, you’ll figure it out. Hopefully. 

After ten minutes of struggling with the map in your hands that’s getting kind of damped from your sweaty palms, you eventually spend another five minutes to race yourself through the packed airport to get to Gate 9 before the plane takes off. 

You feel like you really should treat yourself afterwards since running through the airport brings you back to the marathon competition in middle school, the only difference is that it’s ten times more exhausting and time consuming. Changbin better gives you what ever the fuck of a healthy juice and aloe vera sheetmasks that he stores in packs of four inside his carry-on because you’re 80% sure that you look like a strip beef jerky that’s been staying in the oven for way too long. 

[ 3:40a.m. ]

y/n | where tf are you guys ?

Just when you finish texting Changbin, you spot Chan in front of a vending machine, struggling with a wallet, and three other water bottles in his arms. And you start pondering how people still think that God is fair and rightful. How is he so fair when he can make Chan look like a freaking celebrity in a simple white dress shirt with black jeans while you’re looking like a raccoon in your denim jacket and leggings ? How is he so rightful when all it takes Chan is one single glance to send your heartbeat over the edges ? But whatever, fuck that. You’re just gonna be slightly salty about Chan looking better than you all the time. Slightly, that is. 

Nonetheless, he makes you smile like no other. “Chan !” You call out his name like a maniac, running towards him with no hesitation. Because he’s it, he’s your endgame, and you want to know what it feels like to hold him for the last time before he’s gonna be seven thousand miles away from you for a good three hundred and sixty-five days. 

Chan widens his eyes out of surprise when you crash yourself into his embrace, knocking the water bottles onto the tiled floor along with his wallet. Though, he soon regains conscious when his nostrils are filled with your scent, his arms shaking around your waist like second nature. He suddenly smiles brightly, and genuinely in a fairly long time. That alone is enough to prove that you’re the only one who’s capable of making him feel loved. 

Chan buries his face into the crook of your neck. “Are you here to ask for my number ?” 

“Right, that.” Your mouth forms an ‘o’ in realization. “And.. and… I- I love you, okay ?” 

The grin on his face just can’t get any wider now or else his mouth is gonna crack and bleed tremendously. “What was that ?” 

“I’m not saying that twice !”

“No, tell me !”

Truthfully, love isn’t just about the horrifying commitment or the metal band wrapped around your ring finger. Love is the persistency in accompanying, offering a shoulder for someone to lean on, so they can be free from reframing themselves in order to not be frowned upon by society. Meaning, they can let go of their pride during hard times, just bursting into tears like a child. The burden is shared and lifted slightly from their shoulders and that’s how love adds a bit of sweetness into reality.

In fact, movies are realistically based on real life, it’s just that everything’s filtered to be picture perfect because humans only see what they want to see and hear what they want to hear. In reality, there’s no certainty that someone will be there to pick you up nor life will leave you alone when you’ve had enough. You won’t even have the slightest chance to look upon the sky and let your tears pour back into your heart, crying is impossible. No, actually, the world is nice, but reality is disastrous so it is your birthright to be terrified of the smallest things. May time be against you, may reality kick you to the curb, may the whole world have their backs turn onto you, you can still hold onto a fragile beam of hope that the entire universe is on your side because you couldn’t have asked for a better person to walk into your life than Chan.

And to him, you’re gonna worth every mile between you both.

❖ p/s : pt.2 is out now!